Post by maidenofsilence on Nov 12, 2010 13:52:16 GMT -6
Well, I kind of need some help. I'm going to a flashfiction reading on Friday and I'm having some extreme issues with figuring out either what to read(of what I've already written) or what to write for it. I have a few quick things to chose from and any random inspiring words or character traits thrown at me would help a bunch too!
#1-Annalise and the Rain(303 words)
When I woke, the air smelled thick with rain and darkness. Something hinted on honey as well, I thought, though it might have been my imagination. Turning on my bedside lamp, I’d cast my gaze to the window and found some purchase on the sill as I went over to sit. I watched in silence, the raindrops running down the windowpane. No light broke through the clouds, not a star showed its face, the moon had locked itself away behind storm grey curtains. This, the nineteenth month of rainfall, was bordering on insane.
Humans can’t grow gills and swim, I’d shouted to the sky after four months without seeing sunlight. ON the twelfth month I’d stopped yelling every waking moment. Midway through month sixteen, I’d given up. Now, looking out the window, I counted headlights as the few still working cars ssped past on flooded roads. Oh, there, the misty signal that a Ford F250 has just sped by on the highway that runs by the house. It’s cold, but the electricity’s been out for a week—this is nothing new. An owl calls close by, but the wind and rain hunt down the sound and prey upon it.
Dully, I wait, like the animals sheltering under the overhang of our sagging roof, for the morning. Another light flashes by, I’ve nearly forgotten to count it. The owl hoots again, low in mourning. Another bird I cannot name shrills in answer. Something big brushes along the wall beneath the window, but it’s too dark to tell exactly what it is. I return to my bed, though it’s gone cold and damp while I was not tucked away in heat reflecting sheets. It’s just me and the animals, waiting for the rain to stop, for the morning, for the sun that will never come
#2- Hate(this is about a year old, 473 words)
Hate is an ugly thing. It is something everyone feels at some point. When the word hate is said to me, the first definition that comes to mind is the noun. I think hate is an entity all its own—and not one anyone would wish to tangle with. I think humans are hateful creatures, always needing a wall or another person to push against. There are a lot of people who are hateful for no apparent reason. There is always a reason—there is a reason for everything, you may just have to take a closer look to find it.
I have experienced much more than enough hate for my short life; on both ends, receiving and giving. Hate is like a disease; it spreads and grows until it decays not the body, but mind and soul. Hate is also like a growing war that the world has to fight, it has to be stopped early or it will grow beyond control. Being an only child, I guess I didn’t understand ‘Hate’ or ‘Apathy’ very well when I was young. They were foreign concepts to me, but I understood a few things; a lot of people were not happy, and neither was I.
It was not until around this time last year that with the help of some very special people I learned a very important fact that made me happy again; hate and sadness are reversible if you work hard enough to reverse them. That is the way I have learned to help people; I now know my job for now in my community, I have to make people happy.
There is always a choice in life; it is simply a matter of choosing the right option. The right option is different for everyone. Hate is also optional, and a hard decision to make for many of us. There is a quote on my mother’s kitchen cabinet. What it says is this; “I think there is a choice possible to us at any moment, but there is no sacrifice. There is a choice and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.” I think it is better to choose to love in any situation; much better than choosing to hate. It is easier to love and help others love than to hate, though it seems to many as though hating is easier. It is better for the community, the world, if just one person stops and thinks hard enough to learn to love. So perhaps, by writing this, if I change just one person then perhaps the entire world will learn by example of the others. Maybe, if I change just one person to love by writing these meaningless, inconsequential words, I may make at least a little bit of human society happy.
#3- The Lasagna Piece(455 words)
Celystia looked around at the room full of her friends.
“Lasagna is spelled really weird,” she announced.
“Isn’t it spelled L-A-S-A-N-I-A?” Fortepiano asked, examining his nails.
