Okay I must sincerely apologize to my fellow writers. I epically failed this week to get my posts done... guilt...
My only excuse is that I have been so busy. I work eight hours a day at my normal job and then come home and put in another 4-7 hours worth of training and contacting. I am so busy that I often don't get to bed until after midnight... and I'll be honest... It slipped my mind... I vow to mend my ways and I will do better this next week!
Please forgive me fellow writers...
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
White Fright
Most people were afraid of the dark, the black, the shadows. Gabriel had been afraid of many colors in his life - the blue, the gray, either meaning a gunshot on sight depending on his own colors. Gabriel wasn't afraid of the dark, though, not the way most people were. No, he was afraid of the white.
The whites of eyes and teeth bared in frozen, lifeless grinned, lips skinned back in eternally silent laughter, dozens of faces circling his windows so that when Gabriel rose in the night to draw a drink of water from the pail and sought the midnight sky, all he saw was the white, white, white.
For one moment he was still, terrified, sure they were the faces of the dancing skeletons foretold by the vodun priests. Too much blood had been spilt along these rows of soft-white cotton; souls would not rest easily here.
When Gabriel took a deep breath and looked closer, saw the faces had flesh, he realized he knew those white eyes and white smiles set in black faces. The Drummer Boys and Fast-Hand Jim, Smilin' Sam and Charlie Haystack. All slaves from Old Man Harris's plantation.
All dead and strung up along the slave barracks for every slave to see in the dawn. Only it was the black of night, and Gabriel had discovered them all.
For the first time in his life, he wished he could scream.
And then he smelled it, smoke, burning. He wheeled around, tore through the house, searching for the danger, and some of the others muttered sleepily, but he didn't find it. He turned, searched, but at every window and door he was hemmed in bodies, faces,white smiles, and he thought, They're going to burn us alive in here.
One of the women screamed, and as one the barracks woke; people poured into the safety of the darkness, of fresh night air, and there, in the middle of the fields, was a burning cross, and around it stood demons with pointed skulls, all arrayed in glorious white.
(345 words)
The whites of eyes and teeth bared in frozen, lifeless grinned, lips skinned back in eternally silent laughter, dozens of faces circling his windows so that when Gabriel rose in the night to draw a drink of water from the pail and sought the midnight sky, all he saw was the white, white, white.
For one moment he was still, terrified, sure they were the faces of the dancing skeletons foretold by the vodun priests. Too much blood had been spilt along these rows of soft-white cotton; souls would not rest easily here.
When Gabriel took a deep breath and looked closer, saw the faces had flesh, he realized he knew those white eyes and white smiles set in black faces. The Drummer Boys and Fast-Hand Jim, Smilin' Sam and Charlie Haystack. All slaves from Old Man Harris's plantation.
All dead and strung up along the slave barracks for every slave to see in the dawn. Only it was the black of night, and Gabriel had discovered them all.
For the first time in his life, he wished he could scream.
And then he smelled it, smoke, burning. He wheeled around, tore through the house, searching for the danger, and some of the others muttered sleepily, but he didn't find it. He turned, searched, but at every window and door he was hemmed in bodies, faces,white smiles, and he thought, They're going to burn us alive in here.
One of the women screamed, and as one the barracks woke; people poured into the safety of the darkness, of fresh night air, and there, in the middle of the fields, was a burning cross, and around it stood demons with pointed skulls, all arrayed in glorious white.
(345 words)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Green and Lost
Green, yellow-green, faded green mottled with red, green brown around the edges, green sticky and velvet like moss, green ugly like a fading bruise. Tobias tore through the undergrowth, breathing hard but silent, desperate to outrun the other boys. He knew his way through the forest blind, but the fear pounding in his heart and his lungs and his ears had blinded him, and now everything was one morass of the same color: green.
And lost.
Tobias dove behind a tree, winced at the scrape of rough bark against his skull, and waited. They’d come by, any moment, charge past like a herd of elephants, and then he could double back, climb a tree and search the surface of the forest, orient himself.
It almost worked. One by one they streamed past him, hell-bent on capturing him. And then one of them glanced sideways, and his green eyes gleamed with predatory triumph. He lunged. Tobias cried out, fell backward, went head-over-heels and face-first into a bed of ferns.
A boot connected with his ribs.
He couldn’t even cry out.
And then the green began to change, shift so it was almost neon, infrared, as if he were looking at light in the middle of the night through night-vision goggles, and then he realized he was seeing plants.
Outlined in heat.
He was seeing heat, the plants in shades of greens and blue.
And there they were, the humans, in reds and yellows.
Tobias threw his head back and howled.
(255 words)
And lost.
