The Challenge

EveningStar

Mage Scribe
Staff member
Knight of the Noble Order
Royal Guard
THE CHALLENGE is not the name of the post, but of the thread. And the challenge is to write something online right here and now, very raw and fresh because it's not heavily overworked.

Here is my attempt below. I take a deep cleansing breath, let out slowly, and type the following.....

Ah, the green and lovely sward lays hidden midst the trees whose boughs of verdant tender leaves embrace and enfold our great exhuberance!

The springtime fragrance sweeps the lawn, the springtime essence sweeps the lawn and candid hearts redeemed from snow embrace the golden, giddy joy of warm sunlight!

Awake, awake, ye lasses, lads, and sing the tune of bright rebirth! Does not the quickening pulse of spring provoke your feet to sprightly dance?

A faun and rabbit, light with glee, plunge joyfully into the brim-filled cup of life, a toast to raise to all who dare to live and love before they die!
 
Sorry to double post. Another example, this one borrowed from my post in "Marketplace of Technique", also done at the keyboard in one take:

Staid and gray the mists hung heavy on the wintry field. Silent as stone lay the noble dead just where they fell. With downcast eyes we drank our cup of sorrow to the dregs before we dared to break the spell and speak. "There on the short hill," I said at last, pointing at the place where wood must go to free the ashes of our fallen friends and cleanse the land of decay. And yet we knew the vale had been forever marked by their last cries. It would never be the same.
 
Hmm. Nice, but a bit too descriptive. 'Tis hard to keep up.

My attempt.

I inhaled the pepperoni pizza, pausing only to lick parmesian off my lips.
"well?"
I peered overtop the puffy crust, to my father's smile of satisfaction as he watched me eat. I grinned in reply.
"Alright, i admit it," i said between bites. "this is good. Thanks for taking me."
His eyes crinkeled, i was aware of the way he was looking at me; a fatherly pride mixed with nostolgia. This became even more evident as he reached out and smoothed my hair.
"My flower, all grown up."
"Mmm," i sighed through my nose, his broad hand sliding down my hair towards my neck; squeezing it gently. I let my eyes slip shut. "That feels good" i murmered.
My father gave a soft chuckle, massaging me one-handed a few more seconds before retreating back to his own pizza. "To think, two hours ago you were sleeping in."
I blushed. Late to sleep and late to rise--that was me; and it wasn't helpful that my father was a morning person. "Hey, i was tierd!" i protested feebly.
"Riiiight. You who stayed up to midnight. I feel for you."
"Its no fair," i complained good-naturedly. "You're always twice as tierd as I am, so suddenly i'm not valid."
Dad's eyes twinkled. "If you want, i'll traid. You can have first call, and i'll stay up late reading the newsest Dee Henderson novel."
"I don't want your sympathy that bad."


This sprouted from a real-life conversation. I stopped here simply because i would have just continued to ramble on, anc i couldn't find an apropriate place to end it.
 
oo fun...

Did I kill her? I seem to be covered in litres of her blood, on my hands, on my face, everywhere. Even on my dagger. Why would I do that though? I'm not a murderer, I don't kill. It was an accident, nothing could be more accidental then this. If, that is, assuming that I did it. I can't remember, it's all a confusing blur.
Screams, shouts, anger. I'd held the dagger, held it against her. But I can't have... I was only threatening her. I wouldn't have... I'm not a killer.
I guess I'm not going to that concert anymore. What a petty argument it was. How was I to know it would end in this disaster? It didn't matter, I should've just accepted it. Why? Why? The one single word spinning wildly through my traumatized brain. I didn't mean to. I would kill to see her again.
No, I wouldn't. Not literally I mean, like I said: I'm not a killer. Not a killer. That's right. But the dagger, the blood tell a different story.
They say I killed her.
 
