Free Write [August prompt!]

[Fortunato]

Free Writes

Free Writing: No-Pressure Block Killers

This is the free writing thread. Every day, I will post a new prompt or "list" in a quote at the end of this thread.

Free writing is very easy. You simply read the prompt and then start writing. Keep writing until you feel that what you are writing is complete. Write whatever is on your mind; if it turns out to be a freaking journal entry, that's okay. That's the beauty of free writing; too often in writing, the author begins to edit himself before even putting words on paper. You think to yourself, "Well, this idea wouldn't work... and I don't know how to say this in a cool, original way... so I can't write that." At the end of the day, you have a blank sheet of paper and a load of so-called "writer's block." Free writing is a way to get around writer's block; to get inspired and motivated. The trick to writing longer things is to simply start writing. So this will be a topic for you to do exactly that.

Rules

1. Don't critique or judge each other.
2. Don't critique or judge each other.
3. Don't edit yourself; write in the reply box and post everything that you write.
4. Don't censor yourself; go with your first instinct in your writing.
5. Start with the prompt. Then go from there.
6. You don't have to use the prompt; it's just there to help.
7. There are no length requirements.
8. There are no genre requirements.
9. Double posting is okay if you are responding to separate prompts. Do not report double posts; I will handle them.
10. Don't stop writing until you feel satisfied that whatever you wrote is complete.

I'll start by posting new free writes on Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday. If this is popular enough, I'll bump it up to possibly each day. If it isn't, I'll probably drop one or two of the days and do weekly writes.

Originally Posted by Free Write; Thu, Aug 21st

New trails take me...

[Fortunato]

The footsteps in the sand were slowly washed away by the frothing, seething sea. The untamed, rising waves dipped into the fuzzy footprint outline, washing away the history of those steps. The footsteps in the sand slowly disappeared, one by one. First, the one by the sidewalk, pointing towards the sea. Then, moving up the beach. The rumbling clouds above threatened to speed the process. Up, up the beach, to the lighthouse. The lighthouse, a golden light shining atop that alabaster tower. Alabaster like the marbles of the Parthenon. Like your creamy, pale skin, disappearing behind a veil of lavender and smog. Disappearing forever. The lighthouse was that new alabaster, crowned by burning pyre atop, like a funeral dirge incinerating slowly. And it stood there, over the beach and the fading footprints in the sand, and it vanished. Slowly, it vanished, like a fleeting smile at a witty pun. Slowly but quickly. It took its time, but it was over too soon. And then it was gone. Lost in history, in the seething waves and the fuzzy footsteps in the graying sand.

[blurx]

goes side disappoint shining. drew the allow, am we window light,
again development fly evening or being, use miserable prison friends whom. end principle drew,
being human edge again she use. beautiful thats principle? he evening reference.
young prison parents beautiful. make use next. night human he letters.
miserable letters allow. profession already similar light?

[Benita Mussolina]

"What a curious thing!" is what Nameless said
For the footprint was of a man who was dead,
Dead for many years, so how did he know
The step that was printed in sand, like snow,
Belonged to a man that had long since stopped living?
I'll tell you the story, the answer I'll be giving.

I'd go on, but I'm simultaneously working on homework so I'll just add on later.
... I kinda like it so far. Intrigue!

[All-St4r]

the footsteps in the sand remind me of the good ol days when sand flows between my toes on a warm beach. o.o

[Marah411]

Paranoid everyone seems to stare i did nothing wrong seems like forever since you have been gone laying around here weak i try to speak but nothing comes out mute i say mute feels like im dieing everyone is crying even though they don't care why are they dieing they did nothing wrong mouths are moving but nothings coming out trying to breath laying on the floor someone whispers in my ear "No more"
Wait this doesnt seem very fair god damn it where is the air!I wake up felt so real I sigh in relief maybe some one will see the darker side of me.Soon theyll understand why I feel this way somewhere somehow I don't know what to do everything I do just ends up hurting you I remember you leaving I thought it was a dream I TRIED TO WAKE UP BUT ALL I COULD DO WAS SCREAM!I remember those green eyes all the truth and all the lies just waiting for you to come home so I can hold you in my arms talk about the good old days and where they have gone. Wishing to go back in time maybe I could do something SOMETHING to change Mine and Your life we could be together forever with no one in the way lock out selves away from the evil world and it will change our lives I say..

Woah wtf?