“You can’t spell,” Angel muttered, “It’s L-A-Z-A-N-Y-A.”
“Wrong.” Solloria sharpened her knife, muttering curses.
“L-A-S-A-G-N-A,” Kirin silenced the room.
“I hate to admit it, but Kirin’s right.” It was Celystia who broke into Kirin’s quiet. She was the only one who dared.
“Of course I am, you female.” Kirin drew his broadsword from the sheath on the table, and stealing Solloria’s sharpening stone, worked on the blade with utmost concentration.
“You female? That’s the best you’ve got?” Celystia laughed in his face. He seized her mind with his and made her throw herself against a wall.
“Burn, little lady,” Fortepiano laughed.
“Who wants to burn?” Flare grinned out from under the bright ginger hair that hung over his dazzling blue eyes.
“No one, Mr. Firedancer,” Celystia groaned as she picked herself up from the wall.
“But, but, but…” Flare protested.
Angel glanced at his watch, “I really should be going, you know how long interdimensional travel takes and I wanna go home tonight.”
“About two seconds. And why not stay here? We have the beds, this mansion’s practically a hotel. Anyway, you wouldn’t even be the only guy, Kirin always stays to escape the dreaded fiancé back at home and Fortepiano lives here.” Celystia looked up at the clock. It was late.
“No, really, Falcon will miss me. I’m going.” Angel gazed around for his umbrella.
The others said their goodbyes as the prince left their presence with a tiny pop. A few others followed his example, leaving only Kirin, Fortepiano and Celystia.
“Lasagna…L-A-S-A-N-G-A…” Celystia muttered.
“Wrong, L-A-S-A-G-N-A,” Kirin corrected her.
“Lasagna is tasty.” Celystia’s eyes went misty.
“What’s with you and Lasagna tonight?” Fortepiano pushed his black bangs out of his eyes.
“I don’t know… Hey Kirin, would you make me some Lasagna?” Celystia turned on the puppy-dog eyes.
“Hell no.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“But…but..but...” Celystia teared up.
“Oh fine, don’t cry.” Kirin stalked off into the kitchen.
“You are so weird, Tia,” Fortepiano laughed.
“Wanna play monopoly?” ‘Lystia asked, pulling the game-box out of a closet.
“Yes, but it’s kinda hard with two people.”
“Go get Kirin then.”
“Isn’t he making you lasagna? L-A-S-A-G-N-A . Whatever, okay.” Forte scampered off to the kitchen.
The guys came back a moment later.
“We don’t have any lasagna noodles, Lystia.” Kirin was attempting to smooth his black bangs into place.
“Gah, whatever let’s play.” Celystia traced figures on the box.
“I don’t know how,” Kirin admitted.
“You’ll learn as you go. What piece do you want, Tia?” Fortepiano opened the box after stealing it out of Celystia’s hands.
“The Lasagna Piece.”
#4- Red Riding Hood(513 words)
With a small sigh, the wind let up, and allowed the clouds to shade the placid mountain town where a short blonde boy was saddling his horse. His name was Red, though his appearance wouldn’t show it. He had blue eyes and wore only dark grey. The only hint of red about him or his horse was a crimson ribbon tied around his wrist. Hiding his barcode. All Slaves got one; a number that marked them as objects that, in the year of 3012, were sold legally for sport hunting and eternal servitude. With a small shake of his head, the boy swung into his saddle and was off into the darkness of the clouded sun.
It was a city he was headed for, the Feral City; the city of lost Slaves. Or what was left of it, anyway. Most Slaves called the Feral City death waiting to happen for any fool enough to set foot there. But Red knew not to be scared of death in a city that he discerned still held the final escape from mankind for Slaves; the Grandmother. In legend, she was said to be the mother of all creatures, in story she was a hag who knew the fates, in myth she was one of their number, and in reality, no one was quite sure because whoever went to see her never returned.
