Shorts
This is just a collection of short, (mostly) one paragraph thingies I had to write in my Creative Writing class. I thought they were actually pretty cool and sort of thought provoking, so I figured I'd put 'em up. Who knows? Some of them might spawn stories whenever I get the chance to. ^-^
Night Ride
The brisk wind carries the voices of my friends behind us as the sharp taste of the air fills my laughing mouth. Stars shine down upon us, watching the wind pull its ethereal fingers through our hair, listening as the crickets sing their lilting song from the brush. A raccoon shriek snaps my attention from the road. Breath forces its way from my lungs as the steering wheel impacts with my chest. The deer falls, and I slump to the side. The peaceful night shattered into a million fragments.
Dreams
"I'm short?"
She raises a brow at the gawky young man sitting opposite her. "I'm sorry?"
"She was short." His voice rings with certainty. "Didn't say another word to her."
Jayne blinks and looks around before looking back at Ralph. "I think I missed something. Weren't we talking about dreams?"
He nods, leaning back in his chair as pale eyes gaze right through her.
"Yep, but, you know, someone always ends up getting way too drunk, making an ass of themselves and offending everyone. Then, you know, Kruger comes through and kills all the people at the party.
She watches him in silence for a moment.
"Huh?!"
A frown turns the corners of his mouth down. "Weren't you paying attention?"
"Well, I was but --" Her hear jumps in her chest at the sudden blast of Mettalica ringing in her ears.
Eyes blink open as she slowly sits up with a yawn, resting a hand against her matted hair, muttering, "That's the last time I eat octopus sushi before going to bed..."
Mah Sweet Mary Jane
Steve molded himself into the couch, watching the colors play across the screen of the magic box, listening to the noise ripping from the speakers. His lips curl lazily up at the as a giggle races from his throat. The sweet smell and taste of Mary Jane, so much sweeter than any woman he's ever met, lingers in his nose and mouth. What better way is there to kill a weekend? His fingers twitch on the remote, giving up on the journey to the volume button half-way when his jelloed brain realizes the sound is up as high as it can go. High. He giggles at that commonality he and the magic box share.
Bitter Endings
Cheerful music mocks from the speakers, the cozy atmosphere serving to remind of pain instead of joy. All the food, though in a home cooked style, smells and tastes too sweet, serving only to bring burning bile into the back of the throat. The dimmed light serves only to darken the mood, and the innocent faces of the cuddling kittens in the picture on the wall seem to laugh at pain tearing the deepest recesses of an all too fragile soul apart. The sight of the couple holding hands over the table across the isle rip the tattered shreds of the broken spirit into infinitesimal bits. Bitter coffee is the only thing willing to go down smoothly, its black depths summing the sad tale up perfectly.
Spurned
His shoulders lurch counter-time with the clumsy jerking of his hips. She finds herself relieved that the darkness of the club covers his gawking, the jet marbles behind the tape-bound spectacles darting over her body. Before he stumbles over, the sour stench of his breath fills her nose.
"Not on your life." She smirks at him just before sauntering off, mocking his clumsy hips with the gentle sway of her own.
Multitasking
She sat down at the computer, fully intending to get the last of those damn files entered into the database.
She had done almost the same thing last Saturday, except she was at home with a story line dying to be acted out.
Now, she stared at the columned computer screen and muttered to herself as yet another person came through the door, intent on yanking a miracle out of the overworked tutors helping others around the room.
THE DUCK!!!
You dash through the endless bathroom with desperation in your heart. You don't notice the gleaming white tile as you pass by, only the dastardly squeak of the sadistic sunshine-yellow monster on your heels. You glance back over your shoulder, terrified at the cheerful grin permanently etched into the rubber beak.
You almost run into the immense glass jar appearing suddenly in your path. Frantically, you grab the jar and slam it over the evil duck before running off, victorious.
Wooded Walk
The leaves crunching underfoot, spirit low, h heart broken. Cool breeze touches a tear stained cheek. She walks alone in her misery. A fallen tree invites her, and she settles onto the strong bark, head held low, trembling hands crushed between jeans clad knees. The broken sigh is echoed by the wind rushing through the trees. Eyes rise at the sound of birds, the scent of the forest registering at last. She sighs, tilting her head back to gaze up at the sky, puffy white clouds drifting through stunning blue sky, peaking through the bare branches of the trees around her. Her spirit calms, and a soft smile curves her lips. Eventually, she stands, thanking the Mother for being there, and slowly continues on her way.