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Not for critique: share your pretty words. (1 Viewer)

vranger

Staff member
Supervisor
This thread has gone by the boards a bit. Let's rev it back up. Here's the end of The Adventures of Kaldarius ... so ... spoiler. LOL
Kal was well satisfied with himself. He would accompany the twelve errant ships back to the coast. From there, could he manage a Dimension Walk to Waterwych for six? If not, maybe he could, over the course of days, transfer one at a time. Even that would be quicker than the sea voyage. He wanted to get paid and get back to Valapar – to spend some quality time relaxing in the Temple of Laurelia. It had seemed like home, and he was now months and months departed from that home.

After that, maybe hang out a shingle in Valapar center city:

“Wizard for hire: Miracles on Monday. Treasures found Tuesday. Wenches rescued Wednesday. Thieves thwarted Thursday. Feats performed on Friday. Closed weekends.”
 

JBF

Staff member
Global Moderator
Shamelessly pillaging the almost/maybe file.

***

The night sounds grew to fill the lull. What plans each could claim were established and set in motion, dates marked and papers signed, and what remained was to sit idle until the simple arithmetic of the clock carried them forward.

This time tomorrow began a thought with no conclusion. That he would put to bed in one world and awake in another was an idea difficult to rein down. Perhaps in the abstract he recognized with his limited years that life was only a string of small eras and periods and stages all strung together - and most times a man could find the demarcations between one and the next - but never had he reached such a juncture so confident in knowing of the change.

The door clapped and the girl emerged. She was scrubbed clean and smelled freshly of soap and wore blue jeans and a t-shirt and carried in one hand the paper grocery sack of dirty clothes. He stood and reached for the bag to carry but she kept her grasp in silent rebuff and together they went down the beaten walk to where the cars were parked.

She put her things in the backseat and shut the door and studied him, then took his cigarette and ground it in the dirt.

“You quit,” she said.

“Didn’t take, I guess.”
 

indianroads

Staff member
Global Moderator
From the first draft of Inception.

The motorcycle fishtailed and rocked side to side as he struggled to keep it upright. Fear and adrenaline drove conscious thought away, he focused on the grass ahead and kicked at the tarmac each time the bike leaned and threatened to fall. He saw a curb, a sidewalk behind it, and green beyond that. Violence erupted around him as the world turned upside-down; then pain shot through his body followed by a disconnected sense of serenity.
 

Foxee

Patron
Patron
From an idea that I've been playing around with:

Pan understood this. He, also, was not a creature of his own making. And, likewise, he was not to take himself out of service. This was one of the operating instructions of his being. So Estelle was not much different.

Now, though, in this time beyond Estelle and also beyond the boy and the dog, Pan did as the voice told him.

He had thrown the ball for the dog one last time and folded away the video interface in spite of the boy's protestations. And then, without a word to anyone, he had walked out of the house and down the sidewalk toward the city. Houses sat in row after row, their colors varied as puzzle pieces. The blue haze of the day veiled the distant skyscrapers of downtown.

After a while a shuttle-bus drew up to the curb ahead of him and waited patiently, its red lights blinking. Unlike the buses and shuttles of the city it bore no logo or design, just blank white finish.

The voice in Pan's head instructed him to board the shuttle and, again, feeling helpless to do otherwise in spite of the distant calling of the boy and excited barking of the dog, he stepped into the vehicle.
 

JBF

Staff member
Global Moderator
People were troublemakers, that much he knew. Forever crossing lines and laws, always seeking some advantage, some victory insignificant in any greater scheme. From the Greeks and the Romans and both sides of the Bible, from fairy tales to murder ballads and all the territory in between it remained the province of the flesh to strive for that it ought not possess, to fail then in spectacular fashion. To leave as reminder of their victories and defeats songs and plays and cave paintings and for those who followed to miss all their warning and instruction, thereafter to pass the centuries in the endless wandering of a wilderness mapped and trod long before their birth.
 
All was water now; now lobes, now flat jawless mouths, now finless, eyeless, rippling through uncolored sea. Now to a thing with no form but symmetry, now to a thing with little form at all.

And we had grown so, so, small. It was a tininess like the tininess in fever dreams, but it was not a fever dream, for it was the only thing we knew. We bred on an earth that knew no hurt, for it knew no loss; nothing could be lost when you were the first of things.

