Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: poetry

  • Story example: Shower of Superpower – 26/07/19

    Story example: Shower of Superpower – 26/07/19

    The Shower helped you slip into an outfit more comfortable.

    It was a little known fact in the town of Wertferdshire that the public toilet and shower block possessed much power. Only among the adults was this subject made privy, for their children and other younger folk, the fact was unknown, and to share it with them would be unforgiving.

    In Shower Block C, with its scummy algae scale and potential living disease lurked a shower that was most potent indeed. While its water was painfully cold, the powers it provided were available for the wise and old, for a day, the shower would transform one into a superhero or super character, their dreams becoming vibrantly real and bold!

    The type of superpower that the Shower would provide was determined by the depth of hope and courage one possessed inside. For example, for the courageous Mr. Skin, he stepped into that spurting wash of frozen water and left with a second, impenetrable scaly green reptilian skin. Whereas Mrs Meek, while hopeful she were, she shook and trembled at the idea of being something else that was usually not within her. And escape did she, as a large, powerful Mouse, Mouse Woman she was known of that day, and didn’t she ransack her enemy, Mrs. Shingle’s, house!

    One morning, Mister Fire Chief’s son followed him to work early. He loved to skip school, and play hookey. And witness did he, his father entering the seemingly abandoned, derelict shower block, and exit as a Marshall with hoses strapped to his chest, fire extinguishers upon his back, and a trailing fire truck behind him on a string at that. Aghast, yet amazed, and utterly impressed, his son giggled to himself, and decided to keep this secret close to his chest. The next morning he would follow his father inside quietly, and learn and watch the magic develop and change him. Then he could be a superhero, if only for one day! He would attend school and wow the schoolkids away.

    But the Shower of Superpower was an intelligent sort. He knew when he had been detected, and when he was about to be caught. He did not want the young children to have this escape, for it was only for the tired adults with their monotonous lives that he wanted to assist and allow their stresses to vacate. If all the children knew, then what would be the use in their ability to daydream, to write silly stories, to draw as they pleased? Most adults of this town weren’t afforded that right, they were required to work, work, and work, most of their lives.

    So the Shower, quietly at night, decided to up and leave, of this town of Wertferdshire it was time to be free. To seek another town, to set up premises and become known from utterly unknown, the curiosity and joy the adults would feel from exploring his power providing style on their own.

    And when the Fire Chief’s son crept into the shower block, he saw nothing different, nothing out of sorts. Simply his father having a quick free shower, because the price of water was far too expensive at home, with disappointment and sadness, the son softly groaned. Perhaps the image he saw yesterday was but an illusion, perhaps he had fallen down and suffered a concussion, or maybe he slipped into daydream and fantasy and imagined his dad in a fire-fighting superhero way, either option, his uncertainty would remain. He kept this secret to himself, fearing judgement, until his dying day.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Drawing and Checklist: How To Be Turtley Awesome at Life 101 – 26/07/19

    Drawing and Checklist: How To Be Turtley Awesome at Life 101 – 26/07/19

    How to turtley rock at life.


    ·         Never hide, ashamed inside your shell, always reveal your true character confidently, and be yourself!

    ·         Don’t be afraid to express the ideas in your mind, for others will appreciate your thoughts of this kind.

    ·         Look in the mirror and smile, you are beautiful, one in a million, you are yourself in your own detailed style!

    ·         Be friendly, be wise, be kind, treat others with respect, every single moment, to do this there is always time.

    ·         Love the ones close to you, and love those who cannot love themselves too.

    ·         Extend a helping hand, be a good Samaritan, sometimes others cannot help themselves, but sadly, some could not give a damn.

    ·         Be the shining, fluorescent self you were born to be, light the way for yourself and others, take a leadership role, this is wise indeed.

    ·         Explore the world for its passageways and journeys, it’s your story, this is your life.

    ·         But most of all, HAVE FUN in life, be turtley awesome, and avoid getting into unnecessary strife.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: The Pear Who Lost Her Shape – 26/07/19

    Story example: The Pear Who Lost Her Shape – 26/07/19

    Lucy unintentionally became unhealthier and gaunt.

