Word Challenge – THIRST


Every year, hundreds of people go without water and/or food. And yet, I still find people that throw their own food away in the trash.

“Why?” I ask them.

“Because I didn’t like it.” they answer.

“I don’t like vegetables.” they answer.

“I’m not hungry.” they answer.

Just because you don’t like something, or if you’re just not HUNGRY ENOUGH to eat, it DOES NOT mean you have to throw away your food into the trash. Instead save it in your bag, because who knows! Maybe you suddenly get hungry and want to eat your food. Maybe you find someone that will appreciate it more than you.

Don’t leave your cup half empty, letting it sit there for days and days and days and days and days and days and days and days and days and days and days and days and days until you have to pour it down the drain. Never take a cup of juice or cordial and not finish it.

Never take more than you can drink. Never take more than you can eat.





Okay. Wow. I’m exhausted. And thirsty.

I wrote this out on my blog post page, so I hope that doesn’t disqualify me. :\

So no one actually nominated me to do this (because I don’t have blogger friends), but I still decided to do this challenge (I NOMINATED MYSELF!). So without further ado I nominate these five people to do this challenge.

  1. J. A. Allen
  2. Elan Mudrow
  3. Meg (from Meg’s Magical Musings)
  4. Kent Wayne
  5. Allan G Smorra


1) open an ms word document (or any other editor).
2) set a stop watch or a mobile for 5-10 minutes.
3) your topic is at the foot of this post.
4) fill the word document with as much wordage as you want, once you start writing, don’t stop.
5) DO NOT cheat by going back and correcting spellings and grammar with spell check (this is only meant for you to reflect on your control over sensible thought flow).
6) you may or may not pay attention to punctuation and capitals.
7) at the end of your post write down the number of words.
8) do not forget to copy and paste the entire passage to your blog post with a new topic.

(I honestly just copy-pasted the rules from the blog, The Brokedown Pamphlet because I think they explained the rules very well.)



Thank you for listening (or technically reading) this blog post and I hope you have a wonderful day, night and anything in between!



(Hey guys! This is a little short story I wrote a while back. Just thought you guys might enjoy it!)

The clouds always seem to be forming new patterns. I’ve seen aeroplanes, trains, ducks and pigs. But other times I just see an unidentifiable mass of cloud. I like to watch the clouds from high up on the roof. The roof was always my go to spot if I just wanted to hide. It was since I was five until this day. I remember everything that happened on this roof. The stories I came up with. The people I brought up with me. The tears spilling onto the roof.


I remember the first time I came up here. It was with my mum. My dad was away on business and my mum and I wanted a change of scenery. I was five years old and I remember feeling like I could fly. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. The heat of the sun rolled across my face as I watched the sun melt into the dark void of night. Eventually my mum told me to come inside for dinner. All through dinner, all I could think about was the roof. How it felt like I could see everything. I spent so much time there. I would watch the sun rise, painting the sky bright with colour, and the sun set. And as I got older, I was allowed to watch the stars appear in the sky, like broken christmas lights lighting up the inky oblivion. I would do my homework up there. Every time I felt a writer’s block coming on, I would go to the roof with my laptop and just write up there, leaving a trail of cheesy metaphors and horrible analogies. The roof was my safe place and I never wanted to leave it.


But I eventually did. We moved house. My parents said they needed a bit of change so we moved halfway across the country. The new house didn’t have a good roof. We were stuck in a suburban area, where you just see the same house over and over again. I couldn’t find a place that even came close to the roof of our old house. I felt sad and lonely. I spent my first year there moping. I was depressed and distracted. I was fifteen. I had begun writing. I wrote whatever took my fancy. Horror, romance, fantasy, you name it. I already knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. I wanted to write. I always got a thrill that began in the pit of my stomach when I wrote. Each word is like a little piece of me. A chip of my existence. But now, I couldn’t write anymore. It was like every piece of my existence stayed on that roof.


I tried writing without my roof. Writing at school. Writing on the couch. Writing in my closet. Nothing felt right. It’s like I was a endless pit of meaningless words and undeveloped characters. A pit of bad similes and metaphors, meant to hold deep life meanings, but were really just jibberish made to make me look good. I just kept worrying that I could never write again because I didn’t have a roof. My grades slipped to the point where my parents sat me down and said that I had to focus. I couldn’t just keep walking aimlessly through my teen years. I didn’t see why I couldn’t. It wasn’t like I had a plan for when I leave school…


I finally accepted what my parents had said to me. I began to fully re-enter life again. I never got my roof back. But I found that actually living life gives me more existence, more inspiration, more comfort, than any number of roofs could ever offer me.