Current Work-in-Progress Snippets
Dec. 7th, 2008 01:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mmerriamI do these more to keep myself honest and working, but if you enjoy them, great!
Without further ado,
Cellphone Ghost Story
Audrey stared at her ringing cellphone, licking lips gone dry and taking a handful of shallow, rapid breath. Steadying herself, she picked it up. It could be anyone trying to call: her mother, her boss, an ex-lover. A telemarketer. She looked at the screen. No number flashed on the little screen in yellow letters, a picture of the caller filled the screen instead. It was a feature of her phone she had turned on immediately after she brought it home.
The dead girl stared at her, lying on her back, her blue eyes wide and unseeing, her blouse torn, showing her white bra and one bare breast. It was hard to tell from the picture how the young woman had died, but Audrey remembered stepping in the thick, sticky blood on the paved hiking trail next to the where the woman's body lay.
Audrey dropped the phone on the carpeted floor and collapsed to her knees. She had deleted the picture twice now, but it wouldn't go away, and then she had thrown the phone into the pond in the nearby park in an attempt to escape the dead woman's constant calls. It had been waiting for her on the coffee table when she returned home, dripping cold water and ringing.
She closed her eyes and wished she had never found the body, never been so stupid and taken that picture.
Fourth Dimensional Pony In the Concourse of the Lost
It shifted, strode, stalked forward. Settling, it chose a form, solidified, became the shape it desired, the creature it was expected to be. Hooves rang as it stepped between rays of light, walked past the sound of lightning, moved through the shadows of day and into the tight-packed corners of being and beings.
Each step was a century and an instant illuminated by ever-changing colors of prism pieces trapped in a kaleidoscope until at last it came to the place, this place where it was needed, called. It paused, taking in its surroundings, making sure it was in the right here and now and then and there and when. The pony--for that was how it thought of itself in this time--lifted its head and snorted, brown mane dancing in the gale winds of the storm as the rain fell on, around, and, through it.
Ghost on Hennepin Story
She stepped into his field of vision an instant latter, emerging from the grey-black nothing a dozen feet before him. Chad stopped in his tracks, surprised by her appearance.
She was small--little more than five feet tall he guessed--slender of build, and dressed in full Victorian mourning garb. The dull black dress was unadorned, the weeping veil hanging from her bonnet and pulled over her face was something out of a different era. She clutched a black parasol in gloved hands as she walked slowly past Chad, her eyes and face downcast. He saw through the veil that she is perhaps in her mid-twenties and blonde, her pretty, narrow face set in a grim frown, all unaware of the world around her.
She walked past, missing him by bare inches, acknowledging neither Chad nor the white cane he wielded. No one else appeared to be interested in her appearance on the busy sidewalk, she drew no second looks, not even any initial acknowledgement was she moved through the crowd. Chad turned, following her progress with his fading eyesight, waiting to see if she stepped into the library, thinking her perhaps part of a presentation.
Sparrow Story
Lottie gripped the armrests of the seat as the plane bounced and shook, descending toward the ground like the wounded bird it was. Around her the other passengers screamed, cried, or prayed, depending on their inclination and level of terror, voices muffled through the oxygen masks they wore. With a harsh metallic clang the plane shuddered again, lifted up, dipped back downward and to the right, then leveled off, still threatening to shake itself to pieces and drop them all to the ground below.
They had found her. After two months--two months since her last escape--they had finally caught up to her, and now a plane full of innocent people was going to pay for her disobedience.
Without further ado,
Cellphone Ghost Story
Audrey stared at her ringing cellphone, licking lips gone dry and taking a handful of shallow, rapid breath. Steadying herself, she picked it up. It could be anyone trying to call: her mother, her boss, an ex-lover. A telemarketer. She looked at the screen. No number flashed on the little screen in yellow letters, a picture of the caller filled the screen instead. It was a feature of her phone she had turned on immediately after she brought it home.
The dead girl stared at her, lying on her back, her blue eyes wide and unseeing, her blouse torn, showing her white bra and one bare breast. It was hard to tell from the picture how the young woman had died, but Audrey remembered stepping in the thick, sticky blood on the paved hiking trail next to the where the woman's body lay.
Audrey dropped the phone on the carpeted floor and collapsed to her knees. She had deleted the picture twice now, but it wouldn't go away, and then she had thrown the phone into the pond in the nearby park in an attempt to escape the dead woman's constant calls. It had been waiting for her on the coffee table when she returned home, dripping cold water and ringing.
She closed her eyes and wished she had never found the body, never been so stupid and taken that picture.
Fourth Dimensional Pony In the Concourse of the Lost
It shifted, strode, stalked forward. Settling, it chose a form, solidified, became the shape it desired, the creature it was expected to be. Hooves rang as it stepped between rays of light, walked past the sound of lightning, moved through the shadows of day and into the tight-packed corners of being and beings.
Each step was a century and an instant illuminated by ever-changing colors of prism pieces trapped in a kaleidoscope until at last it came to the place, this place where it was needed, called. It paused, taking in its surroundings, making sure it was in the right here and now and then and there and when. The pony--for that was how it thought of itself in this time--lifted its head and snorted, brown mane dancing in the gale winds of the storm as the rain fell on, around, and, through it.
Ghost on Hennepin Story
She stepped into his field of vision an instant latter, emerging from the grey-black nothing a dozen feet before him. Chad stopped in his tracks, surprised by her appearance.
She was small--little more than five feet tall he guessed--slender of build, and dressed in full Victorian mourning garb. The dull black dress was unadorned, the weeping veil hanging from her bonnet and pulled over her face was something out of a different era. She clutched a black parasol in gloved hands as she walked slowly past Chad, her eyes and face downcast. He saw through the veil that she is perhaps in her mid-twenties and blonde, her pretty, narrow face set in a grim frown, all unaware of the world around her.
She walked past, missing him by bare inches, acknowledging neither Chad nor the white cane he wielded. No one else appeared to be interested in her appearance on the busy sidewalk, she drew no second looks, not even any initial acknowledgement was she moved through the crowd. Chad turned, following her progress with his fading eyesight, waiting to see if she stepped into the library, thinking her perhaps part of a presentation.
Sparrow Story
Lottie gripped the armrests of the seat as the plane bounced and shook, descending toward the ground like the wounded bird it was. Around her the other passengers screamed, cried, or prayed, depending on their inclination and level of terror, voices muffled through the oxygen masks they wore. With a harsh metallic clang the plane shuddered again, lifted up, dipped back downward and to the right, then leveled off, still threatening to shake itself to pieces and drop them all to the ground below.
They had found her. After two months--two months since her last escape--they had finally caught up to her, and now a plane full of innocent people was going to pay for her disobedience.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-07 08:13 pm (UTC)http://www.flyokc.com/img/photos/financing.jpg
http://www.airport-technology.com/projects/will-rogers/images/5-will-rogers-airport.jpg
http://farm1.static.flickr.com/43/86225460_fc397431d3.jpg?v=0
no subject
Date: 2008-12-07 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-08 03:08 pm (UTC)It's kinda weird not to be going there this year, especially after looking at the pics. Is the story set at Christmas?
no subject
Date: 2008-12-08 04:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-08 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-08 06:29 pm (UTC)As always, my suggestions are only suggestions. I just have a higher personal attachment to this story than usual. Part of me wishes that I could write it with you, but I know you'll do an awesome job anyway. I hope you don't mind me occasionally expressing preferences.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-08 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-08 04:45 pm (UTC)