Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Experiences

Three small windows, all slightly cracked open, patiently waiting for the frequent ocean breeze to roll in. Nearby songs of birds and the faint symphonies of the gentle waves crashing, one after the other seeped inside. The cluttered room was overtaken with the silent darkness of dim lights, hardly illuminating anything. Bed unmade, drawers open, and clothes scattered all around the the unvacuumed floor.

I like how in the second story I get to guess what the experience was. I thought the imagry was a nice, and while it didn't really leave much of a challage, it still let me have a few options of my own to imagine. I'm not exactly sure what this thread is about exactly. Are you making stories of experiences that intrest you?

No, the thread title is not relevant to the posts.

I'll be posting short images painted with words I write from time to time.

All alone, quietly observing my surroundings. Nowadays I canât tell if Iâm awake of dreaming - and to be honest, Iâd prefer to be dreaming. Itâs that kind of silence where itâs so quiet, itâs loud.

Iâm in the deep woods sitting on a large mossy rock alongside an old unused trail. The only audible sound is the pine trees, swaying in the wind. And just like that, the scenery dissolved right in front of me. Iâm now resting on a white bench in a small, confined, completely white room. Thereâs a grey metal door to the left of my, with a small square window in the center.

I get up, and as soon as I touch the door, it disappeared instantly. I donât like it here. I can hear heavy machines through the thins walls, as if Iâm in a quiet factory. As I stand in the door frame, a man with a long white coat, black leather boots, and thick glasses quickly passes right in front of me, without turning his head.

A few seconds past after he had left my view, so I took a step out and turned to the right, to see where he was going. But nothing, nothing was there. No man, no hallway, no anything. Just blank white.

Thanks! Nice to see you again, man.


Sunshine slowly seeped through the small dirty windows of the two wooden, wide open doors. The house faces towards the meadow, where millions of dandelions would quietly dance to the breeze, swaying with each gust of wind. The old wood floor creeped with every silent step, every slight movement of the Earth. A wore down rocking chair sat on the porch, ever so slowly rocking back and forth, being pushed by the gusts. Several wind chimes glistened softly at the top corner of the porch, as birds glided by and chirped their songs away.