Wha! 2nd update today. Here's a very short blip (300 words max) I just did for describing the setting out of a window. Enjoy! Perhaps:
Sarah had never moped this much in her life. But here she was, dressed in her small black concert tee and the whitest, tightest, ripped pants she had ever seen, yet she wasn't going to the concert. Her parents insisted she stayed home to babysit the precious angel of their's. So Sarah had set the angel in front of the tv with a baggie of grapes and a Disney Classics Marathon. The angel was singing now as Sara looked out the window to the typical small town street outside.
The people across the street had their Christmas lights up still, and half of a plastic reindeer that had survived the last ice storm. It looked pretty gruesome. She liked it. The house to the right of the reindeer people had white paint that was peeling. To the left of the reindeer family, the old man was mowing the yard, meticulously cutting every strand of grass. The street was newly paved, to her critical dismay. Her own yard was bare, well mowed, and had many sections of flowers that her father planted nearly year-round.
Sarah then glanced in horror. She could see the living room reflection now that it had grown darker. She could see that her sister had stopped watching the tv and was slumped against the table, flailing her arms weakly at her sister. Her face was not the proper color. The girl was choking. She ran over to perform the Heimlich. Once, regroup, twice. To her joy, it worked, and her sister spat out the grape and started gasping and crying at the same time. Sarah picked her up and looked back at the window. The reflection had saved her angel's life. Simple things could always be extraordinary if seen in a different light.
September 23, 2010
September 14, 2010
New Short! Character Exposition.
He was looking for her. His boots plodded on the tile, leaving wet marks on the innocent pale, yellow tiles. They were darker in the night, however. Sky poured in a dark roar from the un-curtained windows into the kitchen. He heard no noises that indicated human life. “That brunnete child is not here,” he muttered. He was hardly surprised, as she was smart in ways no human had been before. She could float, for chrissakes.
He went through the left door to her bedroom. The light was on, and clothed the room in a homey yellow light. There were flowers painted on the walls, and a paper heart on the mirror. He walked up to it and read, written in a light blue script, “Love thyself and love thy world.” He gagged mentally. He knew the girl was sweet in real life (sickingly so), but in her ridiculous cause against him and his group, she was a devil and unrelenting.
On the wall by the mirror was a painting that he assumed she had done in her teenage days, when she was dependant on drugs. It was a mass of swirls, angry and pretty, splashed against an even darker background. The oil paint stood off the canvas and looked liquid enough to drink. He didn't know why she still displayed it. He knew enough about her, but she kept one step ahead of him, probably smiling the whole way. She never bent, never stopped, and she had finally caused enough trouble that he was sent her to take care of it. Tiker had better things to do than come after a mopey young woman with too much time on her hands. He had money to gain and power to spend.
He left the room and shut the door, straightening his leather jacket. He didn’t bother to wipe the water up or clean up his disorganizing. He could care less about the mess left in this crazy woman’s apartment. He was out for her life, and that was all.
He went through the left door to her bedroom. The light was on, and clothed the room in a homey yellow light. There were flowers painted on the walls, and a paper heart on the mirror. He walked up to it and read, written in a light blue script, “Love thyself and love thy world.” He gagged mentally. He knew the girl was sweet in real life (sickingly so), but in her ridiculous cause against him and his group, she was a devil and unrelenting.
On the wall by the mirror was a painting that he assumed she had done in her teenage days, when she was dependant on drugs. It was a mass of swirls, angry and pretty, splashed against an even darker background. The oil paint stood off the canvas and looked liquid enough to drink. He didn't know why she still displayed it. He knew enough about her, but she kept one step ahead of him, probably smiling the whole way. She never bent, never stopped, and she had finally caused enough trouble that he was sent her to take care of it. Tiker had better things to do than come after a mopey young woman with too much time on her hands. He had money to gain and power to spend.
He left the room and shut the door, straightening his leather jacket. He didn’t bother to wipe the water up or clean up his disorganizing. He could care less about the mess left in this crazy woman’s apartment. He was out for her life, and that was all.
September 7, 2010
A short, working with P.O.V.
I looked around the new house. At that point, I didn't yet know it was a new house, I thought my mom and sisters just felt like a visit and brought me along. They liked me around. It was a nice house, spacious and lightly painted. And there were plenty of woods around, which meant playing outside for me if I could sneak out from the protective glare of my mom. I glanced around, but mom was distracted with carrying things, which included, strangely, a long measuring tape. The challenge to escape wasn't great enough for me, so I left the living room.
I wandered down the hall and found my oldest sister in the first room. She was standing by the window with her hands planted on her hips. I tried to get her attention by being cute, but she didn't notice me. She looked both excited and weary, but still more optimistic than I had seen her in a while. I touched her leg and she finally looked down and smiled. She picked me up and hugged me, burying her face in my hair. Loved.
She sat me down and went back to her strange pondering of the room. I ran happily into the hallway. I dodged my mom, who had boxes in her hands, heavy by the looks of them, and went to the next room, where I played with the turtle for a few minutes. The turtle looked terrified and I laughed inside. Silly turtles. Always so scared. My littlest sister wandered in. She was exploring, too. She opened the little closet doors wobbly and walked inside. She examined the space and walked back out, shutting the doors behind her. I followed her into the living room, my feet moving rapidly underneath me, plodding gently on the carpet.
The whole family met up in the room and were talking, either sitting on the couch or standing. My littlest sister sat on the piano bench and plucked at the keys as she listened to mom. I didn't notice them unpacking the boxes until I noticed my toys came out. My favorite strings and my scratching post were already out. I jumped over to them, and immediately started with my usual chorus of “Meow, meow!” wanting some attention. The whole family stopped talking or unpacking to play with me. I am the favorite, after all.
I wandered down the hall and found my oldest sister in the first room. She was standing by the window with her hands planted on her hips. I tried to get her attention by being cute, but she didn't notice me. She looked both excited and weary, but still more optimistic than I had seen her in a while. I touched her leg and she finally looked down and smiled. She picked me up and hugged me, burying her face in my hair. Loved.
She sat me down and went back to her strange pondering of the room. I ran happily into the hallway. I dodged my mom, who had boxes in her hands, heavy by the looks of them, and went to the next room, where I played with the turtle for a few minutes. The turtle looked terrified and I laughed inside. Silly turtles. Always so scared. My littlest sister wandered in. She was exploring, too. She opened the little closet doors wobbly and walked inside. She examined the space and walked back out, shutting the doors behind her. I followed her into the living room, my feet moving rapidly underneath me, plodding gently on the carpet.
The whole family met up in the room and were talking, either sitting on the couch or standing. My littlest sister sat on the piano bench and plucked at the keys as she listened to mom. I didn't notice them unpacking the boxes until I noticed my toys came out. My favorite strings and my scratching post were already out. I jumped over to them, and immediately started with my usual chorus of “Meow, meow!” wanting some attention. The whole family stopped talking or unpacking to play with me. I am the favorite, after all.
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