Tobias dove behind a tree, winced at the scrape of rough bark against his skull, and waited. They’d come by, any moment, charge past like a herd of elephants, and then he could double back, climb a tree and search the surface of the forest, orient himself.
It almost worked. One by one they streamed past him, hell-bent on capturing him. And then one of them glanced sideways, and his green eyes gleamed with predatory triumph. He lunged. Tobias cried out, fell backward, went head-over-heels and face-first into a bed of ferns.
A boot connected with his ribs.
He couldn’t even cry out.
And then the green began to change, shift so it was almost neon, infrared, as if he were looking at light in the middle of the night through night-vision goggles, and then he realized he was seeing plants.
Outlined in heat.
He was seeing heat, the plants in shades of greens and blue.
And there they were, the humans, in reds and yellows.
Tobias threw his head back and howled.
(255 words)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Gray and Guinness
The world was a distressing grayscale, from the walls to the floors to the skies out the windows. Even the stones on the mountain and the very dirt were gray, gray, gray. When Angel had first told Keith he’d be training up in the mountains of China, he’d envisioned shaving his head and living with a load of blokes in saffron robes, but no, even his tunic and trousers were stone-boring gray.
One of the other lads had shaved his head, and the place had no mirrors, so there wasn’t even a splash of blue or red to liven his day.
Keith had been more than glad to get out of Ireland, away from the ashes (gray) of his past and the prospect of criminal charges and life in an English prison. He just hadn’t thought he’d miss the magic that was green.
Green hills and sky, green laughter and green smoke...he missed it all.
At night, when he lay in bed and stared up at the black sky with its gray moon, he realized that what he really missed was Holly.
And Guinness.
One of the other lads had shaved his head, and the place had no mirrors, so there wasn’t even a splash of blue or red to liven his day.
Keith had been more than glad to get out of Ireland, away from the ashes (gray) of his past and the prospect of criminal charges and life in an English prison. He just hadn’t thought he’d miss the magic that was green.
Green hills and sky, green laughter and green smoke...he missed it all.
At night, when he lay in bed and stared up at the black sky with its gray moon, he realized that what he really missed was Holly.
And Guinness.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Seeing Red
Red. He’d seen true red in his lifetime, had gone without drinking or vice for a week to save up enough to buy a tube of red pigment, and when he’d first dared to squeeze a dollop onto his palette, his world had turned upside down.
No one had ever told him red could be alive -- or dead.
“What have you done?” He looked up at Søren, blue eyes solemn. Then he looked back down at the blood on his hands from where he’d pressed them against the wounds in Nick’s lifeless body.
Søren lowered the gun with shaking hands. His eyes were still wild with the chemicals. “He owed me money, man. You get that, don’t you? I know you were a good kid, Nicky, but --”
“I’m not Nick,” Dylan said. “He is.”
The red kept drip, drip dripping from Nick’s body. In the first few moments, when Nick had been gasping for breath, trying to say his brother’s name, the red had been alive, but now...now it was dead, and sticky, and getting cold.
Someone else - Torin? Brain? - said, “The cops are coming.”
Dylan said, “I’m not leaving him.”
“I gotta get the hell outta here --”
Dylan lifted his head, pinned Søren with a glare. “No! You - you’re staying right here, understand?”
Søren started to back up, and for the first time, Dylan understood what it meant to see red.
He was still seeing red when the police pulled him off his cousin thirty seconds later. He still had red on his hands when they took him down to the station, and he didn’t know why the red was blurring and browning and drying, and he didn’t know why he was crying.
(284 words)
No one had ever told him red could be alive -- or dead.
“What have you done?” He looked up at Søren, blue eyes solemn. Then he looked back down at the blood on his hands from where he’d pressed them against the wounds in Nick’s lifeless body.
Søren lowered the gun with shaking hands. His eyes were still wild with the chemicals. “He owed me money, man. You get that, don’t you? I know you were a good kid, Nicky, but --”
“I’m not Nick,” Dylan said. “He is.”
The red kept drip, drip dripping from Nick’s body. In the first few moments, when Nick had been gasping for breath, trying to say his brother’s name, the red had been alive, but now...now it was dead, and sticky, and getting cold.
Someone else - Torin? Brain? - said, “The cops are coming.”
Dylan said, “I’m not leaving him.”
“I gotta get the hell outta here --”
Dylan lifted his head, pinned Søren with a glare. “No! You - you’re staying right here, understand?”
Søren started to back up, and for the first time, Dylan understood what it meant to see red.
He was still seeing red when the police pulled him off his cousin thirty seconds later. He still had red on his hands when they took him down to the station, and he didn’t know why the red was blurring and browning and drying, and he didn’t know why he was crying.