[Fortunato]

{I used this prompt as a chance to write some stage direction for a later scene in my screenplay.}

It is now night. THEO ambles across the bridge, stopping in the middle and glancing into the water. He is dressed differently than earlier; now, he wears dressier, more formal clothing. Or, at least, cleaner clothing. He looks as though he's had time to wash up from his earlier ordeal, and lacks that slightly singed look from before. For a few moments, he stands leaning against the bridge railing, watching the water. Slowly, the camera pans forward until the audience can see him flipping the fox card he picked up earlier between two fingers, a pensive expression on is face as he stares at the wax-layered surface of the playing card. Then, with a smirk, he tucks the card into his front pocket and glances towards the rapidly darkening sky, lighting a cigarette with a chuckle.

[soltehrb]

It was a calm day, and the wind was strong. I stepped into my living room while comtemplating this thought. I couldn't dicide what to do, so I did nothing. It was eating me alive, this numbing thought, which lingered so. I paced, sat, drove, did whatever I could to help me think, but it all came to nothing. darkness crept, light faded. and then, an idea! Just a peek of the though, as it quickly went around the corner as if beckoning me to come. I followed it along the vast halls of my mind, room after room, all being left behind. When I finally approched the answer, it had entered a room, the one room in my mind with a red door. finally, I opened that door, yet hesitated inside as to what was inside. and then... the conclution. My problem was solved, I could sleep. I put my mind to ease as I rested in my chair, no longer thirsting for the absoluted. I slept at last.

[Mel?]

{WALL-O-TEXT WARNING}

Under the bridge, where the river runs.


That's where it all started, me and Oliver. In a way, that's where my entire life started. You see, I lived in a small, surburban town, that wasn't memorable for anything. Hell, we didn't even have a local building we could point to and go "Oh, that's where the Lobsterbacks partied one night while visiting our village in the Civil War" or "That statue's of Steven Janson, the town hero who saved a baby from getting run over by a wheelbarrow". The thing is, our town probably wasn't marked on a map, it was that small.


But there was one thing that linked the town to others, and that was the International school that was built on Old Mr. Peterson's farm land after he died. I remember when the school was being built. I would always ride by on my bicycle to and from school, so I was able to see the progress. There was so much machinery, and when they put the steel gates up, it looked more like a fortress, or the gates to a some haunted house on a hill. Needless to say, it was the talk of my school and the city council all throughout construction. Apparently some guy who owned an oil tycoon decided to build a school smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Although they wouldn't say it, a few residents of the town thought that there was a few screws loose in the guy, if you know what I mean.


At any rate, the school opened years later, when I was in my second year of high school. There was suddenly a flurry of traffic going to and from the school, and huge houses were being built in my neighborhood. Yes, built, not bought. I would soon later find out that the houses that the normal city 'folk' resided in was much too small for these pampered socialites. At first, I was excited at the prospect of foreign friends to hang out with. There would be beautiful sun-kissed blondes with their fake tans and french tipped nails. The boys would be tall and immaculate, with a million dollar pearly white smiles, literally. It seemed like my life would finally be given a meaning. Well, at least some action. But I was wrong. So wrong.


It was like an infection. We saw them everywhere. The husbands driving on the road in their Hummers and Escalades, and wives pushing the shopping cart with their synched waists and ruby red lipstick and botox-induced smiles, and finally the kids. The kids took all the summer jobs, and worked them a lot better then we ever could, with their features that were easy on the eyes, their designer clothes and designer attitudes. They did the jobs seamlessly. I suddenly found myself out of my job at the local ice cream parlor. A skanky-looking blonde that consisted no more of a piece of cardboard and five pounds of make-up had won the boss over. Or sucked his cock, but like I cared, right? This story isn't about her, it's about me. Which brings me to the part you've all been waiting for, I bet. When I was fired.



It was just a shock. My shift was at eight o'clock that day, precisely when the sun went down. I was wearing the scantily clad parlor uniform, which consisted of a short dress that didn't cover my knees and an apron that went over it. Yes, I still did ride my back to work, much to the liking of my classmates. Most of them had cars for Christ's sakes, and here I was, riding my bi-fucking-cycle to work. Don't even get me started on the looks I got from the spoiled kids who went to the International School. Hell, I bet they didn't even know how to wipe their own asses. As I stepped into the parlor, there I saw her. My replacement. She looked like a Paris Hilton clone, all that was missing was that dog. Or was that Legally Blonde? To hell with it, I can't remember. I was furious when the boss told me I had been replaced.


