stick in the mud, my fathers cabin – something i can’t really push from my mind no matter how much I wish I could. I feel like my brain sometimes is bogged down in it, down down drenched and soaking. this is the mud from my childhood, not the playful kind but the dark ones, the kind you scrub at and cant get off even with scalding water
Allie Hill
DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHEBAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sarah
It was cold, dark and muddy. He ran towards me silently, like always. Why? He wanted me. So much. And I wanted him too.
Sarah
i was walking in the mud. it was so deap. thick like chocolate. i sank in with every step.
Chelsea
the mud oozed down my dress and into my underwear. This guy was in for it. I grabbed a handful of gooey mud and chucked it at Turner’s head. His perfectly coiffed hair was now just dirty, slimy, gross M.U.D.
Otek
Mud! I thought. Gross! It was everywhere. Between my toes. Sticky. Everytime I thought I got it all, there was another bit.
Mud, something that reminds me of my childhood. Something that all kids probably played in. We didn’t care about anything, it was all just so simple. Just sitting there playing with mud. Now all we care about is how people see us. We put who knows what into our bodies. Not even knowing what it will do to us. Everything changed so much. What happened to us?
It was slimy sticking to my feet. My brother had grabbed the first stick he could find and started scratching the leeches from his legs. I couldn’t help but notice the stench of onions and a slight decaying scent of grass along the banks.
Misty
i went to the beach yesterday and the sand was almost of a muddy consistency. i sank into it like it was quick sand and crushed every shell, hermit crab and snail underneath me. when i got out i never looked so disgusting, and never felt so real.
Jnunu
Eww, no. Mud is disgusting. I don’t want to write about mud, what is this. I don’t even know what the hell you were thinking. Mud. Really. Really, now. MUD. Ugh, it’s disgusting and brown and it smells, and it tracks on the carpet..
dsgadsg
Mud. Ah, the sweet plaything that mothers despise. You can make mudpies, or, for the older ones, play tug of war. But, when playtime is over, the playground warden, the mom, has to clean up.
Mud. Does it splash or does it stick? Does it ooze or does it slide? Like an avalanche mud balls crash down on surprised tourist in their final moments. How wonderfully cruel mud is.
It covered me. It’s funny how something so foul seemed to help exfoliate my skin. It’s funny that people pay so much for something that covers the earth when it rains. The irony of it all completely astounds me.
I like the fragrance of mud when its rains.I like to make mud castle on beach
bhargav
dirty, wet, sticky, sucky, little kids play in it, saturated, rain, earth, ugly
christian
He stared across the once green field at the muddy, bloody bodies of the fallen heroes, fed into the grinder in the name of one king’s petty cause. “Where is the glory in this?” He thought, as tears fell from his eyes.
sam
I remember the first time I played in the mud with my friends, I was six years old and it was the middle of summer. We’d been playing all day and one of us decided to drop water onto the dirt and make mud pies. We got told off so badly when we got in and were covered in the mud. It clung to our clothes, and was stuck in our hair, our mothers looked at us and shook their heads.
Hannah
I was in the mud. Up to my waist. It was dirty and thick and heavy and I could not get out. The harder i pulled my legs up the deeper and more firmly entrenched I became. the mud would not let me go.
I once fell into a pile of mud. It wasn’t as bad as many might think. It was actually full of candy bars. I don’t know how the mud had candy bars but it did and I ate all of the muddy candy bars.
He flailed through the stench, sucking him down faster than he could move forwards. It burned the hairs inside his nostrils; it gathered between his teeth, gritty and foul; it stuck his eyelashes together and made his skin prickle with numerous, invisible crawling things. He didn’t panic when he could no longer move his feet. He didn’t panic when it squeezed around his chest so tight he could only pant his meagre breath in and out. He panicked when he glanced down to find the invisible crawling things had been busy and the mud surrounding him was beginning to turn a dark, dark red…
The mud turned red from the rain and blood dripping from my face. But I couldn’t give up. I didn’t know how. I struggled to my wobbly feet, only to be struck down into the mud again.
