||[Jul. 7th, 2009|07:23 pm]
The Amazing Capt. of Wonders
Some more random writing exercises done in class. Woot.|
This one we had to look at a picture and describe it from a second person POV. The pictures were all boring. This one was of a girl looking over a snowy bridge like thing across a river.
You thought you were alone that empty afternoon. Perhaps I was not close enough to reach out my hand and steady your tempered flesh, or even near enough to see your shaky form against the stone; but I was there. I was there to know your ears were devoured by the deafening plunge of subzero water pushing through a canal of rocks and falling down the stream.
Your burning palms melted calm snow as you grasped at the boundaries of your frame. What could you see down in that carved gorge that held you so rapt and stiff? I could only be there with you within the bright air of that sharp grey afternoon. I could not rest in your downturned eyes. What did you see, of let me know, that made you sure enough to jump?
These three I really don't like. Five minutes each we had to write about our surroundings, but with a different mindset for each.
The drilling is busting my head. Such a nasty, heated sound. It’s crawling in the space between my ears and laying little eggs that will one day hatch into a new deafening ring. It’s nestling in there and making me forget that Alan just died. I don’t want to be here waiting on the dusty brick. I don’t want that chilly wind to rob me of remembering.
Just got good news
Do you ever notice the sky when it’s white? I only ever hear people say ‘that sky is so clear and blue, it’s beautiful!’ But I never hear anyone mention anything about a perfectly pleasant white sky. The news told me it would snow tomorrow, and now I can’t help but look up at that goddamn wonderful white sky. I can’t help but laugh as that cool breeze brings goose pimples to my skin. My butt is freezing against this muted brick, but I don’t give a shit. Bless that white sky, and bless that promise of snow.
I put myself adjacent to the trashcan so I could make sure no one would notice what was inside. Sure, I was obvious about it, but who gives a damn? A pudgy kid in a white sweatshirt walked by and he didn’t care. A girl with long auburn hair didn’t give me a second glance. They were all wrapped up in their own little universes. Someone I knew passed me and hardly recognized my face. That trash was safe from everyone except myself.
In this one we watched a scene from Revolutionary Road and had to capture the way Frank and April argued. These are two new, random characters full of some pent up negative energy.
“It’s nice out. Like that August two years ago when we went to go visit your aunt whatshername.”
“Violet. It’s like it was on that dock. We should remember this little place. Come back alone sometime.”
He nodded towards the aquamarine lake waters as a hand stroked the white sand between them.
“She gave us our house,” her voice was a low rasp.
“Aunt Violet paid for our house Henry, the least you can do is remember her name.”
“I’m paying her back,” his hand dropped a tablespoon of sand back to the ground where a gentle breeze carried the granules an inch.
She groaned softly and laid her head back on the top of her beach chair. Her eyes were closed. His rested on her sun burnt face.
“It’s taking time Laura, it’s taking time, but I’m getting her the money.”
“She’ll die before you write the first check.”
For the next two we had to draw random story aspects from a hat.
Character: Alcoholic fireman
POV: Second Person
Setting: In a record store
Motivation: Will the money come through (I ignore this part)
You walk in because it’s a store and there may be some vents with cool air. There is no other reason for you to enter. All you notice is the humid air clogging your nostrils as the temperature rises. All you care about is that nice, cool vent. The sign is almost unreadable because your eyes are dry and filtered through the light of cheap whiskey. You think you can make out the word “record”, but then again you don’t give a damn. You just want that cool vent.
You’ve been right in the middle of raging fires. Goddamn fires, ad you’ve never felt so slathered in sweat.
But inside, inside is like heaven rolled into a corner store. Inside is a blue wave from the calmest of damn oceans; inside are puppy dogs, fairies, and unicorns.
You take in that first clear breath. With a couple of zig-zag steps you realize that a gentle, mournful music is coming from somewhere.
You assume the song originated inside your aching head, and suddenly that aching is deafening. You try to cover your ears but the sound just wont leave you.
POV: First person full of intense violence
Setting: Bank Vault
Motivation: Trying to find a stolen car
My first thought, when the bullet hit me was: “that wasn’t so bad.” My second thought was: “holy shit that bitch hurts.” The second bullet was a little worse, the third I could barely feel by then.
There wasn’t any blood, thankfully, but that just came with my calling. But there certainly were screams. Loud, B-movie screams.
Most of them, I’m sure, were not because I was shot three times in the chest by a brave pack of policemen, but because I hadn’t quite managed to die yet.
A crowd had gathered outside the vault door; two uniformed men held back a couple of troubled tellers, and from the look of it instead of calling a surgeon they had brought in a priest.
I felt little like a poor, defenseless animal surrounded by such savage eyes, discounting the fact that I had survived three fatal shots and was standing there before them with a fanged grimace clutching handfuls of bundles cash.
You’d think I had the upper hand in the situation, and immortal creature facing a confused bunch of humans.
But under the pain of three bullets, the rough yells and siren screeches, under the thousands of dollars and bank vaults, and guns, all I could think about was: “who the hell stole my car?”