    Lucy the Pear had always been of a hefty size. Because of this, throughout her primary and secondary schooling years she had been bullied relentless, emotionally tortured, several times a day she couldn’t help but hide in the bathrooms and sometimes sob hysterically, or even just silently cry. Her tormentors would follow her into the bathroom – she was not even afforded the time to personally self soothe. Cruel and nasty were her bullies that they’d relish verbally attacking Lucy as soon as she reached the school doors; some even waited for her at the oval’s gates, where she walked inside the premises each day, shaking to herself, thinking, “Will they tease me some more?”

    It was utterly disgusting that Lucy had to deal with such atrocious behaviour, for thirteen long years she tried to hold her composure, and despite keeping their behaviour a secret – she did not want to be a burden – she came closer and closer to deep depression with her great suffering. Telling Mum or Dad would result in no end, of their telling her she should not care. For, she had once suggested that she was being bullied, and her Mother and Father poo-poohed the idea of this.

    “What could they possibly bully you about?” her father had demanded. “Your weight? YOUR WEIGHT? Why, you’re perfectly normal sized for a rich crispy treat to be devoured.” He went on to say that they should thank their lucky stars that Lucy was such a confident, strong, and self assured fruit, that nothing could break her skin, their rudeness would never succeed nor compute.

    By the end of schooling, Lucy had had enough. She wanted to lose her shape, just… because. Nothing to prove the bullies right, the idea that image was of more importance, that she’d starve herself just to feel alive, no! It was for herself, for her peace of mind, as well as her health. While Lucy was not extremely overweight, she was unhealthy. Her doctor had mentioned this to her on more than one occasion, and never, ever briefly. He had placed her through stress tests to check her fitness, checked her blood levels, her cholesterol and discovered the results were certainly less than the best, and he urged Lucy, on multiple occasions to take care of her health, internally, not simply visually and superficially.

    This was it, the month after graduation, she kick started her healthy lifestyle with a new diet and a fresh new exercise regime to be performed daily. And how she worked so hard over the next six months, until finally, slowly, others began to notice her gaunt face, her bulging calf muscles and grew concerned, but Lucy said, “Enough is never enough!” She’d continue on with her obsessive daily exercise onslaught, in fact, she was now exercising three times a day, each an hour and a half time slot. She barely ate these days, egg white omelettes made of three eggs were her main source of protein, she stayed well away from carbohydrates, and for dinner only ate lean meat and greens.

    Then one day, she encountered a crunch of pears roaming the street, they jeered, pointed, beckoned, cackled that she was far too thin.

    “What happened to your shape, lady?” one cat called at her.

    “Yeah, why are those little pears following you? Bad role model you most certainly are!” With shock, Lucy scurried away, and in a passing shop window, she glanced at her reflection and decided to remain there, to stay. She suddenly realised she looked terribly ill, like a pear undergone emotional torture, stressors only more in store. Her facial skin sagged from lack of fatty tissue underneath, her cheekbones protruded, her jaw line jutted, with wonder and amazement she thought, “Why could not I see?” From buxom and curvy, to now deathly thin and incredibly unhealthy, she knew she must rectify this.

    Having swung from one polar to the other, her aim was to feel satisfied with being in the middle of one another. To have time work holistically on oneself, yet time to relax, within the stress and whirlwind of life within themselves. Two recently acquired friends who she had met in the street, Steve and Amanda, kept her mind on her dream. To be healthy and look after herself, and regain some of her delightful curves which should be seen. After all, she was a pear, she was meant to be known for her crunch and curves to slink a hand along. Within the next three months, Lucy, with the emotional support of Steve and Amanda, regained a healthy weight, and obtained much confidence and personal happiness which she had never felt before – it made her want to burst out into song. They celebrated nightly, humming and singing along.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: Mugshots of a Famous Mug – 25/07/19

    Story example: Mugshots of a Famous Mug – 25/07/19

    Barry was interrupted on his way to work.

    Barry the Mug led an ordinary life. He woke, put the coffee on, fixed breakfast for his disabled wife. They sat together as he quietly sliced her pancakes into smaller pieces, it made it easier for her to tackle, one of the many difficulties that existed for her to experience and slowly handle. Then off to work at the canning factory Barry would go, his wife would be okay, for their son, Desmond, was her official carer, Barry had to work, the money had to come in somehow.

    Then hours into the shift, he was afforded a short break, he puffed on a cigarette hastily, wanting to finish the entirety before it was too late. This daily smoke was his true luxury, he knew it was damaging to his health, yet the feeling of relaxation pressed itself upon him like a welcoming, insistent host.

