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 Posted: Tue Jan 25, 2011 2:51 pm
Ever had a grand idea for a scene or something that you just need to write down despite a lack of context? post it here! maybe it'll turn into a full story!
let's post our story snippets and see what we can do with them smile
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Posted: Tue Jan 25, 2011 2:52 pm
The moment when I first froze was as I was watching her unzip her jacket. We had been sitting at the dinner table for what felt like maybe twenty minutes. The first bottle of wine had came already but had yet to depart, and I could see the way the red in the glass slid into her throat and crept up from her clavicles into her cheeks like kudzu vines. The heat had started to simmer below the creamy pale skin near her jawline, and eventually across her cheekbones.
"It's getting warm," she said, laughingly and lightly. Everything she said was laughing and light. So she stood, the folds in her long trousers shaking themselves free in the fluidity of the fabric, the loose folds working their way down towards the cuffs. And she started to unzip her jacket.
My wine glass heaved a heavy pause on its way to my mouth. She had placed her finger above the metal loop in the zipper lock, as if pointing to her chest. Hesitantly, then more boldly, she pulled the zipper down in a way that made me shudder. Her pointing finger was placed the exact way a doctor or mortician would place theirs over the top of a scalpel blade, the motion down her chest revealing a deep scarlet and burgundy silk top. I felt scissor blades scraping up and down my spine as she continued to undress, looking for all the world as if she was performing the most graceful self-autopsy to be seen, standing in the center of this restaurant for the world to witness. She sliced slowly, but firmly, until her jacket had been cleanly slit down the middle.
I thought of the pasta with marinara that the surely overpaid chef in this most elegantly overpriced restaurant was probably just putting the finishing touches on. The spiced meat and simmered tomato sauce seemed as unappetizing now as it had been irresistible sounding a minute ago.
She twirled the simple black coat over the back of her chair, as if the chair were cold itself, and smoothed her pants unnecessarily as she sat back down. I noticed her ankles were crossed ever so slightly, slim under the heavy smooth trousers. I could smell something faint when she moved her hands, something like amber and vanilla and the underlying heat of skin and flesh. She must have dabbed something on her wrists, I thought. Whatever it was was intoxicating and terrifying. I placed my wineglass on the table.
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Posted: Tue Jan 25, 2011 3:09 pm
"Erasmus, is everything all right?" Her voice again was again hinting at the amount of wine she had consumed. I attempted to keep my nod steady as I felt my rigid neck grind up and down. By the look in her eyes, she didn't notice how uncomfortable I was. I felt my own flush creep around my ears as my eyes absorbed every noticable, and unnoticable detail about her.I dropped the ivory table cloth that my hands had been grasping and watched as one small insignificant drop of wine upset itself from its crystal cage. The sight upset me more than it should and I averted my eyes from the woman next to me. Just her presence made my lungs feel as if they were going to split, and my throat burn more than the strongest vodka. Yet there she was, unconcerned about anything but when her meal was to arrive, completely unaware of my burning desires.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 3:56 am
insolitus naturae The moment when I first froze was as I was watching her unzip her jacket. We had been sitting at the dinner table for what felt like maybe twenty minutes. The first bottle of wine had came already but had yet to depart, and I could see the way the red in the glass slid into her throat and crept up from her clavicles into her cheeks like kudzu vines. The heat had started to simmer below the creamy pale skin near her jawline, and eventually across her cheekbones. "It's getting warm," she said, laughingly and lightly. Everything she said was laughing and light. So she stood, the folds in her long trousers shaking themselves free in the fluidity of the fabric, the loose folds working their way down towards the cuffs. And she started to unzip her jacket. My wine glass heaved a heavy pause on its way to my mouth. She had placed her finger above the metal loop in the zipper lock, as if pointing to her chest. Hesitantly, then more boldly, she pulled the zipper down in a way that made me shudder. Her pointing finger was placed the exact way a doctor or mortician would place theirs over the top of a scalpel blade, the motion down her chest revealing a deep scarlet and burgundy silk top. I felt scissor blades scraping up and down my spine as she continued to undress, looking for all the world as if she was performing the most graceful self-autopsy to be seen, standing in the center of this restaurant for the world to witness. She sliced slowly, but firmly, until her jacket had been cleanly slit down the middle. I thought of the pasta with marinara that the surely overpaid chef in this most elegantly overpriced restaurant was probably just putting the finishing touches on. The spiced meat and simmered tomato sauce seemed as unappetizing now as it had been irresistible sounding a minute ago. She twirled the simple black coat over the back of her chair, as if the chair were cold itself, and smoothed her pants unnecessarily as she sat back down. I noticed her ankles were crossed ever so slightly, slim under the heavy smooth trousers. I could smell something faint when she moved her hands, something like amber and vanilla and the underlying heat of skin and flesh. She must have dabbed something on her wrists, I thought. Whatever it was was intoxicating and terrifying. I placed my wineglass on the table. I really liked this. Beautiful prose. Erotic in a subtle way yet a little creepy due to the allusion of the scalpel blade. I think it would work well into a horror story. Maybe the woman could be seducing him to eventually lure him into her lair to make him her "slave" or perform some horrific torture on him.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 9:54 am
