“Are you falling asleep on me?” Hannah asked.
Luke shook his head and kept his eyes closed. “No.”
“Then open your eyes.”
“I don’t like this song,” Luke said. “It’s ugly.”
“I agreed to come along to the bar tonight because one of your favorite bands is playing.” Hannah’s voice took on a distinct pout.
“Right - this is one of my favorite bands, and the song sounds absolutely lovely, but it looks ugly,” Luke said. He dared to open one eye and peek at Hannah, but his vision was swamped by a rush of dull, rusty oranges and dry-blood browns.
“What do you mean it looks ugly?” Hannah asked.
Luke sighed. “Didn’t Evan and the others tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Luke ran a hand through his hair. “Evan usually tells anyone who’ll listen - ever since we were kids, he acts like it’s a party trick.”
Frustration crept into the edges of Hannah’s voice. “What is it?”
“Synesthesia,” Luke said. “When music plays, I hear it - and I also see colors that go with it. Every sound has a different color, every song has a color scheme - and the scheme for this song is really, really ugly. So it’s better for everyone if I close my eyes and listen.”
“Oh,” Hannah said in a small voice. “I - do human voices give off color?”
“Some of them more than others,” Luke said. He heard the chair beside his squeak, felt a crescendo of warmth as Hannah slid closer. When she spoke next, her voice was right next to his ear.
“What color is my voice?”
“Turquoise blue, mostly,” he said. “Shades of green when you’re angry. It goes straight to purple when you’re sad. Why?”
“Just wondered.” Hannah pressed a kiss to his temple. “When the next song comes on, open your eyes, and we’ll go dance.”
“The next song in the set is Learn to Fly,” Luke said. “It’s lots of yellows. I think you’ll like it.”
(328 words)
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Acquired Taste
Tony cast wary glances at the other boys and girls at the table. So far none of them were making faces, so at best guess the food tasted good. When Mrs. Hankel put a plate full of food down in front of him, he scooped up a fork-ful of the mashed potatoes. He brought it close to his face to test its temperature. Safe enough. He took a bite. No tongue-burns, then. The stuff was weird and mushy, but then he reckoned that was the difference between instant mashed potatoes and the real ones his mother mashed by hands. The vegetables - carrots, overcooked and also a little mushy - didn’t burn him either. Tony watched the other children eat and saw a few of them make faces and poke hesitantly at the meat on the table. He could smell it, and was leery of it, but it didn’t smell as bad as, say, his uncle’s gassy dog.
So he took a bite. It was a little chewy, but he swallowed the first bite and cut another piece.
Mrs. Hankel hovered over the children once all the food was served. Tony smiled at her around a mouthful of meat and continued eating. She came to stand by him.
“Doing okay there, kiddo?” she asked.
He nodded. Once he’d cleaned his plate, he laid his knife and fork across it to show he’d finished and he drained his glass of water.
“Huh,” Mrs. Hankel said, staring at his empty plate. “Most kids can’t stomach the taste of liver.”
Liver. That’s what he’d eaten. Tony shrugged. “I’m not most kids, I guess.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Mrs. Hankel said.
Tony nodded dutifully, but he knew the truth. It was no taste at all.
(291 words)
So he took a bite. It was a little chewy, but he swallowed the first bite and cut another piece.
Mrs. Hankel hovered over the children once all the food was served. Tony smiled at her around a mouthful of meat and continued eating. She came to stand by him.
“Doing okay there, kiddo?” she asked.
He nodded. Once he’d cleaned his plate, he laid his knife and fork across it to show he’d finished and he drained his glass of water.
“Huh,” Mrs. Hankel said, staring at his empty plate. “Most kids can’t stomach the taste of liver.”
Liver. That’s what he’d eaten. Tony shrugged. “I’m not most kids, I guess.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Mrs. Hankel said.
Tony nodded dutifully, but he knew the truth. It was no taste at all.
