Saturday, March 03, 2007

Backlog of Writings

In the last little while I have written a few things but neglected to share them, as I have been far too caught up with reading Gibson's _Virtual Light_.

First up is a 'write a story in 50 words or less'.
Panic. My eyes snap open; sleep flees from my body as I awake.
“Where am I?” I ask to no one.

It’s a white room, the walls, the sheets, the furniture, everything is white here. There is a manicured lawn beyond the locked window.

“Where is my daughter?” I scream.

Next I wrote this after a tasty meal.
The little boy squealed with glee. A knife lay on the kitchen counter, cookbooks, and papers, bills, cups and plates all hastily shoved to one side. A hideous child's mess lay strew about half the counter, with a clear bath to the microwave. Inside a plate full of something cooking lay, the dull yellow light of the microwave was burnt out and cast no illumination on the mysterious meal.

With this horrible mess, where are the parents?

Two drops of a thick red blood from each of the boys dirty little hands. They droplets hit the white tile floor and created little liquid explosions, tiny little droplets flew away from their mother in a flash of energy to become a stain on the clean floor.

Why isn't anyone watching this child?

The little boy did a little dance. He shook his ears by his head, on different intervals, raising them up and down with an inhuman energy. A madness burned in the boys eyes, as they rolled in his head as he jumped around and golden locks orbiting his head. He jumped up and down to the clicking of the microwave as the plate rotated around, the numbers slowly dancing away, grinding to zero. A zit on the boys greasy forehead suddenly exploded, the filthy puss and blood flew as fast as it could, desperate to flew the boy.

Is this child alone? No one would leave such a child alone.

The microwaved had not the chance to sound its final tone, as the boy ripped open the door and carried the plate to a table. The boy hastily grab the food with his hands and filled his mouth in a barbaric fury. Primal grunts of pleasure thundered through the room. As he devoured the tender flesh, red blood flowing out of his mouth as he crewed, streams of crimson blood flowed down his cheeks dripping onto his white shirt.

The sound of a door opening echoed through the near silent home, the boy instantly stopping, listening to the intruder to his solitary meal. Footsteps came closer, shadows filled the doorway.

The little boy looked up at his mother. Blood covering his little smile, he gazed at his mother as she spoke to him. He wanted more.

"Oh my God Jonny! Where is your sister?"

And finally...
The aeroplane lay peacefully on the tarmac. It was fresh and new, full of fleshy lives, ready to see the world. It began with a crawl, and slowly rose into the air, taking off. It climbed and climbed, reaching new heights, higher into the sky. Aside from the occasional dip of turbulence it rose, and rose. Then a bump, a drop in altitude, a slight recovery, higher, almost reaching the previous high, then popping up above the clouds, higher than it ever had gone before. The sweet sunlight caressed the aeroplane, glimmering on the shiny aluminum, a bright light, above the gray ominous clouds below, and then the aeroplane began to drop. Gone was the brilliant light, replaced with a dull gray blur as the aeroplane dropped through the clouds, falling through the sky. The stark reality of the decent became clear as the aeroplane fell towards the earth, the details of smokestacks, factories, people toiling away, a new reality for the aeroplane that had once soared so high, high above the dreary reality. Then aeroplane fell and fell, until it was barely flying above the trees. Had the landing gear not been tucked into the belly of the aeroplane, it would have clipped a tree and sent the aeroplane plummeting into a fiery death. The aeroplane cleared the forest, and emerged over a tranquil lake. The aeroplane fell towards the still dark waters. Further towards them the aeroplane did fly until no longer was it soaring in the air, but slicing into the frigid waters, cutting a path into the depths. Lower did it plunge, as the turbines continued to turn forcing the aeroplane deeper and deeper, carrying with it the fragile fleshy cargo.

Enjoy. :)

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