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Terror in Darrowdale! It's a race against time and then THE END!The searing rays of a late dawn stretched through the peaks into the Eldmore Valley like stabbing golden fingers ripping away the river’s sheltering morning mist, exposing every cottage to prying eyes. His protecting veil of darkness shorn away, a lonely rooster called a warning to the half-awakened town. Pigs, terrified, huddled in the corners of their pens as the sizzles and pops of their former brethren reached their ears. Their eyes dropped in shame at the realization they, too, enjoyed the smell. The grounds of extra-strong coffee lay in sodden masses at the bottom of pots, the farmers of Darrowdale having relied on the brew to keep them awake in the predawn coolness. Now they hastened into the shade and into the cottages, the morning work done, laundry already hung and snapping in a breeze forced through mountain passes with the rapid onset of heat. Another day ... when would it end?
Terror in Darrowdale! It's a race against time and then THE END!
I can believe an asteroid is on its way to Darrowdale.
If everyone is in agreement, I think you should be the next contributor! You can just take a paragraph from one of your already written pieces like JBF did. And would advice adding a nice bold, enlarged and colourful 'NEW PROMPT' just before it. Otherwise, as vranger has shown, as the thread gets longer, people will start overlooking new prompts!!!!
I love your interpretation of my paragraph though, vranger!
Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'll roll with it. Stolen from the opening of a back-burner project.
Under the hot sun of midafternoon came a figure down the old market road, moving with the easy gait of the unhurried. Dust colored the legs of his overalls and from a distance, under the shimmering heat, gave the effect not of a man walking but of some man-shaped part of the earth pushed up through the Oklahoma dirt on a dry and forlorn stretch of country highway.
A man was walking down the old market road, unhurried in the heat of mid-afternoon. The dust clinging to the legs of his overalls merged visually with the road in the shimmering heat so he appeared a natural phenomenon, some unstoppable part of the landscape moving down the dry, deserted highway.
I especially like this part, Olly. The 'unstoppable' idea is a great aspect to pull out of the paragraph.
Okay...but I didn't set the forest on fire. This was originally a kind of weird phenomenon of a very thin fissure (no wider than a man's hand) and the woods were wet (though I guess that didn't make it into this particular paragraph)....gripped the scorched hundred-year trunks and slid them downhill in a procession of fire. An acrid smell stung the broiling air, creatures flew and ran and scooted and stampeded ... their home ablaze and licked clean.
True about 'visually'. I had a similar thought process regarding what order should I put the elements in.Looking back I might take out the word 'visually', it's pretty well implied. The main thing that struck me was that I wanted to go straight to the main game, the man. Who first, then where, when, and how.
Okay, apparently it's my turn to toss a paragraph out there.
That glowing curtain of molten lava shot twenty feet into the air at least, a hot blaze of color against the damp forest darkness up on the brow of the mountain. Thirty feet long the seam was only the width of a man's hand at the widest part. Sound was a pressure of expectation more than fact, a kind of rushing noise of escaping lava and the crackling hiss of red-gold embers burning holes in the leaves. All the wildlife in the area cleared out for miles around, the thing just didn't smell right.
Okay...but I didn't set the forest on fire. This was originally a kind of weird phenomenon of a very thin fissure (no wider than a man's hand) and the woods were wet (though I guess that didn't make it into this particular paragraph).
True about 'visually'. I had a similar thought process regarding what order should I put the elements in.
We might know what we originally intended but isn't it interesting how flexible a paragraph becomes, lending itself to any one of a thousand stories when its frame is gone?