The Seashell


Imagine a seashell.

All its life it’s gone unnoticed.

People have stepped over it,

Kicked it aside,

Barely even noticed it’s there.

But then comes along that one soul

Who sees it and realizes its beauty;

Its worth.

They take it home and set it aside.

It’s their little prize.

They show it off, display it, give it attention.

But after a while

They start to forget.

A few months pass

And the seashell has never come down from its shelf.

No one has asked about it,

No one takes any notice of it anymore.

But the collector still holds onto it,

Because maybe there is some worth still hidden,

Maybe it can prove itself still beautiful.

But soon it looses all value in their eyes.

They notice all the cracks,

All the scrapes,

All the flaws,

And it disgusts them.

So they throw it away.


You see, darling,

I am the seashell.

And the collector? The admirers?

They are everyone else.

– kh.

© March 2015 | Sacramento, California

Fathom (Subliminal)

This week’s assignment was to write the fifth chapter of one of our classmates’ novellas, and I decided to write Sarah’s. This will be interesting since I have no idea what she had in mind to come next, and I decided not to go back and look at her novel analysis, so all I had to go on was what I know from the story already (I’m making things way too difficult for myself…) I apologize in advance, Sarah, if this is absolutely horrible–I barely know what I’m doing, and I definitely just butchered your plot. *hides in shame* But either way, this was fun–I think I enjoyed writing this more than my own story. 🙂

Sarah’s Actual Chapter 5

Continue reading “Fathom (Subliminal)”

25. Rain, Rain…

Rain, rain, where are you?

California needs you, too!

Don’t forget the West, will you?!

For those of you who need some perspective…the last time it properly rained here where I live, my best friend, her little sister, and I all ran outside in our pajamas and danced around the neighborhood until we were soaked. We were literally the happiest people on the planet–it was like the Oopma Loompas had started dumping the entire supply of Willy Wonka’s factory onto our heads–it was glorious, and it was also eight months ago. X.X And so for those of you who are like “Rain, rain, go away, come again NEVER” feel free to send us as much as you like…

Rain, rain, where are you?

California needs you, too…

~ Hoài-Linh

Old Soul

She stands behind the window, staring out at an empty street. Not a movement, not a sound, not a breath of air. The stillness haunts her mind. She lives in the heart of the suburbs, yet she sees a ghost town–people retreating into their homes, closing the doors, throwing away the keys. The souls of the children, once free, now wrapping themselves around the glow of a million deadly screens.

Where is the spirit that once roamed the streets? Untouched freedom; a chance to breathe? In her mind’s eye, she sees it; a world busy with life. Tiny footsteps on the road, laughter ringing through the air. The simple wave of a neighbor as she passes by; the blanket of safety, even at night. A sense of community felt by all, the young and the old, one family.

But now all that is gone. The streets are a trap. No more footsteps and laughter, not a car passing by. What once was a town is now a graveyard. The soul of a bustling world gone to rest.

Her heart yearns for this world’s resurrection.

But what can she do?

She’s just a young girl born in the wrong generation.

~ Hoài-Linh