Oh...Gosh, the midterms have reduced me to an idiot...I continued your thing...I am sorry haha, I misread your post. I immensely enjoyed your piece, it was dark and very very beautiful. As for the direction, this will seem cliche, but maybe a vampire theme...or...a vampire assassin agency and she is the target.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 11:17 pm
NotesOnMyPiano Oh...Gosh, the midterms have reduced me to an idiot...I continued your thing...I am sorry haha, I misread your post. I immensely enjoyed your piece, it was dark and very very beautiful. As for the direction, this will seem cliche, but maybe a vampire theme...or...a vampire assassin agency and she is the target. oh, no worries! i actually really liked that you continued on what was already written, and encourage anybody to do the same. seeing as i have little knowledge of ideas for vampires, i don't know if i'd do anything in that vein (no pun intended), but the dark and creepy part is what i was aiming for. i simply have no idea what to do with it! maybe a murder mystery, like zodiac? my idea was that she started as an attractive sort, but the way she unzipped her jacket reminded him of something dreadful. something that alludes to her being all of the sudden a treacherous person. thanks of the input you guys - you should post your snippets too!
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Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2011 1:58 pm
Alright here is something I am tossing around.
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Meztli climbed down from the battle harness of Thenjiwie and wiped a bloody hand on her thick cotton pants that she had worn to fly to shake the man's hand that was standing on the ground. He looked reluctant and nervously shook her hand before taking a handkerchief and what he must have thought discreetly, wiped his hand with it. His round features in his face and middle marked him as a politician. Meztli scowled. She had just come fresh off the battle field and she defiantly did not want to deal with the petty business of the government at the time.
"Miss Meztli," He began but was cut short by a "Captain!" interjection from Meztli. "Captain Meztli," His cane clinked slightly on the stone of the pavillion as he tried to make a deep leg.
"Could you move on with it? If you haven't noticed, and I daresay you haven't, we have been engaged in battle all damned day and we are tired," Meztli said, her deep violet and scarlet eyes sharp. The man seemed taken aback and Meztli fixed the collar of her deep scarlet coat that marked her as one of the Aerial sector of Parthica's defenses. Her blood spattered neck cloth surely had not gone unnoticed by the man who seemed to be peering at her closely.
"Yes yes, please do direct me to your superior's office," Meztli threw her hands into the air, her patience completely gone. Her snow white hair that seemed nearly translucent shook with her head and a few strands became stuck in the bloody patches on her coat.
"Lennards, direct this...gentlemen," Her voice nearly cracked as she forced out the word, "To Admiral Benay's office immediately." She turned then from the man in the white coat to Thenjiwie who curled her neck around to look Meztli over with her ice blue eyes. The rest of her body gleamed with silver and crimson scales and her scarlet ruff was perked up in curiosity.
"Meztli when will we be back out there?" She asked after a moment of silence, looking out away from the pavillion on the clifftop to where shadows of dragons caterwauled in the air. Meztli smiled and shook her head, patting the dragon's side. Her reply was a simple "Soon my dear, but first let us get you something to eat,"
The chef brought out a roasted sheep a half an hour later and Thenjiwie devoured it straight down to the hooves. Meztli was staring blankly at the sky, looking every once in a while through her looking glass to see the battle, and taking sips from the silver flask filled with blood-wine every few minutes, trying to calm her thirst before they had to leave.
"Captain! Captain! The Courier is here with reports of ten more heavy weight dragons, all with crew coming in from Lenesway," The lanky Lannards said as he ran, his face flushed with color from running. Meztli rose immediatly and called the order.
"All aboard, no time to waste!" She herself nimbly climbed the harness while feeling Thenjiwie's excited tremors beneath her, and clipped herself in.
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It isn't much but it is a snippet. It is based on a story I am considering writing. Pretty much the two dragon nations Pathica and Methyous are at war and...I haven't figured out much else yet.
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Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2011 12:28 am
but that's exactly what makes a snippet grow - thanks for posting! are you going to write the story soon?
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Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2011 5:16 pm
Umm, not for probably another year since I am in the middle of writing a series...I can only type up the first at night since school won't let me use my laptop there, so I write the second there and type the first at night...hopefully in the summertime I will be able to finish both.