    And at three in the afternoon, time to clock off, to return to his family home, where the love was more than enough. Barry may have led a monotonous life, however what mattered was the life satisfaction and warmth that he felt for his worldly existence inside.

    One particular morning, on his walk to the factory – for Barry’s luck was quite rotten and his current car had many things wrong with it – a man approached him with great curiosity.

    “Why, sir! Please stop!” he pleaded, insisting with an irksomely eager tone. “Sir, please! Now! You have to know!” Barry ceased his trudging steps and glanced up with eyes possessing deep bags from overwork and stress, surely this man had enough gall to be speaking to the wrong mug, for his excitement was overt and too much. Barry softly responded, “Yes, how may I help?” Within the man’s eyes, glory now abounded, he wanted to share much, to allow Barry to know.

    “You, my friend, are a unique piece of art, with your green shadings, and googly eyes, and intrinsically interesting mouth. Have you ever thought of modelling?” he suggested, with a wry smile upon his face. Barry could not believe this person, such discourse was not commonplace. Only beautiful girls and women were stopped in the streets for this, this man’s excitement was essentially an entire waste upon him.

    “No, no, I think you have the wrong mug,” he said, smiling modestly, and making out as though to walk away. After all, every minute that one was late to work meant another dollar taken away. It was an unfair policy, to be sure, but that was the manner in which the bosses kept the workers in line, their managers smugly assured.

    “Stop!” the man said, suddenly grabbing Barry’s handle with a vice-like grip of his hand as a hook. “You must believe me. You will be the next Booth.” (Booth was the world’s greatest supermodel, he had also been discovered walking the streets, and though Barry thought it was highly unlikely he was similar, this man had such breathiness and glee about Barry to speak.) Still unsure, he arranged to meet this man over the weekend, and have some photos taken. Apparently he was incredibly photogenic, the man said he could see it most certainly indeed, he was, “a viewfinder into heaven”.

    Although the photo shoot made Barry uncomfortable, for he was modest and embarrassed by his grotesque appearance and odd looks, he allowed the man to become his agent, and overnight, why, would one believe, that he became an utter success! Soon his face was splashed across advertisements, the television shows, interviews with hosts, travelling the world, flying and meeting dignitaries and experiencing what life had to offer him and his family the most.

    Who knew what made him so spectacularly successful, perhaps it was that he was different, something in the ceramics that made his glaze and character appear so utterly unique and different. Now he’s working on a biographical movie, named ‘Mugshots of a Famous Mug’, which details his life story from simple, hard working mug, to bright shiny model to be not only seen, but heard. For while Barry has his face well known, he is also passionate about world events, and human rights, and speaks widely of these does he, for his words and his looks he is renowned and his opinions can only develop and grow.

    ‘Mugshots of a Famous Mug’, is out in August 16th, 2022, and Barry is most excited for you to come and view.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

    *This mug is a real item in circulation, a gift from my mother, sourced from an op shop. As it only has “Made in China” written on it, I am unable to mention a designer or maker.

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  • Story example: Christine the Curious Crab – 24/07/19

    Story example: Christine the Curious Crab – 24/07/19

    Christine explored with her special, unique skill.

    Christine the Crab was an adventurer. Her heart leaped at the promise of exciting exploration and wild adventures. She tried to investigate the sand dunes but they were tiresome and boring to her, miniscule grains of sand upon a million more, what point was there to continue to explore? Besides, the climate of the dunes was far too scorching for her, she’d become a pickled, bright red crab meal if she weren’t careful enough, of this she was most assured!

    So she travelled in time to her forest friends and their luscious greenery to view, their little crevasses, mossy undertakings, so much more to sniff, touch and view! But I hear you think aloud, “Did she say time travel?” Of this, Christine was most proud, to have developed the ability to rush back and forth into time and certain areas that she’d already visited quite cheerily. Merrily, she showed off, showcased her talent, it allowed her to widely explore, where did she learn it, I also hear you wonder, why of that I’ll not breathe a word more.

    There was one area she could not handle, of this she was slightly embarrassed, for a creature such as a crab must surely have certain habits. One such being accustomed to being around and freely entering water, but this little hermit crab left much for the listener and reader to ponder. Was she a land crab, or an underdeveloped marine crab who unfortunately had missed the day of learning the skill of being comfortable inside the watery depths that were begging to be had? She was disinclined to answer, for the truth she will never know, her heart beat intensely and frighteningly when she viewed the watery depths of the Great Below.

