Dakota's Online Journal

PLAN:

1st person view.
In a magical library.
There is a magical force at the back of the store which is what gives the books their magical abilities.
When you read a book you are literally sucked into the world it encompasses, giving you a first hand experience of the fantasy world around you.
There is everything from dusty old books withering away in the back of the store to the new, bright and attractive looking books nearer to the front.
The bright books give a short fantasy tail, sweet and colourful, easy to differentiate from reality.
The old books hold a powerful and long story that are sometimes impossible to differentiate from reality, causing some to lose their minds once they return to the real world, and causing others to never make it out at all.
The books work sort of like drugs
Very rarely people go for the older books.
When you are sucked into the story, the story is completely on rails but tricks your mind into thinking you are making the choices.
The stores selves go from newest at the front to oldest at the back.
As you move from front to back, the store seems to transform from a clean, well kept store, everything neatly lined up, moving back to a dark and dusty mess, with cobwebs hanging from the roof and books slanted or fallen over on their shelves, some even on the ground. notes on scape paper and quills in pots of inc also scatter the mythical library.

STORY:

Pushing on the dark, rustic door, I entered the magical world of literature. Instantly noticing the rows of neatly stacked books, all bursting with vibrant colours and titles, an absolute polarity from the decaying exterior of the building.
The Large Atrium’s golden arch that takes centre stage fills me with a great sense of awe. The detailed etchings of historical and mythological figures in the walls fill my mind with wondrous thoughts and daydreams of all manners. Looking up at the ceiling which stands far above me, I notice the magnificent painting that stretches from corner to corner, just like those of ancient greek buildings.
The cheerful librarian, that’s rosy cheeks contrasted his deep brown eyes and curly black hair, raises his gaze from a white sheet of paper laid out before him, looking me dead in the eye with an uneasy smile and says,
“It’s quite a shocker, isn’t it? All that rustling, shouting, and trampling of feet on the streets outside, I can’t stand it, the tranquility of my books and library suit me far better. Just as you will soon discover”.
Upon him finishing, the books, which shivered on the shelves with an unearthly feel about them, caught my eye, diverting them from a previously locked state. An eerie yet idyllic tone wavers throughout the dusty air as I journey between the maze of shelves. Walking past a group of young boys which rest on the ground, their backs perched against the wall, their eyes fixed on the novels that lay within their delicate little hands, completely still except for the subtle rise and fall of their chests, rising and falling, rising and falling, all in perfect sync.
Intrigued by the peculiar sight, I wander on, walking into the depths of the seemingly endless shelves. The further I go, the more the disarray and neglect of the novels becomes apparent. Books had been knocked over and even fallen off their shelves. Sheets of paper and pots of ink also dot the shelves which serve as a home for cobwebs.
Dodging the papers that scatter the floor, I make my way to the heart of the library.
The lights which sit high above me off the sides of the upper shelves flicker with the arrival of a queer yet extraordinary sense of energy filling the corridors. The dusty air, which tastes dry and dull, begins to thickens, making it hard to breath.
Hearing the words float softly through the air, I feel them emit their raw power on to me and the novels as the words settled into the pages. The previously dormant books slowly arise into a quivering state, just as an elderly person would awake from a deep rest. Slowly becoming more and more vibrant till they are bursting with energy, like young children on christmas morning. At this point they shuffle off their shelves and float towards the front of the library.
Entranced by their peculiarity, I follow them back to where I’d began. Leaving behind the dark yet soothing depths of the library, making my way back past the derelict books, the young boys, who where just awaking from their serene world which had captivated their minds back into the eccentric reality of the library. Finally I pass the vibrant books and walk out into the shining atrium which houses the librarian and the inspiring painting
Quickly I realise that it has changed since my last visit to this section of the building. No longer was there an angel reaching down from the heavens towards the injured soldier, instead, the painting depicted a mix of flowers and vines entangled within each other, surrounding the injured soldier who rested, alone but seemingly at peace.
I reach the front of the building where I watch the books neatly stack upon each other in flawless unison to the right of the librarian, who reaches over and picks a small red book from the top of the pile and begins to read it.
Walking passed the librarian and the back through the shimmering gold archway, I glance once more at the magnificence that was this building before heading out the door and back into the noisy clattering of boots on the cobble pathway, the dying evening light, and the smell of animals and food. It was only now that i realise how right the librarian had been.

Diagon Alley: the wall wiggled, facing an archway large even for hagrid, the cobble twisted and turned out of sight, they stepped through the archway, boys pressed there nose against the window, a plump woman sat outside an apothecary’s, the walked up the white stone steps , snowy white building, “welcome, to Diagon Alley.”.

A deafening silence fell upon the woods as a greenish mist creeped in between the haunting dark pine trees. An injured lone wolf hurried along the depressing black marsh of the swampy ground below. The eerie silence was suddenly broken by a thundering crackle of lightning streaking across the night sky which quickly filled with thick clouds followed by the pounding of rain bashing the ground below, turning the marsh to a flooded swamp.

Wandering along the now flooded floor, the lone wolf drove on. Marching home. Pushing through the dark. To reach his home. Tired as he was from escaping the darkness, the thunder, and the rain. He strode on. Not letting up even though his body yearned for the restful abyss of death.

He needed to reach the reclusive safety of the cabin before the men caught up with him. His motivation came in part from his fear of the darkness, but also from the knowledge that raging men had no thought to reason with a beast like himself, that is what pushed him on to the cabin. If he could just wait there until dawn. then maybe, just maybe, he could sneak his way back into the town without raising much suspicion, but the scars left from the mens’ pitchforks on his upper right shoulder may be noticed, and he had no story prepared to explain it, so all he could do was hope enough time remained to heal. “holdst out lighteth, for i neede time to heall from the horrid menes wounds”. he cried out to the dawning horrison.

