Her hazel eyes glistened like sunlight shimmering on a beached conch-shell. She gazed in a reverent way so as not to disturb him in his careful work. His fingers wound round about the long silver instrument, and then with all eloquence imaginable for a man of his stature, he hung the most beautiful notes of melody upon the chilly autumn air. The music danced just as crisply as the burnt orange leaves which could barely hang on to the maple's swaying hands. Then, the wizened old willow breathed in the song, and returned it with graceful movements through it's billowing tresses; keeping time with the baker's nimble fingers.
(Sorry for the tease, I should really at least finish the scene, but I haven't the time...I'll get back to it if it's requested, how about that?) :)
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
From Writing Class: 10 Minute Free-Write - "The Mask He Must Wear"
(Note: This piece was inspired by the novel I am working on. It's not included as of now, but I might find a way to work the premise of some of this into my work.)
The new king was afraid, shaken by the horrible death of his father, and the sudden disappearance of his mother. Everything he did was second-guessed. Each move was made with an air of uncertainty, despite his noble upbringing.
He sits alone each night upon his throne, feeling misplaced. A surreal feeling overwhelms him, as though he were suspended above himself, disconnected from body. A lost spirit looking on at a life he hadn't foreseen.
Whiskers sprouted up, and his eyes were bloodshot. He paces the courtyards and shivers in his sleep. He awakens in the deep twilight to retrieve his purple robes, admiring the way the velvet ripples through his calloused hands. He sizes himself up in the mirror, almost as though he dares the reflection to take him on.
With an austere look on his face, he straightens himself, putting the mightiest oaks of the kingdom to shame. Nobody knows how alone he is. He must be brave, for he is the king.
The new king was afraid, shaken by the horrible death of his father, and the sudden disappearance of his mother. Everything he did was second-guessed. Each move was made with an air of uncertainty, despite his noble upbringing.
He sits alone each night upon his throne, feeling misplaced. A surreal feeling overwhelms him, as though he were suspended above himself, disconnected from body. A lost spirit looking on at a life he hadn't foreseen.
Whiskers sprouted up, and his eyes were bloodshot. He paces the courtyards and shivers in his sleep. He awakens in the deep twilight to retrieve his purple robes, admiring the way the velvet ripples through his calloused hands. He sizes himself up in the mirror, almost as though he dares the reflection to take him on.
With an austere look on his face, he straightens himself, putting the mightiest oaks of the kingdom to shame. Nobody knows how alone he is. He must be brave, for he is the king.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
From the Random Question part of Blogger Profile...It didn't fit ! 400 characters is tooo short.
(The question was something like "The children are waiting. Tell them a story about the frog with the wig.) here is my quick answer which didn't fit in the box they allowed for on my profile...
Once upon a time, in a magical land of mischief and mayhem, there lived an evil witch who turned people into frogs. One day, she came across a silly little jester entertaining some peasant children just outside the royal court, when she decided to make a show of her own. She said a few unrecognizable chants, and "Poof!" The little fellow turned into a frog. He leaped away as fast as his slimy looking green legs could carry him. He rested by a pond, but all he could notice in his reflection was how bald he had become! He had loved his luscious blonde locks, and his face was quite often green with face paint anyways...but oh no! - not the hair! He quickly sheared a large cat whilst it slept, and sewed together a fancy wig. He lived happily ever after, as long as he had his wig placed upon his green little head. The end.
Once upon a time, in a magical land of mischief and mayhem, there lived an evil witch who turned people into frogs. One day, she came across a silly little jester entertaining some peasant children just outside the royal court, when she decided to make a show of her own. She said a few unrecognizable chants, and "Poof!" The little fellow turned into a frog. He leaped away as fast as his slimy looking green legs could carry him. He rested by a pond, but all he could notice in his reflection was how bald he had become! He had loved his luscious blonde locks, and his face was quite often green with face paint anyways...but oh no! - not the hair! He quickly sheared a large cat whilst it slept, and sewed together a fancy wig. He lived happily ever after, as long as he had his wig placed upon his green little head. The end.
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