    Still, she could explore everywhere else she wanted, time travelling little crab was she, flying before someone’s dinner, and taking a bite and a sip of their tea. It is ridiculous, it’s ludicrous, how skilled Christine could be, whereby she understood her life was pretty damned well great indeed. What did it matter if she could not enter the water, her hermit crab friends could come out to welcome her, they’d meet her on her own planes and she’d show them her talents, by gosh, were they amazed.

    Encouraged by her close friends to chase her dreams of exploration, she became a true fledged adventurer with a university education. Weekly, the students would set off in the pursuit of adventure, and learn the craft of being resilient and appreciating all the world’s wonders. Strictly enforced by herself not to cheat and use her time travelling skills, Christine learned the abilities she’d missed out in self learning with persistence, strength, and a decided yearning to know more to experience and view.

    Now I see her on the television daily, she has her own instructional show, how famous has my little curious Christine become that I’m so glad to have detailed her story just so. An open time traveler, a non marine hermit oddity, why, types like her would rarely be seen. But she has made it against the odds, created a name for herself, educating the world with her knowledge, and assisting other creatures such as herself. A role model is she, and I am so very proud to say, Christine the Curious Crab has certainly and essentially found her unique way.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: The Spinning Top Who Couldn’t Spin – 24/07/19

    Story example: The Spinning Top Who Couldn’t Spin – 24/07/19

    I just couldn’t spin…


    I’m just a little baby spinning top. I’ve come into the world and flourished and grown magnitudes, from the size of a wee little finger to a baby size of ‘still most large enough’. My striped colours of beauty were splashed upon me through childhood, growing in richness and vibrancy, my ordered rainbow speaks volumes, not of a creation made daintily.

    Despite my appealing appearance, I have a secret to admit. It is a shameful thing to share with you, this I will readily admit, these words I plan to share with you, I will duly commit. When it comes to commencing the start of my movement, I’m too scared to start myself, for I cannot bring myself to move in circles, this is a delicate and difficult moment in itself. The very first time I attempted a spin, I became so nauseated deep within, I felt as though rats were scrambling in my belly, frantically searching for cheese and red wine, their teeth biting, paining in me in every way. For this was a special type of sickness, only known to me, the rats continued their running, running, running, as I hurled empty air regularly.  

     My mother instructed me to stop, shared her thoughts that perhaps I was born in the wrong body, that spinning was not my style and to cease, for she’d had enough, of watching her precious baby Spinner try to unintentionally remove her dinner, why the fact of the matter is, I was questioning myself, why wasn’t I born even a participant let alone a Spinner winner? My sister was the family champion, she could spin nonstop for seven and a half days, Father was a champion in his heyday: he lasted five and a third days. Even Mama was skilled, she took the pudding at moving for four days and three quarters, and here I was, only being able to take a cessation order.

    I could not spin for let alone a minute, yet this did not sadden me, for I had other dreams for my life and that essentially bolstered me. Being forced to be static, I could perform many things, I could sing, I could play the trumpet, I could write, draw art, I could do anything! Not living up to the pesky family name of having spinning in the skills and spinning on the brain was in fact a blessing in itself.

    For, I could do whatever I wished, and not be questioned about spinning failure any more, or anything else. It was accepted I was an oddity, that I was a family anomaly, and I was fine with this, I was multitasking daily, who wanted to be only able to spin daily? Not me, no more, no how, not me. I was the Creative Spinner of the Family.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

     
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  • Story example: Horace and his Beach Side Predicament – 23/07/19

    Story example: Horace and his Beach Side Predicament – 23/07/19

    Horace was aghast – would this be his last scene?

    Horace panted as he turned the page of Time Magazine. It was far too hot in this alleged land of paradise, too much heat within the grains between his toes, this scorching sand screaming to be felt, rather than simply seen. It did not help that he was slightly, a tad bit overweight, when he was at this size he couldn’t tolerate the heat as well as he could on slimmer times and dates. Yet he inhaled sharply, told himself to relax, he was here for a bit of ‘time out’ as his wife called it, more like of Horace she wanted to be without. Still, at her requesting of his trip, he had feigned knowledge of her secret she kept pretty, and pretended to be unaware of her secret habit of flying go-go bats, of this he was proving to not be privy.