"Didn't you receive the phone call, Joanna? I left a message on your phone." She said, checking her watch. They were opening again that night in fifteen minutes, and apparently she wanted to get me out as soon as possible. "No, I didn't. I obviously wouldn't be here right now if I had, now would I, you stupid bitch!" Ofcourse, I didn't say the stupid bitch part, because I didn't have to. My eyes did that for me. With that, I had left in a flurry and mounted my bike, speeding away, with my pink fucking tassles flying in the wind. It was getting dark, and I was mad as hell, so when I came to a sharp turn onto the bridge over our trademark town creek I actually went down the side missing getting onto the bridge and falling off my bike.


When I opened my eyes, I was laying straight against the wall of bridge, underneath it. It was pretty much midnight now and I could hear the crickets chirping. Luckily, I didn't feel any pain or remember what happened until I saw my bike propped up against a pillar which held up the bride underneath. I also realized that my head was on top of somebody's lap. Turning from my side and looking up, I yelped and tried to sit up. However, I was pushed back down.

"Stay still, stay still." The voice said to me. Despite being calm and soothing, I did what he said, because he was probably a rapist or something. I closed my eyes in a wince as I felt warm hands run through my hair and I felt a chill go up my spine. "Who are you?" I demanded from him. I atleast wanted to know who to tell the police who to arrest. I mean, he was probably going to kill me or something. For some reason, I didn't find the situation to be as dangerous as it potentially could've been.

"I'm Ollie. I live across the street from you." He stated, in sort of a chuckle, like he was ridiculing me. I tried to remember...across the street? There was now a huge house across the street that looked pretty much empty. How could anyone be living there? Whether he lived there or not didn't matter, because he gained a little bit of my trust when he let go of me, and allowed me to sit up. "There you go, you've calmed down now." He said cooly, as if he kidnapped unconscious girls everyday. Which would make sense. I turned to get a good look at him, but found it nearly impossible. Combined with the pitch black of the night, I could only see his light skin and yellow-white hair. He had a pleasant, thin face with stubble on his chin and cheeks. He grinned at me, and I grinned back to some reason. When I looked at him, I was like we were having a conversation without words, and it was a good thing too, because words couldn't express what we were talking to eachother about.

All of a sudden, I swore I felt a jolt of electricity as he placed his lips against mine, his arm caressing the contour of my back, and the other sliding up my dress. It was all so fast, but I've never regretted it. Oliver is the best thing that's happened to me, and he's more than a sex-crazed kid who can't hang out in the sun.




He's a vampire.



Haha, no, just kidding. But he does has this creepy skin condition where he can't go out into the direct sun or he'll get sick. That's why I've never met him. He's lived there his entire life, but I never saw him, not once. But he says he's seen me. He says he's watched me ever since he moved here six years ago with his family. Which is kind of creepy, because he would've been 12, and I would've been 9. I broke up with him just because of that. I mean, he's hot and everything, but what a creepy pedophile. Okay, no, that's not why. My mom found out about us, and forbid me to see him and all that stuff because he's 19 and I'm 15. But I did yell at him and made him feel like crap. But now I suddenly find myself pedaling as fast as I can in the rain to find him, and I know I have to. I have to find him. I love him.


I stop the bike next to the bridge, the first and only place I had to look for him, the back wheel skidding in the mud. I stumble down to the space under the bridge, and first I see nothing, absolutely nothing. But then I see him, and I'm breathless. His pallid body is pushed alongside the stream, his lips slightly open and his eyes closed. He was now suddenly in my lap, just like when I first met him, except now we're both soaked, except now there are tears pouring down my face, and except now this time the person in the lap doesn't wake up.



Except now it's not a happy ending.


It's been twenty years, and now I'm married to Oliver's brother, George. I guess our hurting souls brought us together. We have two children together, but I don't love him. I don't think I'll ever love him. At least, not like I loved his brother.

Because our love is fueled with sadness.

[Fortunato]

Make me absurd and ridiculous. Make me giggle hysterically until I can barely stand, let alone walk. Make me clutch my sides as they cramp from convulsive and silly histrionics, and stagger into a wall so I can lower myself to the floor. Make me warm. Make me smirk that hidden half smile I reserve for you. Make me feel that full range. Make me, make me, make me. Am I too demanding? At least make me guffaw or chuckle. Or even cough. But you won't. Or can't. Or shouldn't. Because you're not really there. Not real. Not a person or a thing or a broadcast signal. So before you make me cry from laughter, you have to just try. Try to be there. Be there. For me. Just this once. Maybe if I think hard enough, and pretend, and squeeze my eyes shut until those rods and cones burst, just maybe I'll believe, even if you aren't. But I doubt it.