But all things are brief. As time had turned relentlessly forward in the faraway world that was now utterly lost, now it turned relentlessly backwards, never once changing its pace, and we that lived were changed to our component parts and lost forever. We were no more. The sea was sea. There were pieces that could be life but they were not. I saw the speck that was me and he and all we who swayed life-like on future earth—but what was future, what was past, when the present condensed all things to this?—I saw the speck return to primordial nothingness; then the earth itself lost its shape and spread to unconsolidated dust, along with the sun, then all shrunk to something terribly hot and terribly bright, awful like the blue relentless sky that had—that had—when had it?—all shrunk and shrunk and shrunk and was a pinpoint, then nothing.


When I finish the whole short story this is from, I'll pop it in the Workshop! ( :

Edit: story in Fiction Workshop, called "Dust"
 
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indianroads

Staff member
Global Moderator
From my next book - Inception. The MC is experiencing his darkest hour.

He awoke leaning against his cell wall with no memory of how he got there. The tiny room spun around him, and every part of his body was in agony. A paper plate holding a mound of yellowish goo sat just inside the door, but he had no stomach for it.

Under the weight of pain, he bent forward, but his chest tightened such that he couldn’t breathe. He leaned to the side, and even though his ribs and gut issued sharp torment, he managed to lie down. It wasn’t a comfortable position though, so he rolled onto his back with knees pointing up at the distant ceiling. That was a little better, but it still hurt.

An icy deluge abruptly fell from the ceiling that briefly eased his suffering. He opened his mouth and drank as his meal liquefied and ran in a rancid yellow river toward the sewer hole at the center of the room.
 

Mark Twain't

Staff member
Board Moderator
The first share from Glendaara


Noori struggles to remove the rest of her clothing in an attempt to accelerate her journey into blissful oblivion. She drops to her knees before curling into a ball on the frozen sand. She can no longer feel the cold. She can no longer feel anything as her organs begin to shut down. Death is imminent, her heart will stop soon and the misery will be over. Her breathing is almost undetectable as she embraces her fate.

Noori’s eyes open. She sees a light and feels drawn towards it but she cannot move. Grains of sand ripple on the surface as the ground beneath her vibrates. A noise. the thrumming of a machine.

‘I’ve got you, cousin. I’ve got you.’ Meena's voice is sweet and comforting.

Noori feels the weight of the blanket as Meena wraps it around her. She becomes weightless as she is scooped up and carried to the waiting truck.
 

TheMightyAz

Mentor
They skulked, as did their squalid maze, at the hem of Grollen Hill, light swallowed along with the forgotten souls, dingy, dark and forbidden. Only the bright outer edge to the east held at bay the creep of despair, where the richer population gorged themselves fat on false promises, and ignored the shiver that slipped coldly down from atop the hill.
 

indianroads

Staff member
Global Moderator
I completed the second edit of Inception - this is a snippet from a motorcycle chase (on an Indian Warrior bike) through Silicon Valley rush hour traffic that occurs near the end of the book.

Traffic on the street had become sparse, possibly due to the police presence and the media coverage of his mad ride. He glanced in the side mirror and noticed that the FBI vehicles were dropping back, which indicated another roadblock was ahead. Rather than slow down, he sped up.

The Warrior charged up the overpass, but he slowed slightly at the top. Police cars blocked the roadway and the northbound freeway on-ramp, so he leaned the bike into a side skid then accelerated, crossing the road and turned into oncoming traffic. Cars swerved and horns blared in protest as he charged forward, splitting the lanes through approaching traffic, heading toward the town of Milpitas.

There had to be another way to get on the freeway; the next on-ramp to the north was his only hope. He shot down the east side of the bridge, made a hard left onto a side street that ran parallel to the freeway as the police followed with sirens and flashing lights blazing.
 

TheMightyAz

Mentor
Yarrod inhaled the hot desert air, unsure he’d filled his lungs with anything substantial. He held its fill for a good while, then breathed out slowly and felt the exhalation brush drying lips, once moist skin baked in seconds. The faint earthy scent of backwoods lingered in his nostrils; so at odds with the surrounding terrain, he regarded it more a memory than a sense.

He closed his eyes and clung on, but the aroma and the image it evoked evaporated. When he finally opened his eyes, the present spilled in, and erased any thought of another place or time. Ideas and memories—like scraps tossed to a well-trained mongrel for simple orders met—looped through his mind as if errant ideas in search of reason. And when all was done and settled, he knew but few things … and knew them well.
 

vranger

Staff member
Supervisor
“I think all the introductions are done. Geoff, I’m sure Miles will be in contact with Nelson soon to reconcile the company books against his copies. Emily, expect the same. Jazmin, I’m sure he’ll appreciate your help when required.”