(284 words)
Monday, June 14, 2010
Summer Rounds
Like burning shades of golden twine;
We dance in summer rounds.
An emerald sea beneath our feet
Whispers, as the sun goes down.
Azure mantle round our heads,
Pearl white clouds our crown.
Diamond stars to kiss our brows
As ebony night enshrouds the land.
We dance in summer rounds.
An emerald sea beneath our feet
Whispers, as the sun goes down.
Azure mantle round our heads,
Pearl white clouds our crown.
Diamond stars to kiss our brows
As ebony night enshrouds the land.
Everything Blue
“I don’t like this one bit.” Christian swiped a hand over his forehead, and the blue mark glimmered; his eyes glowed just a bit, too. How had anyone ever believed he was fully human? Perhaps that was evidence of his father’s power, that people had just accepted that he was Ranolfe’s baby brother and not his son of an illicit affair with the Queen of the Wild Hunt.
Anna slapped his wrist lightly. “If you stop touching it, no one will see, will they?”
Christian hefted his new sword, looked down at his new armor. It looked just like his old armor, if a touch shinier and perhaps glowing again with that faint, surreal blue that was the mark of Quislai magic.
“They’ll see the color, though, won’t they?” He turned away from the mirror pool and sighed.
Anna was dressed as a servant again, clutching her harp. “What color?”
“The blue.”
“What blue?”
Christian gaped at her. “The everything blue,” he said, making a sweeping gesture to indicate his armor and weapon and even the blue mark on his skin. Then he saw that Anna was trying not to laugh.
She reached out, brushed her fingertip over the mark, and he felt it hum before it vanished from view.
“No one will notice,” she said. “After all, the sky is blue, as is the sea, and people rarely take the time to notice them.” She started back toward the manor house.
Christian trotted after her. “The sea is blue?”
Anna blinked at him. “Ah. Right. You’ve never seen it. Yes, the sea is blue, except for when it’s green.”
(270 words)
Anna slapped his wrist lightly. “If you stop touching it, no one will see, will they?”
Christian hefted his new sword, looked down at his new armor. It looked just like his old armor, if a touch shinier and perhaps glowing again with that faint, surreal blue that was the mark of Quislai magic.
“They’ll see the color, though, won’t they?” He turned away from the mirror pool and sighed.
Anna was dressed as a servant again, clutching her harp. “What color?”
“The blue.”
“What blue?”
Christian gaped at her. “The everything blue,” he said, making a sweeping gesture to indicate his armor and weapon and even the blue mark on his skin. Then he saw that Anna was trying not to laugh.
She reached out, brushed her fingertip over the mark, and he felt it hum before it vanished from view.
“No one will notice,” she said. “After all, the sky is blue, as is the sea, and people rarely take the time to notice them.” She started back toward the manor house.
Christian trotted after her. “The sea is blue?”
Anna blinked at him. “Ah. Right. You’ve never seen it. Yes, the sea is blue, except for when it’s green.”
(270 words)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Project Assignment # 70 - Color
Lets use color as the vehicle of our stories this week. A vibrant colorful scene, a world of color, or one purposely devoid of colors. It can be story, poetry, anything you want.
Let's keep it under 500
Let's keep it under 500
Overview #69: Plot Kink
At first I was stuck for a plot kink, then I realized that I had somewhat set one up already simply by the fact that I had identical twins in my story, and it was already established that they get confused fairly often. So it was easy enough to pick mistaken identity as my plot device. But coming up with a situation to fit it was harder. I chose to set the story in their high school years because there is so much possibility for angst and drama over a confusion. Now obviously it didn't end up angsty, but I think it did bring a little more light onto Bryan's personality. That while he can seem unconcerned and carefree, and often unthoughtful, he does care about the girl enough to worry that she might think he had been lying to her on purpose, and what she would think of him when he told her the truth, and even if he wanted to tell her the truth because of the fear of rejection. He really does like her and doesn't want to lie to her, and the endless 'What if she really prefers Mark and that is why she likes me' type of thing. It was fun to run with for a week.
Overview #69: Plot Kink
I have so many favorite plot kinks that it was hard to pick, but I'd been messing with this one for a while during the crazy finals/graduation hiatus, so I went with this one. It was honestly difficult to arc the subtleties, nuances, humor, and reality (as much reality as there is) for a body-swap in just six posts, so I hit the highlights, and I had fun with this. It didn't turn out quite how I'd like, but then that seems to be the nature of the beast when it comes to writing 400-word bursts over six days. Nevertheless, even though the fun of the plot kink didn't get fully explored, I developed a sense of the characters, and it was good times, and I think more good times would likely unfold if I ever tried to turn it into a proper story.
I learned something this week, even if it wasn't what I had set out wanting to learn. Next time, who knows which twist I'll pick?