    Then, from the waters, in the waves there came a sharp groan, as though as a massive creaking ship had appeared and was expressing its greatest fears to be heard, to be well known, a sharp CRACK and a WOOSH, and Horace raised his eyes, a cursory glance, then panic became of him, a tidal wave had appeared. He essentially needed to hastily escape with a rushing and frantic dance.

    Move not could he, he was stiffened with fright, the tidal wave rushed forth, threatening his facade of a life. His thoughts turned to his loyal yet preoccupied little Aniseed, his wife, how he wished for her to be here, holding his hand comfortingly throughout his strife. Horace now heard a cackling, now a deep chortling, morphing into a maniacal, gravelly cacophony. His eyes darted upward, and what did he view? An evilly clouded sun witnessing its fill, of Horace’s shiny form, about to be taken by either the wave or her enigmatic storm, he was, how should we say this, soon to be gone.

    Poor Horace, he hadn’t even wanted to take this trip, it was only because of Aniseed’s selfish secret dream. For she wanted to be queen and leader of the world’s team of fastest flying go-go bats, and now potentially never again of her husband would she see, would she regret unintentionally planning that? Any caring wife would be concerned, would have investigated his destination with much drive and personal style, to ensure the dangers were minimal for travel being undertaken, but research she had performed, her motives were interwoven. Perhaps the tidal wave would relocate him, allow Horace and Aniseed fresh new starts, or, who knew: Horace may even return humbled and this would be a wondrous view of a new life together for them to start.

    For the current Horace could be mean, and somewhat cruel in his manner, looking down upon apparently unworthy, lesser others, and this irked his wife Aniseed to no end. She knew that almost every being had goodness within her or him, and was equal to any other man or woman, no matter how much fortune or stature was held within, it was the character that she prized more. A dichotomy of differences, between this wife and man, all she wished for was excitement and appreciating others for their inner worth, and Horace was a simple, yet calculated man. But in this moment, when he glanced into the malicious eyes of the clouded sun, he knew he must feel this remorse for his past behaviour, that he must change for the good, from morals of almost bare nothing or even none.  

    Some might say it was an epiphany, that God had touched his soul with his very hands, but what I think it essentially was was the fear of dying an unforgiving, callous, cruel hearted man. He may have been loving to his wife, but to the others in his world, he caused them much sorrow and strife, and now in the moments before his apparent death, he had the moment to relinquish his nasty means to his ends. How he prayed to the Lord for the curtains to open, for the wave to be dissected and fold away, gone, forgotten, for the sun to clear into sunny delightful times, and suddenly – his end was no longer nigh.

    Was it all a dream? he wondered, looking into the clear blue skies, his heart was pounding, surely it meant he was a prospect to die, then shuddering, he was left wondering if it were simply a daydream or perhaps his entire reality. Nothing in this land really was what it may seem.

    Horace returned to Aniseed a changed man. His character, of his previous preposterous nature, he no longer gave a damn. He naught felt the need to uphold a character so displeasing, not when he had quite possibly been a man who’d experienced a miraculous saving.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Poem and Drawing: My Feral Pet Rock! – 23/07/19

    Poem and Drawing: My Feral Pet Rock! – 23/07/19

    Just the look of him frightened all…

    My pet rock’s gone feral! What should I do?

    My pet rock’s gone feral, how about you?

    Will you help me, assist me, to put him in his place?

    Will you guide him, and bind him, help him close his gaping frightful face?

    What can we do? 

    We cannot creep close,

    Shall we throw something into his cavern of a mouth?

    To temporarily distract my feral pet rock,

    Or else I’ll throw him in the sea to go deep down south into the depth’s dark.

    Gnashing, gnashing of his teeth,

    Begging for something to eat voraciously,

    I throw pieces of rancid meat into his hole,

    When will his energy stop? When will it go?

    Suddenly it is like he is on rewind,

    Slow motion and a falling inside,

    My feral pet rock has lost his juice,

    He’s collapsed internally and externally to view.

    Thanks to all for your help,

    You’re glorious, and wonderful to me,

    Thanks be to you all.

    For assisting and keeping me company,

    Of my pet rock we are now free of his feral mood of a disease.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: Zimmy the Fashionable Snowman Finds His Way – 23/07/19

    Story example: Zimmy the Fashionable Snowman Finds His Way – 23/07/19

    Despite his situation, Zimmy always chased his dreams.