Red was off to see the Grandmother, whether she be in business only to kill Slaves or to free them. Maybe both, if he thought about it hard enough. Red laughed at that, a lady who got kicks out of killing Slaves in the mindset that she was freeing them. It didn’t matter much, though, Red had been a Slave born to be hunted. Death was always just a misstep away.
For three days and two nights, Red rode towards the sunset. He kept up pace, and barely stopped to let his horse rest. By the time the pair; horse and boy, reached the ruins of a sparkling ruby-encrusted city, they were both badly deprived of sleep and energy. But Red still had his wits about him, and he released his horse, knowing what might lay within the Feral City. The Slave boy untied his ribbon and released it to the breeze; as a streak of blood, it touched the sky, and then was swept away by a gasping wind. He smiled.
The gates of the city were broken in, as were the walls that used to protect it. With a dark grey boot, Red nudged the gate out of his path. The city itself was worse than the walls and the gate. No house was standing and no bird sung for the people that weren’t there anymore. What had once been a great Slave city, was now the home for unmoving stone. And then something caught Red’s eye. The movement of something grey beyond the rock. And then before him stood a wolf, twice the size of any wolf Red had ever met, and it smiled down on him with sharp, shimmering teeth.
#5- But still, he loved(needs heavy editing, 578 words)
Magic. It was easily found in any land of the world in which Norn lived. He had it, and since you are reading this, so must you. Magic comes in many forms. Knowledge, will, hope, sense, beginning, ending, love. Norn loved, and that was the magic he received from New York City. Norn was often ridiculed for his love. But still, he loved. He was never loved. But still, he loved.
Marla glared at Norn, contempt in her eyes. She had never loved him. But still, he loved.
Jarred didn’t even trust Norn, he just kept leaving Norn hanging. But still, he loved.
Norn’s mother sent him away when he was young. She never welcomed him back. But still, he loved.
Norn’s home had been small, old, weak. It fell on the fourteenth of May, 2009. But still, he loved.
Sarah had cried when Norn told her he cared. She pushed him away with all her mind. But still, he loved.
The books in the library never let Norn know the secrets of the world. They were sealed to him. But still, he loved.
The pens on Norn’s desk never moved. His white paper was never touched. But still, he loved.
Norn was a good student, his teachers called him a troublemaker. But still, he loved.
Norn’s father beat him before he left, cried in drunken rages. But still, he loved.
The sky turned red only for Norn, it rained down hard and heavy and cold and wet on his head. But still, he loved.
Norn’s garden wouldn’t bloom for him. The flowers seemed to hate him too. But still, he loved.
Norn had two cats. They were twin kittens who never paid him any mind. But still, he loved.
The city deafened Norn. The lights were just too bright, and the people just too many. But still, he loved.
All Norn’s lightbulbs burnt out July seventeenth, 2018, when he was twenty-one. But still he loved.
Norn never touched a bottle after his father showed him examples numbering too many. But still, he loved.
Even the stray dogs ran from Norn when he set out leftovers. They whined when he approached. But still, he loved.
Norn married at twenty-six, the fourth of September, 2023. He married a woman who didn’t love him. But still, he loved.
Norn divorced for the third time at thirty-one, the seventh of August, 2028. But still, he loved.
Norn lived alone until he was thirty-seven. On the twenty-eighth of June, 2036, Norn made a friend who didn’t really care. But still, he loved.
Norn’s friend, Charlie, moved in with him a year later. He was cold and distance. But still, he loved.
Norn and Charlie lived together for eight years, silent. But still, he loved.
Charlie left without a trace, or word after one more year of quiet. Norn was forty-six then, in 2045. And he was alone again. But still, he loved.
Norn was alone until he was fifty-nine. He got sick then, and moved permanently to a hospital. But still, he loved.
Norn never recovered from the illness. Nor did he have friends at the hospital. But still, he loved.
Norn lived longer than he’d wished. And not once did he laugh. Not once did he get a chance to smile. But still, he loved.
