April 8 - 15 (2016)

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April 8 - 15 (2016)

Post by Wlonnie on Sun Apr 10, 2016 11:27 pm

"The focus shall be creating a mood by descriptive words and scenery, rather than by telling. If it's a happy mood, descibe the singing birds and sunshine, if it's a sad mood, describe the rain and grey colors, etc."

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Wlonnie

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Re: April 8 - 15 (2016)

Post by Wlonnie on Sat Apr 16, 2016 1:01 pm

There are some things I cannot forget. Staring into the deep orange-purple licks of flame is something my grandmother never stopped reprimanding me for. She was my unwanted conscience, my constant reminder. I couldn’t help but find the fire fascinating, just as I do to this day. There’s something about watching the birth of blue in a flurry of white-gold flakes and the perennial bloom of a dusty orange glow. Fire has a life of its own, and it captures the eccentricities of those who fall asleep within its smoke.
It was the same way with the sun. If a life of spectacles is the price I must pay for a childhood of chasing sunbeams, then so be it. Losing oneself in a rainbow is just as sweet as lying around campfires.
I never questioned the fire. It was with me, and within its heat, I saw reflections of myself that seemed almost impossible. There was no question that the fire and I had something in common; I’d just never stopped to think that there could be a third face in the equation.
I met someone who moves with the gears of a steam-powered clock, who kneels by the fire like there’s heat in his veins. Maybe my favourite colour will never be brown, but his eyes are that colour, and his eyes are embers with flashes of orange coming to life behind layers of thick brown bark. It wouldn’t surprise me if he could communicate with the flames. Not in a sense of power or grandeur – he breathes with the fire as though they’re in a mutual state of reflection, and he sinks into it with more ease than molten lead.
I used to be in love with the fire. Now, I’m in love with the way it burns him up.
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Re: April 8 - 15 (2016)

Post by Adley☮ on Fri Jul 01, 2016 12:08 am

The silent man was there almost every day, conducting in the rain. It did not matter who was watching, whether or not the sun was causing sweat to pour down his suit. Sometimes it snowed on his black hair, but his hands kept going and his eyes never left their distant realm.
In the beginning boardwalk goers looked on with confusion as they walked past. After a few days of his consistent attendance the man was almost completely ignored, aside from a few inconsistent onlookers.  Some stopped just to ponder the intensity of his expression, the complete focus and determination of the man. In one moment his hands went up in careful preparation then came crashing down with a silent bang, as the man waved his hands back up a smile composed of pure joy spread across his face. All of a sudden he twitched, switching his expression to concern as he reached toward the boat lock; quieting the onlookers. His hand began to gently sway, then ferociously sway, ascend then crash downward. His mouth began uttering who knows what, for the man never made a sound. Then, without warning, the silent man would stop and walk away.
One September evening, a young boy remarked that the man looked as though he was in an opera house, directing the greatest show on earth. A woman recognized his soundless gestures, removed a phone from her purse and hit play on Beethoven’s ninth symphony. Onlookers crowded around the phone in amazement, as the silent man appeared to be directing music out of the device. Up went the man’s hands, signalling instruments to cry out one beat later. Down went the man’s hands and the crying ended dramatically, exactly one beat after his signal.
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Re: April 8 - 15 (2016)

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