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A thread for posting unfinished writing bits that you like anyways?
“There’s no food in here,” Theodore says staring dismayed into the cupboard, which is of course not entirely true, seeing as there are, in fact, several food items, but not the sort of food items that are at all good for snacking on, or grabbing in the event that you are late and need a very small and quick breakfast. He looks down at his dog, who looks back up with ears that have perked up after hearing the word food and eyes that show no sympathy for his plight.
See, his dog seems to say. I feel no pity, because you never give me any of the mystical cupboard food.
This is how he ends up carefully crunching on the smallest type of pasta he can find, because as the sort of teenager who finds that what had once been a stomach is now a bottomless pit, anything can and will do when the state of lunch and its edibility is questionable at best.
(Alternatively, there was the sort of teenager who never deigned to eat breakfast, be it out of lateness or a general sense of apathy, or perhaps both.)
This is also how he ends up a few minutes late for his friend Peggy picking him up for school, who is very much not amused and blasting something that sounds suspiciously like ‘80s music at a volume that can be heard from outside of the car and makes Theodore fear for her eardrums.
“YOU SPIN ME RIGHT ROUND BABY RIGHT ROUND LIKE A RECORD BABY RIGHT ROUND ROUND ROUND,” the radio informs him.
~
I have no idea where this is going from here, and I'm probably going to scrap it eventually, but here it is anyways!
submitted by icarus, postingwritingisscary
(April 27, 2019 - 6:57 pm)
(April 27, 2019 - 6:57 pm)
I HAVE SO MUCH THAT CAN GO ON THIS THREAD IT'S RIDICUOUS
(April 27, 2019 - 9:56 pm)
(April 27, 2019 - 10:31 pm)
"Augh, it smells in here!" shouts Alex. He scrunches up his face and pinches his nose. A flicker of a smile flutters by Naomi's lips.
"A-lex," Willow moans in a sort of scolding tone, like nobosy thought he was funny. Although, that isn't very accurate- Jack is laughing silently and that faint smile keeps brushing up against Naomi, however much she tries to fight it. I don't know if I'm amused or not.
"I'm sorry, do we not use that language here?" he asks. He stands up straight and tall as he can (which still isn't very tall) and folds his hands. He clears his throat. "The pungent odor that rudely intrudued the former peace in my nostrils reeked of gas." Now, everybody laughs, even Willow. Even my dog.
~~~~~~~~~~
This is just me playing around with Alex and his character as "the funny guy who appears not to have any depth but has a secret crush on Liv but Liv will never like him back because she belongs with Naomi". Sorry about how obscure this is, I don't know what scenario they're in where this would come along, or if Isaac is there yet. And I still haven't renamed Liv's doggo. None of this makes sense.
(April 28, 2019 - 9:18 am)
Ugh, I have too many stories I could put in here! Most I ended because I didn't like them or thought they were bad, soo I'm not sure how many I'll be posting.
(April 28, 2019 - 1:05 pm)
icarus, I love your writing style! It's very vivid and witty and flows super well. I would totally read a book written in that style. Here are a couple snippets, I may post more later!
• • •
“I don’t need a mentor,” says Eleanor again, because she doesn’t; because grief, she thinks, is so silent and private that it should remain within the walls of her bedroom between one and three am; because of the ugly, wrought scars on her back and the knowledge that the Reaper’s voice sounds like the whiz of a bullet; because she doesn’t quite understand or know how to explain that it is not that she believes that she is infallible: it is that she is scared that she is not.
Janus stares at her, unbroken, unreadable, and stands up.
He must be learning, because when he says “Go home and get some rest, Detective,” it is with the blind hopelessness of a man faithful in the nonexistence of God.
• • •
Janus offers her time off. She tells him she doesn’t want it, and suddenly it’s not an offer anymore. He kicks her out of the precinct when she shows up the next morning, tells her to go home, go take a break.
She storms into the elevator and faces the back wall as it shuts. They’re all watching, and she knows it, their gazes sharp and needling on her spine. Her coat is suddenly too hot and too heavy. She holds her head high as the doors knock closed, and keeps it there down all three floors even though only her reflection, warped and blurry on the semi-reflective metal wall, is there to bear witness to it.
She stands on the sidewalk outside the precinct, silently fuming, and when a leery guy in a baseball cap leans out of his car window to suggest that she smile, she screams herself hoarse telling him to leave her alone.
• • •
“I was stabbed in the back.” His lips split into a humorless grin. “In all senses of the word.” He spun around. I couldn’t quite bite back my gasp. The space between his shoulder blades was marred by a deep gouge, dripping with half-dried blood, that ripped through the fabric of his jacket and right down to the bone. “By my fiance’s lover. On the way to my very own wedding.” He turned back to me and caught sight of my horrified expression. “Unslightly, isn’t it? They cleaned it up for the funeral, but of course, I was already dead by then.”