Norn was ninety-seven, when he died. It was the fourth of September, 3006. He died smiling, because even if he was never loved, Norn still loved.
#1-Annalise and the Rain(303 words)
When I woke, the air smelled thick with rain and darkness. Something hinted on honey as well, I thought, though it might have been my imagination. Turning on my bedside lamp, I’d cast my gaze to the window and found some purchase on the sill as I went over to sit. I watched in silence, the raindrops running down the windowpane. No light broke through the clouds, not a star showed its face, the moon had locked itself away behind storm grey curtains. This, the nineteenth month of rainfall, was bordering on insane.
Humans can’t grow gills and swim, I’d shouted to the sky after four months without seeing sunlight. ON the twelfth month I’d stopped yelling every waking moment. Midway through month sixteen, I’d given up. Now, looking out the window, I counted headlights as the few still working cars ssped past on flooded roads. Oh, there, the misty signal that a Ford F250 has just sped by on the highway that runs by the house. It’s cold, but the electricity’s been out for a week—this is nothing new. An owl calls close by, but the wind and rain hunt down the sound and prey upon it.
Dully, I wait, like the animals sheltering under the overhang of our sagging roof, for the morning. Another light flashes by, I’ve nearly forgotten to count it. The owl hoots again, low in mourning. Another bird I cannot name shrills in answer. Something big brushes along the wall beneath the window, but it’s too dark to tell exactly what it is. I return to my bed, though it’s gone cold and damp while I was not tucked away in heat reflecting sheets. It’s just me and the animals, waiting for the rain to stop, for the morning, for the sun that will never come
#2- Hate(this is about a year old, 473 words)
Hate is an ugly thing. It is something everyone feels at some point. When the word hate is said to me, the first definition that comes to mind is the noun. I think hate is an entity all its own—and not one anyone would wish to tangle with. I think humans are hateful creatures, always needing a wall or another person to push against. There are a lot of people who are hateful for no apparent reason. There is always a reason—there is a reason for everything, you may just have to take a closer look to find it.
I have experienced much more than enough hate for my short life; on both ends, receiving and giving. Hate is like a disease; it spreads and grows until it decays not the body, but mind and soul. Hate is also like a growing war that the world has to fight, it has to be stopped early or it will grow beyond control. Being an only child, I guess I didn’t understand ‘Hate’ or ‘Apathy’ very well when I was young. They were foreign concepts to me, but I understood a few things; a lot of people were not happy, and neither was I.
It was not until around this time last year that with the help of some very special people I learned a very important fact that made me happy again; hate and sadness are reversible if you work hard enough to reverse them. That is the way I have learned to help people; I now know my job for now in my community, I have to make people happy.
There is always a choice in life; it is simply a matter of choosing the right option. The right option is different for everyone. Hate is also optional, and a hard decision to make for many of us. There is a quote on my mother’s kitchen cabinet. What it says is this; “I think there is a choice possible to us at any moment, but there is no sacrifice. There is a choice and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.” I think it is better to choose to love in any situation; much better than choosing to hate. It is easier to love and help others love than to hate, though it seems to many as though hating is easier. It is better for the community, the world, if just one person stops and thinks hard enough to learn to love. So perhaps, by writing this, if I change just one person then perhaps the entire world will learn by example of the others. Maybe, if I change just one person to love by writing these meaningless, inconsequential words, I may make at least a little bit of human society happy.
#3- The Lasagna Piece(455 words)
Celystia looked around at the room full of her friends.
“Lasagna is spelled really weird,” she announced.
“Isn’t it spelled L-A-S-A-N-I-A?” Fortepiano asked, examining his nails.
“You can’t spell,” Angel muttered, “It’s L-A-Z-A-N-Y-A.”
“Wrong.” Solloria sharpened her knife, muttering curses.
“L-A-S-A-G-N-A,” Kirin silenced the room.
