[I found a webpage that gives you 329 prompts to write creatively, here's the link to it: http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/. Here's my answer to one of the prompts.]

Write from the POV of the last tree standing on a forest.

I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. I had to see my brother fall. I had to see my father fall. I had to see my daughter fall. I had to see everyone around me fall. Everyone but myself.
I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. I had to see everyone around me fall, and I couldn't do anything to avoid that, anything to help them in their suffering.
I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. And I cannot do anything to end it, I cannot do anything to make them stop. And they won't stop.
The day before this all happened, that lovely girl who is fighting for us almost gave her life to protect us, for if her father hadn't come to drag her away, they would have run her over with their big, yellow monsters. With those monsters they killed my family, they killed everyone around me.
It is really unbearable to see everyone you love and care for die, and not be able to do anything to protect them.

And, I wonder, what have we done to diserve that? Have we killed them? Have we make them unhappy? Have we done any bad to them?
No, we have given them fresh air to breathe, we have contributed to improve our environment

To think their ancestors gave us birth, planted our very seeds and watered us, made us become what we now are. They looked after us with loving care, they told us they loved us. But they don't seem to think that anymore, for, instead of giving us life, they are taking it away from us.
So I wonder, what has changed? Why has that changed?
Why did the relationship between men and trees, which used to be great, turn to be what it is now/a war fought just from one side?
This is a war fought just from one side, the other side just tries to resist as long as they can, try to defend themselves...
Poor us.

Percy Penguin

A lame poem I wrote... I was just passing the time with Molly and I wrote this... LOL

Percy Penguin sat A
as quiet as a bat A
in the middle of the night B
when mom said 'Sleep tight'.B

He wondered were she was C
and that, is just because, D
for he was not the boss, C
he couldn't just turn and toss. D

With the uttermost fear E
he realised she wasn't near E
and, very sadly, he cried F
'mom, stay by my side'. F

[Answer on a PPP prompt about a door, and who's behind.]

'Ring' rang the bell. Somebody knocked on the door.
From my place on the sofa all I could see was a black shape through the glass, a dark figure.
I wondered who would be this early in the morning. Maybe dad, who had come to visit me. Or maybe John, who had forgotten his keys. I don't know.
Maybe it was someone who was going to bring more unhappiness to my life, who has going to make me more worried, more tired...
Maybe it was someone, on the other hand, who was going to bring me happiness, the one to make me smile at last, somebody to take all the stress away, to make my worries disappear...
I won't know, I told myself, until I open that door.
I toddled towards it, irresolutely, still wondering who that person would be. I reached out, for the door's handle, shaking a little. Maybe this person is going to make my life worse... Yes, definetely, I was then thinking about the bad 'mabies'.
I opened the door, looking at the floor, not daring to look up yet, worried about the stranger I was about to met, wondering if the stranger may bring more unhappiness, more worries...
And when, finally, I looked up and saw the stranger's face...

I discovered it brought peace.

"Why do you write?"

[This is a answer on a task ('Why do you write?') on a blog called 'A Writer's Voice']

I write because I've read lots of books and discovered writers leave a really nice feeling on me: I realized I understood the magic of their art, so I try to create some sort of that magic. I also think that, as every author has a personal style, they have a personal "magic".

My 'Jazzqueen' blog is about my school essays for my ESL class, I take them seriously because I wish to become a serious writer someday, or at least write as a hobby, because, as I said before, I want to be able to create that magic. I'm trying to develop and uncover MY magic, inspired by all the great writers around me, and I'm hoping to finish my lovely "masterpiece", which I'm currently writing.

Thanks for the task, it made me think and discover a lot! : )

Mr. Slug

[Answer to a PPP prompt. Write from Mr. Slug's POV.]

Many don't understand me. They call me slow. Lazy. They've even called me boring. They don't understand why I take so long to do everything, they're just too worried about their stupid, fast lives that all they manage to see is the frentic blur around them, for they run for everything, not taking a pause to breathe. If they did, oh my, they would really enjoy the good things of life! But no, they only care about arriving on time and doing things quickly, always quickly, always worried about speed...
If only they slowed down... They would see what I see, they would feel what I feel...
They would see the charm of a not-in-a-hurry life, they would forget about the clock, always following them. They would finally get time to do whatever they want to do.
They would appreciate the sun, the moon, the soft summer breeze, the colours of nature, the good and worthy things in life...