    No one ever invited Zimmy to the table. He was forever left to his own devices, he was always cast aside with contempt and reviled. Why was this so? How could one little snowman be made to view and experience such deep pains below?

    Zimmy was always a cheery brunette, his shoulder length style healthily bouncing to and fro, his perfect follicles just begging to be seen, to be gloriously shown. He wished to be seen by the world and acknowledged for his beauty, style and grace, a showcasing of his delicate preparation and procedure that took hours upon hours to trial upon his well made-up face.

    Yet how could this dream be an actuality when he worked behind the scenes, by himself, as a bank office cleaner, no one to view him? The only times outside he faced were the short walks from the car to his work premises, and the weekend’s food errand trips, here there were no  surprises or coincidences.

    It wasn’t that Zimmy was lazy, nor lacking a sense of motivation to pursue a dream that was dandy and fine and his calling, but melt upon melting was he becoming, he knew that if his dream were to be achieved, that this was the correct and special time to be showing. Zimmy did not want to turn into a puddle before he could achieve the goal of his life. Viewed him en masse, all eyes set upon him, steely and serious, curious and admiring views, he would be the prize to be seen, a fresh faced beauty, to the industry he’d be so coveted and new.

    In the corner at home, Zimmy sat huddled away from the heat with his achingly empty belly. His malicious family smiled down upon him with mouthfuls of food which they chewed ravenously and freely.

    “Hungry, Zimmy?” his mother heckled.

    “Want some of this?” his sister hollered, presenting then detracting her loaded fork.

    “Oh, give him a break,” his father snapped, and threw him a cube of beef curry.

    Although Zimmy hated being treated differently, at least the forced starvation kept him slim and trim for his upcoming fashion show and after party. The fashion show was elegant and simple, it was quiet and hushed, an appreciation for a designer’ s talents, showcased upon Zimmy with his great figure and utter charm. This being his first official show, Zimmy was incredibly nervous, eyes red and raw and nerves just painfully so, what to do but put one foot before another upon the catwalk, and concentrate so incredibly well?

    At the end of the walkway, awaited Zimmy’s closest friends, cheering him on with voices so boisterously strong, to commend. These were his true family, not the beings who starved and abused him, these individuals who were truly providing him with emotional support and qualities of love and trust, unlike the ones who had snatched and shattered these.

    Family doesn’t have to be the clan one was born into, the bloodline of relations does not determine who is there for you, for love, honour and acceptance can come from any one, a shoulder to learn on, a smile to share, a hand to weep upon. Who is in your extended family? I’m sure you already know, and thinking about them should cause you to feel joyous, allowing a feeling of acceptance and being free to grow. A family appreciates you for you and you alone.

    Whether friends or actual blood family, they will hold you up, tell you the truth even when you don’t want to hear it, for the good of who you are, they make you become stronger from it. Your family hopefully only wants the best for you, for them to witness your life’s successes, these are what they wish could be seen. Your life’s journey. Their love for you is like a warm, gentle caress.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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  • Story example: Bubble of Happiness – 22/07/19

    Story example: Bubble of Happiness – 22/07/19

    A bubble of happiness – what’s inside of yours?

    Happiness in a bubble: what does it mean to you? To some, it means love, health, protection or security, and to others it means materialism and fortunes of the wealthy. To me, right now, happiness means this single fried chicken drumstick, food is my current mood, and I would say the state and growth of my appetite is rather inflamed and in itself quite wildly drastic. 

    The delicate crunch of the perfectly fried skin causes happiness to grow within me, such happiness deep within, while the soft inner meat of rich texture cushions my gnarling toothy, gnashing grin. Such bliss in this moment, a simple bite into an affordable treat, causes shiver of delight, permeating within.

    To many in this world, food is happiness, and for those who have it in readiness, individuals such as you and I, we should feel utterly satisfied and blessed. For the many starving within the world have no other choice than to become fainter and more gaunt, their bubble of happiness might simply be a piece of bread, or an apple, anything to chew or crunch. 

    Work on your bubble of happiness, internally caressing it day by day, nurture what is important to you, during the morning, midday, afternoon and evening, even when you lay in bed awake. And then continue to dream of your hopes and your chased dreams, for achieving your happiness is as important as it truly seems.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

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