- This topic has 642 replies, 27 voices, and was last updated 1 week, 3 days ago by
.
-
Posts
-
Little things, hidden in big things…Big things, hidden in little things…
Oh. *contented sigh* I love the clincher here!
"He who never quotes will never be quoted." ~Charles Spurgeon
The writer is sitting on his chair. What should I write? His question doesn’t give him answers, he just wants to write something. He wants to write something meaningful, lovely, true, and, above all, bring glory to his maker. Well, I guess this can be a start. The writer puts his pen on a piece of paper, “God is good, lovely, and true.”
SNOWBALLS!!!!!!!
One to you *throws at @liberty*
And one to you *throws at @rae*
Why do I change my signature so much? DJT!!!
#AnduthForever (Lord Willing)*Gets hit in the face by a particularly cold snowball* *Sputters*
Gee thanks Esther 🙄😂😂
“Ty?” I shouted as I walked down the sandy boardwalk by the beach. No answer.
Continuing down the familiar path, I savor the taste of the salt in the air and the lovely sea breeze gently caressing my face, my wavy hair tossing in the wind.
Then I see him.
Alrighty now🤭
SNOWBALL!! @Esther-c 💨⚪ @Loopylin 💨⚪
#HugRikerSquad
um. What is this? Why are there snowballs? Why do people just throw them back and forth but not at anyone else? How come this is kinda dumb? Why should I participate in this? This is really boring… And how come I am watching home alone right now? I have too many questions… laugh out loud. JUST KIDDING!
@SHADOW AND @RAE SNOWBALLS 👉👉❄️❄️💨💨 (I summoned the snow balls. That’s why it’s pointing)
"Hello?" The voice called back, seeming to echo her... but in an uncanny way.
lol go read the rules on page 1. I promise there’s some reason to this chaos
OH MY GOODNESS!
I. Could. Not. Breathe!
WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY BOYS!!!!!!!
I’m about to call the protection squad on you.
Except, I LOVE IT. So I’m not. Instead, I’m going to high five you, because this is going to be so good and I can’t wait to read it!!!!!
YOU ARE HORRIBLE!
Stop teasing me!
*sobs*
You will be pelted unless you write your 100 words.
*hefts another snowball warningly.*
(Plus, if you do write you get to throw two back.)
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Oh, whoops. I forgot I got hit by a snowball.
Just a sec.
Liam didn’t seem to agree, but he let the matter go.
They were silent a moment. Then, Liam started coughing. It was a small cough at first, but it grew harsher and stronger. “Easy, easy,” Werner said, carefully helping Liam to sit up. He whipped out his handkerchief and gave it to the boy. Then he placed his hand against Liam’s chest and felt the coughs, his brow furrowed.
When Liam stopped coughing, Werner helped him to lie back. He took the crumpled handkerchief and held it in one hand while he brushed the boy’s blond hair from his forehead with the other. “Meine güte, that what quiet the attack.”
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
The writer is sitting on his chair. What should I write? His question doesn’t give him answers, he just wants to write something. He wants to write something meaningful, lovely, true, and, above all, bring glory to his maker. Well, I guess this can be a start. The writer puts his pen on a piece of paper, “God is good, lovely, and true.”
I love it! Such a well-written, concise little story with beautiful meaning!
SNOWBALLS!!!!!!!
One to you *throws at @liberty*
Yay! Now I get to continue my Kingdom Pen story!
"He who never quotes will never be quoted." ~Charles Spurgeon
That’s… four snowballs…
Give me a moment, y’all
😈
…
NOOO *Whams you with a giant ball of snow* *Now you’re rolling down the hill*
@you +6 snowballs 💨⚪💨⚪💨⚪💨⚪💨⚪💨⚪
#ProtectAdolinKholin
6 snowballs…? Wow, Whaley. That’s… intense. XD
First Grand Historian of Arreth and the Lesser Realms (aka Kitty)
Fork the Gork@raxforge @theshadow @freed_and_redeemed @the_lost-journal
Ah! You all hit me with a snowball!
So I wrote a short story
The True Magic of Christmas
December 25th, 1914.
I dread the date. Usually I would be at home, home with little Henry and Mum, but not this year. I will miss them more than usual tomorrow. Oh, if only this war had never broken out! If only.
Around me I hear the coughs and groans of the other sick and wounded soldiers in the hospital, beyond that, the ever-present booms of explosions, sounds of gunfire, and the cries of men, telling their brothers they will live to see tomorrow, when they know better. To these unpleasant sounds I am slowing slipping into sleep and troubled dreams, where the only comfort is the lack of pain.
Light is peeping through my eyelids. The pain has returned, more than yesterday. It is crushing. It is the herald of what I know to be coming, the stalking black form of death. But, what is this? Where are the explosions? None reach my ears. Where are the gunshots? The cries? All I hear is…is…is that possibly singing?!
Yes! I can hear it. They are singing Joy to the World. But what are those strange voices? They sound…German! I open my eyes fully in alarm, half-expecting to see a German standing above me. He isn’t standing above me, but he is not far off. He is a fine fellow, too young for war, with bright blue eyes full of a future.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a weak voice, with only an undertone of alarm. “Have we lost?”
“I’m Hans,” The German replies cheerily. “No, your line stands strong, but it’s Christmas! We’ve called a truce!”
I am surprised, his English is exceptional. “A truce?” I ask quietly. I usually would be more alarmed that Germans were walking amongst us, but Hans seems so nice and I don’t feel well enough to fight enemies.
“Yes. Here,” Hans bends down near me, and presses a cup with alcohol to my lips. I accept it gratefully for I hope it will numb my pain. “What’s your name?” Hans asks
“Charles.”
“Do you have family, Charles?”
“Yes, a little brother and mother.”
“How old is your brother?”
“Twelve.”
“I have a little brother too, but he is sixteen, and he serves in…”
Hans voice fades into the background for a bit as I listen to the carols being sung.
“Are you alright Charles?”
I do not answer for a bit. I am enjoying the sweet sound. I think he has noticed, for now he is joining the sound of his German fellows singing Stille Nacht.
Hans has a good voice, not perfect, but I find it pleasant.
Hans voice grows distant as he sings in his native tongue. The jubilee of British and German soldiers celebrating like brothers together becomes faint as thoughts run through my aching head. ‘Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace, good will toward men.’ Peace, yes, peace. This, this is the true magic of Christmas. To end a war even for just a day, to make enemies brothers if even just for a moment, united on the day of Christ’s coming to the world. This is Christmas magic.
My world is fading, spiraling into something strange. Something strange without pain.
Note: I do not completely agree with Charles. I personally believe that the true magic of Christmas (if you want to call it magic) was that God sent his son.
I still wrote the story because I wanted to and I had a vision that I didn’t want to change, so here we are.
Andrew, I am hitting you with a snowball since you hit me twice and I don’t know who else to snowball, except Kefa, because he made a statement about people tagging each other back and forth. These are snowball wars! You hit the one who hit you with a bigger snowball than they used! So, both of you, 💨⚪ x2
STOP!!!!!!! Have you eaten Breakfast???
#AnduthForever (hopefully 💕)@rae Nice, I like it. Always liked that historical event, it reminds me of how people in the Civil War had to fight against their own relatives. It shows how some Germans saw other human beings in the trenches, and managed to relate to them, which is a really brave thing to do in a war.
#ProtectAdolinKholin
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.