SPRING
Spring break? Spring cleaning? Rebirth? Budding flowers and trees?
You have up to 250 words to get your character in a spring state of mind - develop a flashback, write a poem, try something new, whatever you want. Post those words below and then comment on at least one other person's writing. (You don't need to necessarily critique it, this isn't polished writing people!)
Ready. Set. Go!
(And here's mine ...)
Mud. That's all March means to me. It's all I remember. Muddy shoes. Muddy tracks. Muddy smears. Brown. Dirt brown. Boring, dirty, a mix of every color until it's nothing but blah brown.
My eye color brown.
I stare at the tour bus, it's wheels caked in the dirty sludge. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't even know where the band is headed next. I do know that I'm supposed to be on the bus, waiting til our next stop so I can trail Jake.
But I don't want to. I'm suddenly tired, exhausted, my shoulders slumping so far down it's like my body wants to dissolve into the muddy puddle and disappear like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Would anyone miss me?
This answer I know.
And the answer is no.
Wrote this last week:
ReplyDeleteToday is the Equinox
Oberon, the summer king of the fair lands has rallied from the defeats these past few months at the hands of his wife and rival... Titania the ice Queen, ruler of the winter lands.
While she sat on the throne, the world was beautiful, but cold. Now Oberon warms the seat.
A truce has been made... the war is halted, and Oberon and Titania rule together... Now is the time for rebirth, reconciliation, romance. The Fairy lands are in harmony, and growth abounds. Seelie and Unseelie, Goblin and Elf, Dwarf, and Troll, Leprechaun, and Banshee now mix and mingle freely. Alliances, promises and proposals. Dalliance and Dance.
Winter ends and Spring begins.
The eternal seasons.
Wow, Nikki! I could feel what she felt, in such a short bit. Nicely done!
ReplyDeleteMine:
The carriage wheels splashed mud over the cobblestones. Apparently, it rained last night, during those moments when exhaustion won over my resolve to stay awake. Excitement only lasts so long.
My father opened the carriage door, extended a gloved hand in to help me disembark. My limp bag of paltry belongings lay slumped at his feet, the faded handle brushing scandalously close to his high polished black boots. I stepped out, one hand in the shadows, most of me in the sunlight of a new life.
Life hurries, dancing foot to foot as people rush along the streets. It calls in loud cries from the newsie on the corner hawking the latest newspapers. It lingers in the lake water scent so heavy and wet in the morning air.
Spring, in Chicago, outside of the asylum walls is beautiful.
Love the muddy March poem. I can totally relate - and more rain is on the way next week.
ReplyDeleteLaston, your word choice is great and stimulates such great imagery.
Happy changing of the seasons, everybody.
AE: That's the beginnings of a great novel. Keep at it!
ReplyDeleteHere's mine. Some kind of fantasy. Just went with it.
ReplyDeleteHeat is a deadly thing. It presses in all the wrong places. Burns the skin straight through till it crinkles like wax paper. Sucks the air straight out of the lungs until you boil from the inside.
But for me, heat is so much worse.
I inch out to the car, careful not to move so much that I elevate my body temperature. The unnatural warmth of this March hits me again and again like a whip. I can feel the life evaporating out of my pores like wisps of steam.
I open the car door and slide inside. The stuffiness of the car makes me want to run out back inside the air conditioned-house. But I can’t stay here forever. Not when they’re only a day behind me.
I blast the air.
When I grasp the steering wheel, frost slowly encases it, cracking as it stretches its claws around the wrinkled leather. I can feel warmth seep into my heart, replacing the coldness now that the frost has left through my hands.
Any more and I’d melt.
I switch to reverse. Turn. Inhale deeply and try to calm myself, even as icy sweat trickles down my temple. I start to back out. My eyes flicker to my rearview mirror, and I gasp suddenly and whip around.
A boy. Hair dark as charcoal, skin ripples of different colors like a flame, tan then olive then white, almost like the way the waves recede and leave indents in the sand. In the daylight, I can’t see him.
But in the mirror, he shines, watching me.
Laston: Your writing shows a really good knowledge of Fay. I read Midsummer Night's Dream, so I recognized the characters. This seemed really interesting, and I think with some added conflict, I could see this becoming an awesome start to a novel!
ReplyDeleteAE: Yours was really awesome. I liked the word choice, the way you hinted at what happened last night (Excitement only lasts so long). It's subtle but gives the reader an impression. I got the sense it was historical fiction, but maybe that's just because of the word asylum. Great job!
Muddy March! Great imagery! We normally have snow, but this year, we've got that mud!
ReplyDeleteAmanda - this could absolutely be the start of a novel! love your descriptions. way to go.
ReplyDelete