Short.

Animal farm: Mr. Jones locked the hen-house. Too drunk to remember shutting the pop-holes. The lanterns light danced side to side. He lurched across the yard. Kicked his boots at the door. drew a last beer. and headed to bed, where Mrs. Jones was already snoring.

Home free! : As she opened the door. She fainted. Caught mid fall by her elder sister who had been standing by her side. Looking out upon the vast garden of her estate. She noticed the figure running down the distant road, who made regular glances over his shoulder. Making it hard to recognise the man. Suddenly a shout was heard by the man. “Salut Elize”. “S-Salut Andre” responded Elize, still holding her sister. After Andre reached the bottom of the porch, he slowed his run to a walk, but as he did so he noticed Amelie. “What happened?”, asked Andre as he reached the two, grasping Amelie in his arms. “she saw you”.

Changing the sentence

The girl ran down the road as fast as she possibly could. – Running down the road, the girl went as fast as she could.

the child was playing in the sandbox –

During the dead of night, in the wild, desert like sandbox, amongst an oasis of toys there hid a wonderstruck child and his spade, playing in tranquillity. Then all of a sudden, a thundering voice came echoing in from the dunes far away, “dinner is ready!”.
Scampering to his feet. Now awoken from the sceneity of his oasis, the boy was now thrust through to the concrete jungle of his estate where is awaiting parent stood with an offering of food. But upon the realisation of what it was, he fled the scene with an unparalleled speed. His heart racing as he dove towards the forest of grass which was his backyard, he gave everything he had to get back to his oasis and away from the threat. the threat, of vegetables.

George hadn’t warn his uniform for many years, the last time being a few decades before during a similar memorial, but as he sat in his jeep on the outskirts of Sainte-Mère, he stared thoughtfully down at the medals resting on his chest. His rested state of mild tranquility slowly etched into a deep feeling of añorar as he remembered those of his friends and comrades that had given their lives for him. “Those men are the real hero’s of this war, I’m just lucky to have made it through that hell hole of a beach” he muttered to himself, “or maybe they are the lucky ones for not having to live with themselves everyday, knowing that if it wasn’t for their cowardice, countless others may have lived…”. Easing out of this saddened thought, he looked up at his hands, which rested uneasily on the jeeps steering wheel, the same ones that had experienced close up the horrors of war.

All of a sudden, the whistling of artillery and screams of the rifles filled his head, his vision blurred and rushing in came the scene of battle he had experienced all those years ago. His mind slowly adjusted to the shock, he noticed his hands which previously donned the clean white gloves of the parade uniform, were now soaked in blood, of who’s, he did not know.

First person pronouns – I, Me, We, Us, My, Myself, Ourselves, Mine, Ours, Our

Third person pronouns – He, She, It, They, Him, Her, Them, His, Her(s), Its, Their(s), Characters name, Himself, Herself, Itself, Themselves, Anybody, Anyone, Each, Either, Everybody, Everyone, Neither, Nobody, No one, Nothing, Someone, all, Any, Most, None, Some, One

Writing task First person – Slipping as we went down the wet and dreary road. Samra and I headed for the hotel we had booked only days prior to our visit. “City life has always been a wonder to me” exclaimed Samra out of the blue, Though the sky cried it’s tears, I still see a constant flood of people making their way through the labyrinth that was Paris.”

Writing task Third person – Wandering along the side of the magnificent woodland road, They could hear the bristling of the fiery red leaves in the autumn winds. As Thomas’s winged friends scattered out towards the sky he was jumped by the passing truck.

The boy was sad – The boys face gets red and blemished, his eyes bloodshot, and his eyelids puffy. He got a lump in his throat; his voice cracked when he tried to speak. He scrubbed and blew his nose to stop the snot running down his face. His breathing stuttered when he tried to take a deep breath.

The dog wanted to go for a walk – The barking and whimpering could be heard throughout the house as the eager puppy circled his owners. Seeing the tail which waged with a dire need to escape the confinements of the building. they arose from their beds.

The temperature fell and the ice reflected the sun – Crisp ice emerged seemingly from no where onto the lamp post feeding back the light of the dying sun. I focused in on my vision i noticed the chilled breath emerging from my mouth.

Within a dawning city, encased in the centre of a tower of books, there sat a blue chair, and seated upon said chair there was a young girl, of which was deeply allured into into her novel. isolated as she was, she was at bliss.

WORDS

Table: stubborn, old, dreary, strong, hard going.

Headphones: singing, whispering, comforting, symphony, emotional.

Book: wise, old, brilliant, adventurous, amusing.

POEMS

The walrus and the carpenter: the moon and the sun – sulkily, no business, rude, he, she, she thought, she said, spoil the fun – make the moon seem jealous/grumpy/annoyed/baby, the sun seems cocky or rude (from the moons perspective).

IMAGES

Tree 1: The quiet, wise tree whispered her knowledge into the wind.

Tree 2: The mysterious mist gathered around the captivating tree, curious of how he came to be.

alpine scene: The courageous mountains climbed high above the sulking trees that had by now cried a lake.

Forest with the path: Deep within the wild trees there lived a dark and gloomy sculpture, a mere shadow of the man he once was.

Beat down house: The beaten down home sits in the fields as a reminder of his younger days.