This is a little bit cheating, since this is an extension of my novel, so the characters and situation are well formed in my mind. Nonetheless I'll try penning a brief, awkward encounter between a man and a woman with a complex history (though not the history you'd think):

Having settled Coney into the stable, William latched the door and turned to ascend the steps to the apartment. A flurry of movement at the door caught his eye, and he smiled gently as he saw a familiar form bustle out. As she busied herself with the latch, he stepped forward with a gentle smile.

"Hello, Judith", he said, holding out his hand.

"Oh!" she jumped and spun about, her eyes wide, clutching her bundle and dropping a few items. When she saw who it was, her immediate fright dissipated, but it was not replaced by unqualified warmth. "Bill! You - you startled me."

"I'm sorry", he replied, picking her things up and handing them back to her. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you again, too", she replied, taking the items and then suffering her hand to be taken and kissed, as was his custom. She was smiling now, but there was a wariness in her eyes. She didn't let go of his fingers, and then, almost as if she had come to a decision, she leaned forward and lightly kissed him. "It is very good, old friend."

"Well", William replied, caressing his cheek where her lips had touched. "I must say I hardly expected that, especially after... everything."

"I - that is, I don't - I'm not mad at you, or John, or Claude", Judith replied, beginning to walk along the street. "It's just that it was so confusing, learning all that so quickly. But it's no matter now, no matter."

"I must say, if I'd had to learn all that as quickly as you did, I'd've run, too - only further and faster", William acknowledged. They walked in silence for a moment before she spoke again, almost under her breath.

"I wasn't running, you know."

William bit back the question that sprang to his lips - it was no time to start back in on their famous spats.

"I was just - trying to think things over", she continued.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good place to come think", William replied. "We were worried when you just vanished like that."

"Yes, Widow Stilton pampers me shamelessly", Judith admitted, then after a moment she asked quietly, "Were you?"

"Were we what?"

"Worried about me?"

William looked at her in amazement, but she was looking at the ground, so he could not see if she was jesting.

"Of course we were worried. John and Beauchamp - er, Claude - are still invalid, so they keep pestering me for any word of you. They'll be ecstatic that I found you, and that you're safe."

"Will they?" she looked up sharply with one of her dazzling smiles, but then noticed that she'd done so and dropped her eyes again. "I mean - it's good to hear that they remember me."

William stopped dead in the street and stared at the woman. He was stunned, almost as if he'd been slapped. "Remember you? Remember you? Judith, how could we not remember you? Is that what you've been thinking out here all these weeks? That we'd forgotten you? Gracious, girl, John has been worried sick, and Beauchamp has had runners all over the valley searching out even the slightest word of you, and you're out here wondering if we remember you?"

She'd turned toward him, her head bowed, and he thought he could see tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "It's not that", she breathed. "It's not that at all, it's just that... when I learned... I mean, you had your mission..."

"Is that it? Our misson?" William stepped forward. He wanted to put his arms around her, but thought that would complicate matters, so he took her free hand. "Judith, dear Judith, we had a mission, but that doesn't mean we don't care about our friends."

For some reason this tipped her over the edge, and suddenly he found himself with a sobbing woman clinging to his neck. He felt a little self-conscious, especially in the middle of the bustling street, but held her and gently rubbed her shoulders. Again that distinctive scent came around him, bringing back all the memories.

Finally she gathered herself enough to step back. "I'm - I'm sorry", she stammered. "I didn't mean..."

"Think nothing of it", William interrupted. "Things have been a little upsetting of late."

"It's been so - confusing - and I don' t know what to think", Judith sniffed a bit. "The morning after - I saw you on the city wall - I couldn't sleep that night, and found John in the morning. I was so confused, and I started asking things, and then he said the strangest things, and I was so confused, and then - then we realized... oh!" She stopped suddenly, as if just realizing that she'd said more than she intended.

"Judith", William said gently, still holding her hand and looking into her eyes. "John told me everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything. I'd ordered him to stay back from the battle, but he went anyway, which was how he got so badly wounded. Afterward he felt such remorse that he told me everything, even about your conversation that morning."