(291 words)
Monday, January 5, 2009
Overview # 10 Pictures
I enjoyed this project! It helps to have a picture sometimes to work from. Though I have to admit that when I had an idea, I would find a picture to match, even thought that was not the process it should have been.
I had fun using different pictures, of people, of places, of items. Pictures for me can be very inspiring.
Sorry for posting the challenge late last week.
I had fun using different pictures, of people, of places, of items. Pictures for me can be very inspiring.
Sorry for posting the challenge late last week.
A Fighters Hands
Dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, a black beanie crammed down to her eyebrows. Black eyes were obscure under the camouflage paint, they saw everything and analyzed it in a second. There was no insignia on her uniform, this was not sanctioned, it never happened. Her gestures were sharp and pointed, conveying a direct meaning. Cover flank, flow around to the rendezvous, I'll take point. Move out! They moved silently through the compound, each knowing their jobs and accomplishing objectives with deadly skill. Such was the life of the special forces.
She had very graceful hands, they moved like pale silk ribbons in a gentle breeze, forming her thoughts and emotions.
She had very graceful hands, they moved like pale silk ribbons in a gentle breeze, forming her thoughts and emotions.
Silent as the Grave
Nobody really noticed that David was different. He seemed just like everyone else, quieter certainly, but normal.
Jessica had never heard David's voice. Though from his facial expressions and the intensity in his gaze, she knew his voice would be perfect when he finally got around to speaking to her. Everyone knew what he meant and what he wanted, just by his focus.
"Hi David." Jessica had finally screwed up the courage to talk to him. She did in fact have a legitimate reason for being at his desk, she needed to give him the plans for the new building that was going up down town.
David looked up from his work, his steady hand pausing in the middle of a schematic. He offered a smile to the pretty girl next to his desk. His dark blue eyes looked her up and down, and he raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"How have you been?" she was hoping to keep the conversation going for a bit.
David shrugged, his expression clearly meant to convey that it was okay, but nothing special. He raised an eyebrow in question at her.
"I've been okay." Jessica, already nervous, decided to make a retreat. "Well, I'll talk to you later."
David smiled and nodded, his focus returning to his work. A smile now hovering around his silent mouth.
Jessica had never heard David's voice. Though from his facial expressions and the intensity in his gaze, she knew his voice would be perfect when he finally got around to speaking to her. Everyone knew what he meant and what he wanted, just by his focus.
"Hi David." Jessica had finally screwed up the courage to talk to him. She did in fact have a legitimate reason for being at his desk, she needed to give him the plans for the new building that was going up down town.
David looked up from his work, his steady hand pausing in the middle of a schematic. He offered a smile to the pretty girl next to his desk. His dark blue eyes looked her up and down, and he raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"How have you been?" she was hoping to keep the conversation going for a bit.
David shrugged, his expression clearly meant to convey that it was okay, but nothing special. He raised an eyebrow in question at her.
"I've been okay." Jessica, already nervous, decided to make a retreat. "Well, I'll talk to you later."
David smiled and nodded, his focus returning to his work. A smile now hovering around his silent mouth.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Numb
The sharp, salty scent of blood in the air told him he was wounded. He glanced down and checked himself and found that he had a piece of shrapnel lodged in his thigh. An experimental brush of his fingertips against the wound, a peer at the redness, the thickness of the blood against his skin, and he decided that he wasn’t bleeding that much. He tried to stand and nearly fell over for his leg’s disobeying him. So he wouldn’t be able to get away on his own.
There was only one choice, now - pretend he was one of the civilians and let the paramedics take care of him. He knew that as soon as one of the hackers realized he hadn’t made it into the transport with the rest of the demolitions team a false identity would be in the government databases to cover his treatment. He could say he was a musician - there had been plenty of them at the fundraiser that night. He had the calluses on his fingers to prove it - and the scars. He’d fumbled one of the charges, hadn’t made it out of the blast radius in time, and now he was wounded.
