Is it folly to hope?
Is it strange to want more?
From life’s forbidding slopes
To the tender breeze on the shore.
Is it weird that we dream?
That we are born wanting more?
If hope is a folly,
I don’t want to know why for.
I plan to keep hoping
That all storms can one day cease.
That good will be rewarded
That all people will be free
As I mentioned, I am an amateur writer, which is not to say I am inexperienced at all. I have written stories and poems that I have submitted to contests @ Writers Digest among other publications. I also have worked on a comic book story for Southeast Comics (it’s date of publication is tbd, unfortunately).
With all that being said, if anyone wants to contact me, either about writing or just to shoot the breeze, leave a comment below and I will reply when I can!
Thank you very much for your time.
The Hub of CreatiV is online!!
WELCOME ALL! I am the Master of the Hub, Dusty_PlZ, and this is Studio CreatiV!
Here, I will post stories, poems, and the occasional bit of personal news. Be sure to check in from time to time to see what is new! This whole experience is new to me, so bear with me, as I don’t really know what I’m doing (*embarassed LOL*!)
Dustin Plank (AKA Dusty_PlZ or HubMaster if you please
Dustin is a 30-something from West Reading, Pennsylvania. He lives in a barely held-together pile of wood and junk he calls a house with his father, Mike, and a cat named Captain Admiral President Ninja Master Snuggy. He writes prose in his spare time, focusing on Fantasy and Sci-Fi.
The House had been empty for over twenty years. No one dared to go in, not after what had happened there. The local paper taken to calling the place, “The Butcher House”. Ironic, because the last family that lived there was the Bakers. They had owned that house for generations, right up until the last patriarch-Richard Baker-was discovered burying the remnants of his wife and son in the backyard. People said the place was haunted, and it had since fallen into great disrepair. sometimes, at night, there could be heard the sound of wailing from within, like an otherworldly force still remained there.
But that didn’t scare the Man at all. He had boasted that the House was nothing to be afraid of. He called the rumors of ghosts bullshit, that he could spend the entire night there. And now he was heading there to back up his claims. Driving up to the House was the longest drive he ever had to endure. Many times he wanted to turn around and go back to his apartment. Eventually the only thing that kept him going was pride. I can’t turn coward now, he thought to himself. Eventually, he came to a steep hill. The House was up there, away from the road. He had to walk the rest of the way.
As he trudged up the hill, it began to pour sheets of rain. It rained so much, he could barely see the house. When he got there, he had to feel for the railing to the front porch. Up the porch steps he went, and there it was. The door. The fear was so great he had to use all his courage and fortitude to turn that knob. Then the wailing started. Now he REALLY wanted to run. But if he did, what would his friends think…? He froze there, not sure of what he should do. Finally, as the wind howled and rain beat down on the old roof of the House, the Man decided not to let fear overcome him. He opened the door and was greeted with…
WHAT WAS INSIDE THE HOUSE?
A. A family of feral cats that jump on him
B. A guy in a ghost costume, trying to scare him
C. A dark void where the rest of the house should be
Put your own answer down!
…Put what scenario you want to see in the comments below. This is just a tester of the Choose-you-path story format, so no stress!