stick in the mud, my fathers cabin – something i can’t really push from my mind no matter how much I wish I could. I feel like my brain sometimes is bogged down in it, down down drenched and soaking. this is the mud from my childhood, not the playful kind but the dark ones, the kind you scrub at and cant get off even with scalding water
DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHEBAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG DOUCHE BAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was cold, dark and muddy. He ran towards me silently, like always. Why? He wanted me. So much. And I wanted him too.
i was walking in the mud. it was so deap. thick like chocolate. i sank in with every step.
the mud oozed down my dress and into my underwear. This guy was in for it. I grabbed a handful of gooey mud and chucked it at Turner’s head. His perfectly coiffed hair was now just dirty, slimy, gross M.U.D.
Mud! I thought. Gross! It was everywhere. Between my toes. Sticky. Everytime I thought I got it all, there was another bit.
I roll in mud daily, it is probably the greatest activity in the world. i do it naked…
mud. i never minded mud when i was young. i’d stomp through it. search it out just to put my barefeet in it, my hands, my imagination.
Mud, something that reminds me of my childhood. Something that all kids probably played in. We didn’t care about anything, it was all just so simple. Just sitting there playing with mud. Now all we care about is how people see us. We put who knows what into our bodies. Not even knowing what it will do to us. Everything changed so much. What happened to us?
It was slimy sticking to my feet. My brother had grabbed the first stick he could find and started scratching the leeches from his legs. I couldn’t help but notice the stench of onions and a slight decaying scent of grass along the banks.
i went to the beach yesterday and the sand was almost of a muddy consistency. i sank into it like it was quick sand and crushed every shell, hermit crab and snail underneath me. when i got out i never looked so disgusting, and never felt so real.
Eww, no. Mud is disgusting. I don’t want to write about mud, what is this. I don’t even know what the hell you were thinking. Mud. Really. Really, now. MUD. Ugh, it’s disgusting and brown and it smells, and it tracks on the carpet..
Mud. Ah, the sweet plaything that mothers despise. You can make mudpies, or, for the older ones, play tug of war. But, when playtime is over, the playground warden, the mom, has to clean up.
slimy, jeans, cool, brown, messy, fun, interesting, child’s game,
Mud. Does it splash or does it stick? Does it ooze or does it slide? Like an avalanche mud balls crash down on surprised tourist in their final moments. How wonderfully cruel mud is.
It covered me. It’s funny how something so foul seemed to help exfoliate my skin. It’s funny that people pay so much for something that covers the earth when it rains. The irony of it all completely astounds me.
I like the fragrance of mud when its rains.I like to make mud castle on beach
dirty, wet, sticky, sucky, little kids play in it, saturated, rain, earth, ugly
He stared across the once green field at the muddy, bloody bodies of the fallen heroes, fed into the grinder in the name of one king’s petty cause. “Where is the glory in this?” He thought, as tears fell from his eyes.
I remember the first time I played in the mud with my friends, I was six years old and it was the middle of summer. We’d been playing all day and one of us decided to drop water onto the dirt and make mud pies. We got told off so badly when we got in and were covered in the mud. It clung to our clothes, and was stuck in our hair, our mothers looked at us and shook their heads.
I was in the mud. Up to my waist. It was dirty and thick and heavy and I could not get out. The harder i pulled my legs up the deeper and more firmly entrenched I became. the mud would not let me go.
I once fell into a pile of mud. It wasn’t as bad as many might think. It was actually full of candy bars. I don’t know how the mud had candy bars but it did and I ate all of the muddy candy bars.
He flailed through the stench, sucking him down faster than he could move forwards. It burned the hairs inside his nostrils; it gathered between his teeth, gritty and foul; it stuck his eyelashes together and made his skin prickle with numerous, invisible crawling things. He didn’t panic when he could no longer move his feet. He didn’t panic when it squeezed around his chest so tight he could only pant his meagre breath in and out. He panicked when he glanced down to find the invisible crawling things had been busy and the mud surrounding him was beginning to turn a dark, dark red…
The mud turned red from the rain and blood dripping from my face. But I couldn’t give up. I didn’t know how. I struggled to my wobbly feet, only to be struck down into the mud again.