A paramedic entered his field of vision.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m wounded,” he said. “Can’t walk. Leg.” He pointed at the wound, and turned his calm, unfeeling gaze on the paramedic.
“Sir, you’re in shock and losing blood - I need you to stay right here.” He nodded and did his best to prop himself up against the remains of the low cement wall and watched the paramedic dash toward the nearest ambulance and scramble for a med kit.
He’d have to remember to flinch away from her ministrations this time.
There was only one choice, now - pretend he was one of the civilians and let the paramedics take care of him. He knew that as soon as one of the hackers realized he hadn’t made it into the transport with the rest of the demolitions team a false identity would be in the government databases to cover his treatment. He could say he was a musician - there had been plenty of them at the fundraiser that night. He had the calluses on his fingers to prove it - and the scars. He’d fumbled one of the charges, hadn’t made it out of the blast radius in time, and now he was wounded.
A paramedic entered his field of vision.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m wounded,” he said. “Can’t walk. Leg.” He pointed at the wound, and turned his calm, unfeeling gaze on the paramedic.
“Sir, you’re in shock and losing blood - I need you to stay right here.” He nodded and did his best to prop himself up against the remains of the low cement wall and watched the paramedic dash toward the nearest ambulance and scramble for a med kit.
He’d have to remember to flinch away from her ministrations this time.
Project #11: Sense Sketch
Write a vignette, 100-400 words, about a character - preferably original - who is missing a sense or has synesthesia (since there are generally only five senses to work with). Perhaps try someone who is missing more than one sense. Think of this as an opportunity to practice description and imagery.
Overview #10 - Picture
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and, well, maybe it is. I had a lot of fun with this project and did my best to use as many different pictures as possible - some of people, some of places, and to use the pictures in different ways. Most of the times the pictures were of characters. One picture, though it had people, was to me of a moment rather than just visual reference for the characters. It was relieving, to know that I wouldn't have to do the work a picture could do. In Last of Asgaroth I used the picture to do the work for me, so I wouldn't have to use inadequate adverbs and adjectives to try to recreate the emotion between the man and the woman in that scene. I thought that was useful.
In the first story I wanted the picture to be not just of his face but of who he was at the time the picture was taken, like in crime procedural shows, where the suspect's mother hands the police officer a picture of her boy, sweet-faced and smiling, and the entire audience knows he's a killer. I wanted to write about Iori because I played him for so long, and when one role-plays one accrues characters whose stories are never written on paper or screen, whose stories are incomplete, so I figured I'd give my sweet Iori a chance. I liked to use the picture as Irony in White City; those who recognize the fandom there would likely recognize the irony of so beautiful a place being home to so horrible an institution.
The pictures came to me either way - sometimes I was inspired by a picture and wrote from it. Other times I already had an idea and had to hunt for a picture that suited it; playing in the Middle of Nowhere with my friend BenTen helped me learn how to find a picture to suit my idea rather than using a picture the other way around. Overall, this was an excellent exercise.
In the first story I wanted the picture to be not just of his face but of who he was at the time the picture was taken, like in crime procedural shows, where the suspect's mother hands the police officer a picture of her boy, sweet-faced and smiling, and the entire audience knows he's a killer. I wanted to write about Iori because I played him for so long, and when one role-plays one accrues characters whose stories are never written on paper or screen, whose stories are incomplete, so I figured I'd give my sweet Iori a chance. I liked to use the picture as Irony in White City; those who recognize the fandom there would likely recognize the irony of so beautiful a place being home to so horrible an institution.
The pictures came to me either way - sometimes I was inspired by a picture and wrote from it. Other times I already had an idea and had to hunt for a picture that suited it; playing in the Middle of Nowhere with my friend BenTen helped me learn how to find a picture to suit my idea rather than using a picture the other way around. Overall, this was an excellent exercise.
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