English Imitation Paper

Happy with the creative writing I was able to produce for an imitation paper on my Living Writers class. The assignment was to write mimicking the writer's style. In this case, this writer like to connect two narratives with lines and motifs. I had to use one line that he used in his book I read for class, and integrate it in my story. That line is in bold.

“Spring Showers” by Peter Williams

I don’t remember my past life, but what I do remember is always being hungry. Awoke in a spring morning by a sliver of light. The light grew and grew, I felt my legs shake free and then I felt something I never felt before… My back twitched outstretched. I started to slip down, out of the darkness and into the light. With my now free arms and legs, I held on. Finally, I lifted my head and was blinded by white. The purest white I’ve ever seen. Blinking, I found my world had turned upside down. Below me (or is it above me now?)  I saw the former shell of my existence. Behind me I saw my wings for the first time, a beautiful pattern of orange and black, the result of months of metamorphosis. I clung to my cocoon that last piece of self-identity I had left. I didn’t remember ever making my cocoon, I didn’t remember anything. All I knew was that something new happened to me. Saying goodbye, I let go of my former self quite literally. My wings caught myself on pure instinct, not letting me fall and up-righting myself. I now saw the world differently; I may never see it like I did once before. The field was decorated with bright colored flowers, my food and my new home all at once. That first day, turned into my first night. Then night led to my second morning. But it was not a morning like the first one I could remember, the light was replaced by a screen of gray. I would have to learn this life, if I were to ever to survive. The world was retaught to me in all its good and bad, its grace and horror. The clouds’ stomachs growled as water began to fall from the sky. Water, deadly and beautiful, scary and yet nurturing. We insects fear and revere water, but we treasure it as well. Besides my hunger, I also remember my thirst from my past life. A thirst that was never fully quenched. Now it was became compensated for in overabundance. I took shelter under the petals of a familiar perennial. I remember wondering to myself “What do butterflies do in a downpour?” As it happens, the answer is…

“They get the hell out of it!”

“Wait, what was that?” I asked the full-grown Monarch before me.

“They get the hell out of it, Caterpillar,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But, you have wings. Surely, butterflies like you can dodg—“

“No, we can’t. That amount of water wrecks our flight pattern. In fact, too much can kill us, you too little Catetpillar,” he explained by rudely interrupting me.

 I scooted in my usually way across the sun flower, onto an outer petal and closer to my new friend the Monarch. We were family; I was one of the monarch clan as well. But in this life I was a Caterpillar with the only dream of living to my second stage of life.

“Still, even though it has its dangers (especially in a downpour), flying must be incredible,” I marveled.

“True, you too will learn this. In time, that is,” he counseled.

“No, I don’t think so. This life is too hard. How ever did you get through it?”

“I don’t remember, but all I do know is… it doesn’t matter what you are in this life, what only matters is what you will become. Another monarch butterfly taught me that when I was a caterpillar like you,” he regaled.

“If you can’t remember your life as a caterpillar, how can you remember you were told that?” I inquired.

“I don’t know. But in life, there will always be things we will never know,” he assured me. We heard the clouds stomachs’ growling. We looked up as the light that once slipped through their cover was shielded. Everything turned gray.

“Better find some shelter, Caterpillar. We will meet again. Maybe not again in this life, but surely in the next,” he said as he began to flap away.

“Farewell, my friend. Til then!” I watched him flying into sky. I kept on watching, I could no longer make out the details of his magnificent wings. Drops began to fall from the sky. Sparsely as it did not arise any immediate danger to use. But they are times when lightning strikes, and doubly so with raindrops. One found its way and hit the back of my Monarch friend. I saw him stagger and fly out of sight. I couldn’t help him. Frightened, I crawled down under the perennial.

“What do butterflies do in a downpour?”

“Wait, what was that? Who said that?” I said looking around where I landed under one petal of the perennial.

Down below I saw a monarch caterpillar climbing up the flower’s steam to greet me.

“Oh, I was just asking what butterflies do in a downpour,” he asked.

 My answer surprised even myself.

This is another assignment I am proud of. It is an acrostic poem responding to another poem, similar to a poet that we read in class.

The He by Peter Williams

Near death I flew to that shore,

Every breath may have been last to bore.

Vivid was the sight of that house and its door.

Eager was I for living,

Raven eyes started weaving,

More and more I began breathing.

Old voice scared of circumstance,

“Raven! Raven!” in his chant.

Even though I said no word,

                       some foulness he still heard,

                                                                    but he,

                                                                               a man,

                                                                                           and I,

                                                                                                    a bird.