“I hate to admit it, but Kirin’s right.” It was Celystia who broke into Kirin’s quiet. She was the only one who dared.
“Of course I am, you female.” Kirin drew his broadsword from the sheath on the table, and stealing Solloria’s sharpening stone, worked on the blade with utmost concentration.
“You female? That’s the best you’ve got?” Celystia laughed in his face. He seized her mind with his and made her throw herself against a wall.
“Burn, little lady,” Fortepiano laughed.
“Who wants to burn?” Flare grinned out from under the bright ginger hair that hung over his dazzling blue eyes.
“No one, Mr. Firedancer,” Celystia groaned as she picked herself up from the wall.
“But, but, but…” Flare protested.
Angel glanced at his watch, “I really should be going, you know how long interdimensional travel takes and I wanna go home tonight.”
“About two seconds. And why not stay here? We have the beds, this mansion’s practically a hotel. Anyway, you wouldn’t even be the only guy, Kirin always stays to escape the dreaded fiancé back at home and Fortepiano lives here.” Celystia looked up at the clock. It was late.
“No, really, Falcon will miss me. I’m going.” Angel gazed around for his umbrella.
The others said their goodbyes as the prince left their presence with a tiny pop. A few others followed his example, leaving only Kirin, Fortepiano and Celystia.
“Lasagna…L-A-S-A-N-G-A…” Celystia muttered.
“Wrong, L-A-S-A-G-N-A,” Kirin corrected her.
“Lasagna is tasty.” Celystia’s eyes went misty.
“What’s with you and Lasagna tonight?” Fortepiano pushed his black bangs out of his eyes.
“I don’t know… Hey Kirin, would you make me some Lasagna?” Celystia turned on the puppy-dog eyes.
“Hell no.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“But…but..but...” Celystia teared up.
“Oh fine, don’t cry.” Kirin stalked off into the kitchen.
“You are so weird, Tia,” Fortepiano laughed.
“Wanna play monopoly?” ‘Lystia asked, pulling the game-box out of a closet.
“Yes, but it’s kinda hard with two people.”
“Go get Kirin then.”
“Isn’t he making you lasagna? L-A-S-A-G-N-A . Whatever, okay.” Forte scampered off to the kitchen.
The guys came back a moment later.
“We don’t have any lasagna noodles, Lystia.” Kirin was attempting to smooth his black bangs into place.
“Gah, whatever let’s play.” Celystia traced figures on the box.
“I don’t know how,” Kirin admitted.
“You’ll learn as you go. What piece do you want, Tia?” Fortepiano opened the box after stealing it out of Celystia’s hands.
“The Lasagna Piece.”
#4- Red Riding Hood(513 words)
With a small sigh, the wind let up, and allowed the clouds to shade the placid mountain town where a short blonde boy was saddling his horse. His name was Red, though his appearance wouldn’t show it. He had blue eyes and wore only dark grey. The only hint of red about him or his horse was a crimson ribbon tied around his wrist. Hiding his barcode. All Slaves got one; a number that marked them as objects that, in the year of 3012, were sold legally for sport hunting and eternal servitude. With a small shake of his head, the boy swung into his saddle and was off into the darkness of the clouded sun.
It was a city he was headed for, the Feral City; the city of lost Slaves. Or what was left of it, anyway. Most Slaves called the Feral City death waiting to happen for any fool enough to set foot there. But Red knew not to be scared of death in a city that he discerned still held the final escape from mankind for Slaves; the Grandmother. In legend, she was said to be the mother of all creatures, in story she was a hag who knew the fates, in myth she was one of their number, and in reality, no one was quite sure because whoever went to see her never returned.
Red was off to see the Grandmother, whether she be in business only to kill Slaves or to free them. Maybe both, if he thought about it hard enough. Red laughed at that, a lady who got kicks out of killing Slaves in the mindset that she was freeing them. It didn’t matter much, though, Red had been a Slave born to be hunted. Death was always just a misstep away.