"Oh!" Judith cried. "So it was because I - he went because we'd - "

"None of that!" William interrupted. "You were not responsible for any of his actions. He went because he was confused and hurt and his pride had been wounded - and that's not my assessment, that's his. He was a fool who should have listened to his superior instead of trying to commit suicide on horseback and endangering his own comrades in the process. He's paying in pain for his folly, but is at least alive, and will be have more of his burden lifted when he hears you are well."
 
CUM MORTUIS IN LINGUA MORTUA
(Tears for Bodie, California)

I rest my fingers on the rust worn latch and my mind goes back to other hands which grasped it firmly and, homeward, bound across the threshhold with familiar joy. The empty wind moans softly through the lifeless ruins, a testament to scornful curses and tearstained partings. The tilted doorway frames a frozen moment, suspended melody waiting for its final coda. The paper hangs in sagging shards, sun bleached, groping in the draft for caring hands that never come.

Metzger%20house.jpg
 
It's interesting to see what kinds of truths are revealed when we simply allow ourselves to write and not over-analyze every word before it's set down.

I'm not who you all think I am.

I'm paid to keep my smile in place, my eyes shining, a laugh at close commant, but I'm not who you think I am.

I'm another person that stares the world in the face and swears, "I'm just fine!" But once the shades are drawn over the windows of the soul, the shadows come out to play. The cabinets are unlocked; problems and pains are laid out on the table for all to see if they took a moment to look

...and yet, no one does...

I'm the girl that cried while the world looked away. I'm the parent that didn't say an extra 'I love you' to her son. I'm the man who worked so hard to provide for his family, yet refused to spend five minutes to kiss my wife.

I have become exactly what I swore I never would.



Hmm... little darker than I expected! Guess I need an extra dose of sunlight today!
 
Last edited:
NIGHT WATCH

Wind teases the sails till the ropes and spars groan with mild amusement. The moon-rich waters coyly caress the bow of my schooner. The deck breathes beneath my silent footfalls, gasping and sighing with each rolling wave and my mind goes back to Avonlea.
 
Oh, very interesting what others have written thus far. Here's hoping mine is just as interesting.

Darkness. Pain. Tears. And yet within it all, laughter. A dark angry laughter. Ah yes, the laughter of irony. The sun was setting on her world and death reared its ugly head around every corner. And still she laughed.

Maddy had cried long and hard and suddenly the sobs turned into laughter. The sound had surprised her and she wondered who was beside her. But Maddy realized it was coming from her. She was laughing.

Life was cruel, life was bitter, and life was hard. When she had seen death for the first time she knew life was hard. And she also knew only the strong and ruthless would survive. Which is way after watching the man's death she took his money and stripped him of his coat.

Now her own death was approaching and perhaps some brat would strip that same jacket from her and steal all her money. Maddy continued to laugh. How ironic it would all be. Killed for her beliefs, just like that first man. But what had been his true fight? Had it been as noble as Maddy deemed her own? Or was it the fight all men faced? The same beliefs, the same internal struggle against the pain of this world.

Maddy let her laughter and her sobs taper off. Let them take her life and her jacket. Perhaps the next wearer would accomplish what the man and Maddy had both failed at.
 
When McQuiddy laughs it is an event in itself. He starts out bravely trying to keep his composure, but failing that, his breath comes in spurts and a deep chuckle wells up from some spring of mirth inside. It builds irresistably until his hands go to his face and he doubles over with a deep, resonant haw haw that demolishes the somber walls of decorum and touches even the lifeless walls with echoes of his joy. In short, he was not cut out to be a poker player.
 
Blue sky, green grass, and soft earth beneath my feet; all rushing by. Wind on my face, through my hair, it too is left behind. I am flying, free! Yet earth-bound all the same. Running, running, miles gone with the time.