There were no Cotillion lessons on how to offer condolences to someone about their own death. “I’m… so sorry.”
“It’s very tragic,” he said, sounding almost gleeful. “Sort of poetic, don’t you think?”
“Um,” I said, “Yes?”
Weber stood. Actually, he hovered a couple of centimeters above the hardwood, but it wasn’t terribly noticeable. From a distance— and with his eyes shut— he could pass for a healthy twenty-something-year-old man. Albeit one with a peculiar affinity for Edwardian fashion. “I could help you out, you know,” he said.
“Help… me?”
“Yes,” he said. “I rather like to attend the recitals. You’re incredibly talented, Noah. It was quite unfortunate about that, ah, mishap.”
The evening’s humiliation seemed to rush back all at once.
“If you like, of course, I could give you a little… push. It’s no more than some hands-on guidance.”
I finally looked him in the face. His swirling sockets betrayed nothing. I wanted it so much it hurt to think about it.
He held out his hand, as if for a handshake. “What do you say?”
It was getting dark outside. Weber alone seemed to hover above the shadowy curtains drawn over the rest of the room, illuminated seemingly from within.
My leg, pressed under my body, was falling asleep. It sent an eerie tingling up and down my spine, but I didn’t dare to shift it into a more comfortable position. I felt like if I moved even an inch, something would break.
“Okay,” I said, and took his hand.
The impossibility of contact felt like plunging my palm into freezing water, the vicelike grip of his fingers sending icy shots of pain up my arms. I barely had time to open my mouth in the beginnings of a scream before the cold sensation rushed up towards my chest, a gelid fist tightening around my lungs, and then spreading outwards, faster and faster. Just before the agony could push over the brink of unbearable, my hand, pulled by some invisible force, shot forward into darkness, taking the rest of me with it.
(April 28, 2019 - 2:10 pm)
THAT IS SO INCREDIBLY AMAZING ABIGAIL.
(April 29, 2019 - 10:16 am)
Ah I saved this one bit of a lousy story I wrote cuz I love it:
Kindor, [was] a sunny village of
ninety-three inhabitants in the Middling Lands of Jetal, with waves of dusty
wind without and many friends within.
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The
girl imagined that she could still feel the sweet-smelling breeze brushing her
skirts, still hear the enthusiastic yapping of dogs and her mother’s laughter,
still see the snow-butterflies fluttering past lazily on a late spring morning
before breakfast.
Maybe it doesn't seem so miraculous to YOU ALL amazing writers, but I'm proud of it.
I'm thinking of starting up that story again . . . I still have the first draft in my journal . . .
(April 28, 2019 - 2:33 pm)
Here's a bit from a short story I've been playing around with. Not sure if I like it, but I like the idea.
~~~
I storm into Electroblaze’s lair, the doors bursting open after me. Electroblaze looks up in surprise from where she’s holding Celia’s chin in her nailed hands.
“Who are you?” Electroblaze demands, her eyes lighting up with the promise of lightning at the same time that Celia whimpers, “Styg!”
“My name is Stygian,” I growl. “And you have something that belongs to me.” My eyes flick to Celia and then back to Electroblaze.
Electroblaze looks down at Celia and lets out a delighted laugh. “Oh, claws, is she your hero? That’s cute. A sidekick coming to rescue his hero.” She fake-pouts. “Too bad no hero-- or sidekick-- can defeat me.”
“Then it’s good that I’m not a hero, then,” I growl, my shadows beginning to form. Electroblaze’s smile falters.
“And I’m not a sidekick either. Nor a henchman, not that you asked.”
My shadows continue to climb and swirl.
“I told you my name was Stygian. And that’s true.”
My shadows finish climbing, and Electroblaze pales.
“But you might know me better as Shattered Shadow.”
I stand before Celia and Electroblaze in my full glory-- shadowed bodysuit, motorcycle-style helmet covering my face, shadowed claws flickering at my hands and a shadowy cape fluttering behind me. My helmet flickers on, showing me distances and heartbeats and everything about the world around me in a green light. Through it, I can see Electroblaze’s shocked expression and Celia’s betrayed look. I tune out Celia and focus entirely on Electroblaze.
“And I’d like my girl back.”
~~~
~Starseeker
(April 28, 2019 - 9:33 pm)
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa all of these are so good!
(April 29, 2019 - 3:01 pm)
This is a great idea! I can’t think of anything good to post on here now, but we should definitely keep this thread going.
(June 2, 2019 - 7:17 pm)