They would appreciate life itself.

Bird-love.

[Here's another answer to a prompt by PPP. It was a picture of two terns, and the suggested prompt said to explain what that couple, that had been together for many, many, many years was talking about.]

After centuries of love, even bird centuries of love, one never gets tired of saying:

'I love you.'
'I love you too.'

'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked.

[Answer to a Pictures, Poetry and Prose prompt; pick a book and open it at page 100, choose a random sentence and write using it.]

'Matilda' by Roald Dahl, page 100.

"'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked."
She had been listening to me very attentively, carefully, in order to understand every single word I said, assimilating very accurately the story I was telling her.
'She didn't, Ben told her' I answered.
'Why?' She asked me.
'Well, because I had stolen his bike... That was just a kids fight, it got worse later...'
She had to choose between her big amount of questions the most harmless, given that she knew this was a dangerous topic to talk to me about, for I was still so susceptible about that.
'Is that why you and my husband don't talk to each other anymore?' she asked me, trying to sound calm but with evident interest.
'Well, that's what started it, but we could call it that way, if you want to' I answered, feeling a bit guilty.
'You know, your mum is very sad because of this, not beeing able to see you at the same time, for this stupid brother-sister fight...' she started, testing my mood.
'I know, she has told me so, but, what can I do? Everytime I try to talk to Ben he just turns around and walks away, he's so stubborn!' I couldn't believe I was telling this story to my sister-in-law, it just sounded too awkward.
'That's where I can help you, you know I'm the only person he truly listens to. I could talk to him, I could tell him you're sorry for whichever bad thing you've done to him, and that you agree to talk to him calmly and without trying to fight... Only if that's what you really are gonna do, do you understand?' she was still testing my answers and possible sudden mood shifts.
'Well, I agree, just don't let him know it wasn't my idea, it's just family pride...'
'As you wish, my dear friend.' And away she went, coming back two hours later with her husband, my brother Ben.
I smiled timidly at him when I saw him, he smiled back, widely. That way I knew everything was forgiven.

= )

Wow! This is so great!
I have a new keyboard, which Armando gave mum and me for Christmas... It is so smooth and soft to write with, I'm so happy! (The previous one was as hard as stone, and some letters wouldn't work properly...)
Now I feel so much like writing!
But I have nothing to write about, I just have this great longing to use this new keyboard, which by the way came with its own mouse.
To press these small buttons that have printed little white letters (it is black) is so smooth and comfy! = )

So, I just have to say... THANKS ARMANDO!

PS: Lollipop is the most grateful of us! "¿¡Qué tiene que ver lo blanco con la sopa!?" BTW, great phrase.

Boredom

[This is something I wrote in a free period at school some months ago, when I was desperate for writing on my blogs and all I had at hand was a piece of paper and a pencil.]

It's easy to describe the concept of boredom, wether or not experienced.

Boredom is the not having something to do, or the having but not the wanting to. I've experienced boredom so many times, and I have no choice but to regret that.

Due to our lack of time, feeling boredom should be avoided, though, given that we are living beings, and taking into account our human nature, boredom is unavoidable, as we can't have the wanting to do something all the time. Also, we can have the wanting but not the elements, as it's happening to me now, that I'm in a free period at school, my clasmates are playing cards and I'm in need of my blog to write and write and write.

So we could define boredom as the lack of wanting or of having something to do, which might, too, be 'sujeto' to circumstances*, such as not having the elements to do something.

The kind of boredom I'm experiencing right now is the kind of needing to do somwething but not having the elements to do so, and it's difficult, because I have stuff to do, but I just have one thing on my mind: my need to express something deep inside of me by writing and writing and writing.

Nevertheless, boredom, in all types, must be put up wth, for we need to learn to deal with it without reaching desperation, and we need to start, if not enjoying it, accepting boredom, being boredom something natural, necessary and healthy.

*I keep on trying to express myself, thankfully, really a little bit, in Spanish...