You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Thursday, October 28, 2010


Footfalls continue along the corridor, their destinations sought in another time, another place. Minds reel in discontinuous thoughts, concerned with time, worried about the distance, doubting their own intelligence in the subject to which they run. Still they move onward, barely recognizing my presence as I watch and assess the flow of students.

Time keeps ticking on. I remain where I was moments before; but none of the people who've traversed this hallway make the same appearance as I with my computer in lab. They travel as I write.

A Crayon walks by, her green suit falling around her body as the green cone dons her head. Her smile is meek. Her attitude is gentle. She's neither proud nor discouraged to celebrate in the upcoming event. No one judges her, either. Their eyes acknowledge her presence and them continue down the hallway. Some smile and wave, mouthing "how cute."

The purple hatted wizard pulls out of the President's Office, a smile on her face as she leans, mockingly, on her walking stick before quickly zooming past me on her way to class. Her starry cape billows on the heavy air around her: a startling presence to her unsuspecting students.

Death walks by, as oft it does on normal days, with scythe in hand and head turned downward. The shadows around his hood seem ominous and playful. His abnormally dark hand contrasts with the expected white skeletal bones. Silence follows his footsteps as eerily as breath stopping.

Until Tinker-Bell finds her way. She's laughing with her friends, joking about the less fortunate student who was scolded by the teacher. Who knows what class they were in. Who knows what actually happened, or if we would know who the downtrodden student was. Tink's laughter is infectious though. Her wings glitter as she passes under the fluorescent lights. The friends don't look at her, as if saying they envied her willingness to participate in such a celebration.

None stop to chat. None reverse their direction. Time continues ticking even as I write what I see, what I hear. The hallway is abnormally ordinary, even as costumed students get ready for their Holloween Contest.

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