Also...game on to Madness, who finally gets to pick a challenge after all my dreadful procrastination.
I learned something this week, even if it wasn't what I had set out wanting to learn. Next time, who knows which twist I'll pick?
Also...game on to Madness, who finally gets to pick a challenge after all my dreadful procrastination.
Denouement
“I see you kept your end,” Niamh said quietly, looking her own body over. As promised, Niall had trained to keep Niamh’s body strong all year.
Niall nodded. “And you.” He accepted the spellbook.
“What did Declan say?” Niamh asked.
“We must return immediately.” Niall frowned; for one moment, Niamh thought she was looking in a mirror.
“You’d better say my goodbyes,” Niamh said.
“I’m sorry.” Niall squeezed her hand.
“Me too.” Niamh nudged him in the direction of the knights’ hall. “Your princes await.”
“I’ll make it brief so no one notices.” Niall returned the spellbook and ducked out of the alcove, drew the curtains closed behind him so Niamh could hide.
Only before the heavy velvet fell shut, a hand thrust into the gap and pulled the curtains wide.
“Hello there.” Aurelius, grinning, stepped into the alcove. Ambrosius came up behind him; his expression was grim.
“Your Highness.” Niamh started to bow, then fumbled into a curtsey.
“Did you really think,” Aurelius said, “that Ambrosius wouldn’t notice such powerful magic going on right under his nose?”
Niamh’s eyes went wide; she clutched the spellbook close. “I’ve done no magic, My Lord --”
“I daresay you have,” Ambrosius said. “This entire time, you were a girl?”
Niamh cursteyed again. “My Lord, I am Niamh, sister to Niall, your page --”
“The boy who just left is no page of ours,” Ambrosius said. “The entire time you served us, I could sense something was off, that your magic was disjointed, but now it’s back in place, and I see why.”
He knew? Niamh lifted her head. “There’s a good explanation for this, My Lord.”
Aurelius arched an eyebrow.
“All right, not a good one as much as one day I woke up and Niall had switched us and I wanted to be a knight anyway, and no one would have known, only now father is dying and Niall is to inherit, and I --”
“And you’re going to deprive us of the best page we’ve ever had?” Aurelius said. “Come along - we’ve bribed one of the barbers to cut your hair and a scullery maid to help disguise you. Quick - before Father notices.”
Niamh blinked. “My Lord --”
“When this is all over, maybe one of us will marry you,” Ambrosius said, and he grinned. “I’ll give that book to Niall. He’ll be interested to know that Father’s accepted my proposal for battle mages.”
Niall nodded. “And you.” He accepted the spellbook.
“What did Declan say?” Niamh asked.
“We must return immediately.” Niall frowned; for one moment, Niamh thought she was looking in a mirror.
“You’d better say my goodbyes,” Niamh said.
“I’m sorry.” Niall squeezed her hand.
“Me too.” Niamh nudged him in the direction of the knights’ hall. “Your princes await.”
“I’ll make it brief so no one notices.” Niall returned the spellbook and ducked out of the alcove, drew the curtains closed behind him so Niamh could hide.
Only before the heavy velvet fell shut, a hand thrust into the gap and pulled the curtains wide.
“Hello there.” Aurelius, grinning, stepped into the alcove. Ambrosius came up behind him; his expression was grim.
“Your Highness.” Niamh started to bow, then fumbled into a curtsey.
“Did you really think,” Aurelius said, “that Ambrosius wouldn’t notice such powerful magic going on right under his nose?”
Niamh’s eyes went wide; she clutched the spellbook close. “I’ve done no magic, My Lord --”
“I daresay you have,” Ambrosius said. “This entire time, you were a girl?”
Niamh cursteyed again. “My Lord, I am Niamh, sister to Niall, your page --”
“The boy who just left is no page of ours,” Ambrosius said. “The entire time you served us, I could sense something was off, that your magic was disjointed, but now it’s back in place, and I see why.”
He knew? Niamh lifted her head. “There’s a good explanation for this, My Lord.”
Aurelius arched an eyebrow.
“All right, not a good one as much as one day I woke up and Niall had switched us and I wanted to be a knight anyway, and no one would have known, only now father is dying and Niall is to inherit, and I --”
“And you’re going to deprive us of the best page we’ve ever had?” Aurelius said. “Come along - we’ve bribed one of the barbers to cut your hair and a scullery maid to help disguise you. Quick - before Father notices.”
Niamh blinked. “My Lord --”
“When this is all over, maybe one of us will marry you,” Ambrosius said, and he grinned. “I’ll give that book to Niall. He’ll be interested to know that Father’s accepted my proposal for battle mages.”
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