Heart pounding, lungs on fire. Only my strength fails me; my will runs on, on. the birds twitter their happy song, the breeze plays with my hair as I pause, only for a moment. I take in the sweet air, the beautiful creation I see before me; only heaven could be better than this!

Then suddenly it all becomes a blur, a shadow, a memory, as my feet take wings once again.
 
This is a bit violent. Its part of a story I am not currecntly writing; but this scene has been plauging me so i typed it up as a way to purge myself of it. I would appreciate any comments; but be noted, it is far, far from ideal.

I stared at Abigail, and realized she was my mother no more. The discovery should have horrified me; sickened me, scared the snot out of me.
But i felt nothing. Just that faint, lingering sense that i had lost something very special. And i wanted it back.
Abigail glanced up at me from the laundry. "Davie?" she murmered, making sure not to make eye-contact. "Do you want to say something."
I stared at her. "I hate you."
She blinked, her face suddenly all wrinkles. "what?" she managed.
I waited. I had hurt her. surely i would feel remorse, regret, sorrow--and still nothing. I wasn't desperate over my failed attempt, not enraged, just emtpy, as it someone had sucked away all of my existence and everything that made me human.
I wanted it back.
"I hate you," i said again. "I hate everything about you. You're a horrible mother. Its your fault dad left us, its your fault i'm autistic. I wish you'd never had me."
It was all a lie. I felt no emotion as i said it. The whisper of longing fluttered against the back of my senses. In a calm, empty way; i remembered what emotion felt like, and i craved for it. Please, oh please let it come back.
Abigail's face crumpled. Pain turned it into a shriveled waste, the way flame licks at a ball of paper, crawling deeper inside of its depths until there is nothing left but charred ash.
"Davie," abigail gasped. "davie. Davie." her pain was too deep. she could say no more. I saw my mother literrally breathless with agony; and i, the inflictor of that agony, had no emotion whatsoever.
I turned and ran. The door slammed banged shut behind me, bouncing off the wooden frame; twice to let through my mother's sobs.
My next door neighbor stared. "are you okay, David?" he asked.
I launched myself at him blindly. In a moment he realized what i was doing, brought up his arm to shield himself, but it was too late. I hit him on the head. "I want to feel!" i screamed. I kicked him in the gut, frantic, grabbing a flowerpot, crashing it down over his head. "I want to feel again! Let me feel!"
Somone ran outside. They yelled at me to stop. I whirled on them, chased them down, swung blindly; my eyes red.
"LET ME FEEL!"
Then police were there. They took me down. They handcuffed me and dragged me away, locked me into the patrol car. I stared down at my hands. They were red with blood.
And i knew then i would never feel again.
 
Ok.. this here is boredom speaking. I don't know this will turn out very well, but hey- it's supposed to be a challenge, right? ;)

The girl heaved an irritated sigh and she flung herself onto the old, creaky chair and pulled off her sandals. It was the unbearable afternoon heat that she could not stand. She wiped her forehead. But the heat was a sharp contrast to the clear, blue afternoon sky. She gazed up at the sky, her imagination engaged by the small, red color that seemed to have kindled itself out of nothing, yet it hung in the sky. It was unmoving but it grew, and the girl did not realize how much it had spread itself over the earth until she looked away, then looked back up at it. What a deep red it was- majestic even. Then, a voice startled her out of her reverie.
"Little Julianna," the voice called, "time for your bath."
The girl, Julia, turned, and smiled at the old, hunched-over woman, "I am not so near very little anymore, Marian."
"Indulge your old nurse," Marian replied, "She likes to remember the old Days. The Days of Peace. You remember? You were small yet, and the War had not yet begun." She sighed softly. "Yes," she repeated to herself, "there was no War. No anger, nor bitterness, nor violence. Alas, Days are not like that now."
Julia pointed, suddenly aware of the sky, "Marian, look at the sky! Naught but a moment ago, it was clear blue. It was as clear as the ocean, but now, it is a beautiful red!"
Marian turned her gaze to the sky, "Nay, Julianna, that is no scarlet beauty. It is red. Red as blood."
Julia bit her lip at the tone of her nurse's voice, "What does that mean, I wonder?"
Marian turned her troubled eyes to Julia, "Blood has been spilled this night. Somewhere very close to us, the sky reflects it. I have seen these signs, but none so much as tonight."
"But, the War has raged on for fifteen rotations of Helios!" Julia said, "Surely, there must have been much redder nights than tonight. Why, it looks naught but a colorful robe that the King would wear."
"No, my child," Marian replied sadly, "Mine eyes have seen, and they are troubled. Blood is not endless."