For three days and two nights, Red rode towards the sunset. He kept up pace, and barely stopped to let his horse rest. By the time the pair; horse and boy, reached the ruins of a sparkling ruby-encrusted city, they were both badly deprived of sleep and energy. But Red still had his wits about him, and he released his horse, knowing what might lay within the Feral City. The Slave boy untied his ribbon and released it to the breeze; as a streak of blood, it touched the sky, and then was swept away by a gasping wind. He smiled.
The gates of the city were broken in, as were the walls that used to protect it. With a dark grey boot, Red nudged the gate out of his path. The city itself was worse than the walls and the gate. No house was standing and no bird sung for the people that weren’t there anymore. What had once been a great Slave city, was now the home for unmoving stone. And then something caught Red’s eye. The movement of something grey beyond the rock. And then before him stood a wolf, twice the size of any wolf Red had ever met, and it smiled down on him with sharp, shimmering teeth.
#5- But still, he loved(needs heavy editing, 578 words)
Magic. It was easily found in any land of the world in which Norn lived. He had it, and since you are reading this, so must you. Magic comes in many forms. Knowledge, will, hope, sense, beginning, ending, love. Norn loved, and that was the magic he received from New York City. Norn was often ridiculed for his love. But still, he loved. He was never loved. But still, he loved.
Marla glared at Norn, contempt in her eyes. She had never loved him. But still, he loved.
Jarred didn’t even trust Norn, he just kept leaving Norn hanging. But still, he loved.
Norn’s mother sent him away when he was young. She never welcomed him back. But still, he loved.
Norn’s home had been small, old, weak. It fell on the fourteenth of May, 2009. But still, he loved.
Sarah had cried when Norn told her he cared. She pushed him away with all her mind. But still, he loved.
The books in the library never let Norn know the secrets of the world. They were sealed to him. But still, he loved.
The pens on Norn’s desk never moved. His white paper was never touched. But still, he loved.
Norn was a good student, his teachers called him a troublemaker. But still, he loved.
Norn’s father beat him before he left, cried in drunken rages. But still, he loved.
The sky turned red only for Norn, it rained down hard and heavy and cold and wet on his head. But still, he loved.
Norn’s garden wouldn’t bloom for him. The flowers seemed to hate him too. But still, he loved.
Norn had two cats. They were twin kittens who never paid him any mind. But still, he loved.
The city deafened Norn. The lights were just too bright, and the people just too many. But still, he loved.
All Norn’s lightbulbs burnt out July seventeenth, 2018, when he was twenty-one. But still he loved.
Norn never touched a bottle after his father showed him examples numbering too many. But still, he loved.
Even the stray dogs ran from Norn when he set out leftovers. They whined when he approached. But still, he loved.
Norn married at twenty-six, the fourth of September, 2023. He married a woman who didn’t love him. But still, he loved.
Norn divorced for the third time at thirty-one, the seventh of August, 2028. But still, he loved.
Norn lived alone until he was thirty-seven. On the twenty-eighth of June, 2036, Norn made a friend who didn’t really care. But still, he loved.
Norn’s friend, Charlie, moved in with him a year later. He was cold and distance. But still, he loved.
Norn and Charlie lived together for eight years, silent. But still, he loved.
Charlie left without a trace, or word after one more year of quiet. Norn was forty-six then, in 2045. And he was alone again. But still, he loved.
Norn was alone until he was fifty-nine. He got sick then, and moved permanently to a hospital. But still, he loved.
Norn never recovered from the illness. Nor did he have friends at the hospital. But still, he loved.
Norn lived longer than he’d wished. And not once did he laugh. Not once did he get a chance to smile. But still, he loved.
Norn was ninety-seven, when he died. It was the fourth of September, 3006. He died smiling, because even if he was never loved, Norn still loved.