I noticed Alberta said ‘required’, not requested. And the rest of her statement declared that if there was a ‘bad guy’, it was her, not me. It appeared, looking around, everyone understood these were my marching orders in addition to warnings to everyone else. She continued.

“So we’re done in here. Somerset and Miles … a few words with each of you in Miles’ office, please.”

She rose and headed straight at the door with all the subtlety of a matriarch elephant clearing a path through hesitant young bulls.
 
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Tettsuo

WF Veterans
A scene my wife loved:

I closed my eyes and watched images of my dreams, of possible futures, slip from my mind. Tears fell for those dreams. One such dream was being wed to the son of a horse breeder. I remembered his face clearly moments before it was stolen by despair. He was from a neighboring village and thought me to be the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes upon. Such a handsome suitor he was, a prince by all accounts. I looked upon him and nodded, pretending to listen to his ambitions and dreams. I gave him a look of surprise when he told me how he desired to exceed his father's accomplishments, to become a greater merchant than his father ever was. As he spoke, I looked upon his lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss a boy. Now, even that image faded away, for I knew it would never come to pass. Not now. Not after I was given to the Khan.

It was good that those images faded away. What were such dreams to a whore? It was good that despair banished them from my thoughts. Like the fires that consumed my village, my dreams needed to disappear, they needed to become little more than dust.
 
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TheMightyAz

Mentor
The sickly, humid air swaddled him like an infant at the teat, secure in its suffocation, and wind whispered sweetly. Stop fighting, it said, lay still and rest a while. He slapped his cheek hard, once, twice, three times, until he tasted blood, and hauled a thick frame through the wasteland, teal eyes focused forward, spurs rattling with each laboured step. Time dragged on and leaden feet dug deeper, determination long gone from a jaw that hung slack beneath a mouth gasping for cool, fresh air. Only dust though, his tongue no more than a dune.
 
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indianroads

Staff member
Global Moderator
Entering an engineering building in Silicon Valley:

He pressed his badge against the lock, and the latch released. A drab interior greeted him; gray walls stood above darker gray carpeting as a slate blue cubicle maze stretched into the distance. The soft surfaces absorbed all sound other than the clacking of overworked keyboards.

He slipped through the avenues of cubicleville and entered the engineering sector. A few more turns brought him to his work area, where there was little to break up the monotonous environment. Only a single cartoon adorned his cloth walls; it was of a mouse giving the finger to an owl that was swooping down upon him; the caption read, ‘The Last Act of Defiance’.
 

TheMightyAz

Mentor
Her writhe and twitch took on impatience as those who queued for a sample shoved with more intent and those already at her grew fiercer in their fight to hold prime position. One nip too many and she grabbed the armrests, heaved her body forward and raked a scream across her worshippers that shook the rafters, unsettled the dust. The bone-thin banqueters, their clothes mere suggestions anything corporeal lived within, scurried back, castigation on their skeletal faces, eyes pits of pity, glints of dejection.
 

vranger

Staff member
Supervisor
“Just like Geoff, I don’t think this is necessary. Mother didn’t consult me either, although I knew about it earlier than Geoff did, and I’m more used to Mother’s autocratic ways.”

Charles talked about Mrs. Wright as if she hadn’t passed away last night, and I supposed the shock and years of habit precluded the past tense this soon. I understood. I also decided if I could discuss my ‘hidden agenda’ with anyone, it would have to be Charles. If Alberta and Somerset stuck me with a task ill-fitted to my skills, they’d have to live with how I performed it.

“Charles, I’m not here for only the audit.”

His mask of grief opened to a look of surprise for moments. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve had corporate intellectual property stolen over a period of time, have you not?”

“We suspected we had, but we had a crackerjack firm investigate that. They found nothing.”

“Alberta and your mother suspected there is something, and the private detectives failed, and they believe they failed because it was too obvious what they were after.”

“Why wouldn’t Mother discuss this with me?”

I almost said ‘Ask her’, in all innocence, not cruel sarcasm. I caught myself with my mouth open, coughed to hide my attempt to make a right turn with my comment, and finally said, “All I know is your mother and Alberta thought I might stumble across something in the audit. I can’t imagine how I would, but there it is. I shouldn’t have to stress this can go no further … to anyone. If it does, both of us will answer to Alberta.”
 
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