Well... that's the product of something that hasn't been edited. I mght as well go and fix it later. :)
 
With that fact in mind, i'll say i was certianly interested. The whole blood/sky thing was a very original fantasy-world comparison; if thats the right term. Very creative i guess.
 
The first story, Numaris, was published in my book The Last Ugly Person. I wrote a lengthy sequel to Numaris, for which I'm seeking a publisher at the moment. That dialog is a snippet from my ideas for yet another continuation of the story.

Wow! You're an author! I didn't know that. Very cool. :cool:

Well, since I'm here, we'll see how it goes. Here's something that was running through my head today.

"Look who's here! The one and only!"

"Hey Harry, where did you leave your wand?"

Elizabeth watched quietly from her favorite branch in the magnolia tree as several children gathered around the swingset in a nearby playground. She'd only lived in this house for three weeks so far, but she already loved the tree. Its branches spread out like welcoming arms, promising relief from whatever anxious thoughts and worries followed her everywhere else she went.

Slipping down the trunk carefully, she caught a glimpse of the boy the other children had been teasing. He certainly looked nothing like Harry Potter--slightly overweight, with mousey brown hair and freckles. She approached him quietly.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Elizabeth. I just moved here."

"Oh... hi." The boy glanced up, then quickly looked at his shoe, which kicked at the dirt idly. "Well, go ahead and laugh."

"What do you mean, go ahead and laugh? What were those other kids talking about?"

"They didn't tell you? It's my name. It's for real. So laugh all you want."

"You mean your real name is Harry Potter?"

The boy nodded.

"But... That's crazy! What were your parents thinking?"

"I don't know. You can ask my mom, if you know her. She's the one who named me. She left my dad when I was three. I never saw her again."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. Then she said, "I'm sorry. I'm sure if the other kids knew about your mom, they wouldn't tease you like that."

"Oh, they might know. But who cares? Lindsay's and Freddie's and Kylie's dads all left their families, and Joanne's parents are divorced. She spends weekends with her dad. Josh's mom died of cancer when he was four, and Abigail's been in foster care for three years. Laura is the only one Amy knows whose parents are still married."

"Amy?"

"She's my twin sister. I don't know anyone, but she tells me about people."

"Well..." Elizabeth tried to think of something cheerful to say. "At least your name isn't 'Asparagus.'"

For the first time, the boy smiled. "Want to see my Lego collection?"

"Sure, but I have to ask my mom."

After Elizabeth had gotten permission from her mother, the two set off down the road toward Harry's house. Elizabeth didn't care much for Legos, but she was eager to make friends. The house was only about half a block away. As they approached the weed-infested lawn, a small brown dog came yapping out to meet them.

"Hello," Harry grinned at him.

Elizabeth reached down to pet him. "What's the dog's name?" she asked.

"Oh, we haven't named him yet. We found him a few days ago, and we're still not sure if he belongs to someone else."

"Do you want to keep him?" Elizabeth could tell from Harry's face that he very much wanted to keep the dog.

"If we do, maybe I'll name him... Asparagus... Gus for short."


Hee hee... I've always wanted to write a story in which someone has a rather inconvenient name.
 
Back
Top