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Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2011 7:14 pm
This is something I've been sitting on for a while, but I love the characters. I just also... can't write it. ._. I've tried but I can't get past the main finding out that an excessively friendly horrorterror has parked its Lovecraftian temple in his teeny house. :V This snippet is set post-story, so Daiki's had time to get used to "Tako" and the fact that he apparently bought a TARDIS.
If you want the text to be larger, just ask; I feel weird posting this, but I want this published so I think I need to get over my "OH GOD THIS SUCKS" complex. :I The text is my compromise is what I'm saying. /blather nobody cares about
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“Tako…?”
Daiki was slightly worried by the complete lack of noise in the “temple” that Tako called home, but it wasn’t enough for him to decide that running back up the stairs and barricading the door behind him was the only remaining option. It didn’t make it any less unsettling, though; the was almost always some sort of noise, even if it was just the slight buzzing in his head that only Tako’s presence caused.
He relaxed slightly when he heard Tako’s tentacles shifted on the stone, and started walking faster. Noise was almost always good when it involved the temple; he still wasn’t entirely certain that it was actually attached to his house, or even if it was actually on Earth. It wasn’t too smart to think about it too hard; apparently some of Tako’s previous worshippers had done so, and gone mad from it.
He dragged his thoughts away from how the temple worked, and focused on finding out why Tako was so quiet. It really wasn’t like him at all; he was almost constantly pestering him, and while he didn’t mind as long as it meant that Tako was okay, it almost never stopped.
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Posted: Fri Feb 18, 2011 1:29 pm
"Run." Either a suggestion or an order of command, impossible to say which from the quiet husk of a whisper. The woman did not make eye contact but continued gazing in various directions, her eyes the only part visible. There wasn't time to take in the odd black outfit that covered the stranger from head to foot; the shuddering hunting cry of the walking dead already could be heard, and Jared had already learned the hard way that by the time he could hear them they were too close. He ran. There were odd whistles from many directions by the time Jared managed to get to a good pace, he couldn't run fast and pay attention to where the sounds came from, so he concentrated on dodging bushes. After a few minutes he sensed from the corner of his eye shadows not far away that were keeping pace. He could only pray that they were uninfected. There was noise of fighting from behind, shouting and crunches of sudden impact. Jared wanted to run faster, knowing that things were getting uncomfortable, but he did not dare in case he should trip. Tripping now would mean death. He could only keep running. Climbing a tree was a bad idea, something else that he'd learned almost tragically. The trees were thinning, a warning sign that he might be headed in the wrong direction, but when he tried to turn several of the shadows turned out to be other armored individuals. The tallest had a male voice deep and quiet, "keep moving. we'll keep them at bay. Go!" The strange man had machetes tied at his elbows, extending down his arms like deadly sleeves caked in gore.. Jared didn't ask but started to race ahead again. going into the open was suicide. These weird people who came out of nowhere dressed up as if for a deathmetal concert said keep going. Jared had not seen another living soul for weeks. He ran.
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 1:30 am
ooh, i adore everything that's getting posted in here biggrin i hope they grow!
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Posted: Mon Mar 21, 2011 7:22 pm
Guilty. The Suspect was damn guilty, and that’s all you could say about it.
Robert Greens was a scrawny man, not the type of person who’d normally be labeled as a murderer by looks alone. His long-fingered hands looked fragile at first glance, and were always fiddling with one stray object or another, picking at stray hairs on his arm or buttons on his coat sleeves. Those slender fingers were attached to equally slender arms, which in turn were hung on a lanky torso. Hung, not attached—as though his tiny arms were just too much weight to lift. His whole manner was like that. Slouched, exhausted, weak. Most would assume, after a first glance, that Robert could not even lift a hammer, much less bash someone’s head in with it.
But men—even a mouse of a man, as Robert Greens was—could do extraordinary things when provoked. As a police officer, Ben had seen men perform amazing feats under stress. These men could outrun a police car, shrug off pepper spray, even leap from rooftop to rooftop as he gave chase. Weakness was relative.
Ben did not know what happened the night that Noel Thompson was found murdered in his study. All he knew for sure was the aftermath: A well-secured house left unlocked, a bloody hammer, a hysterical wife (first person on the scene), and several eye witness accounts that confirmed Robert Greens’ presence at the house roughly at the time of the murder.
Maybe it was a social visit. Maybe business. Maybe Robert left early, forgot to lock the door—maybe he didn’t. Maybe their gentlemen’s talk became heated. Maybe Robert was threatened, or threatening. Maybe he fled, too panicked to cover up his crime. Or maybe not. Ben did not deal in Maybes. He dealt in facts, motives, evidence. He could not judge what Robert may have done, only what he did now.
Problem was, innocent men did not twitch as Robert did. They did not fiddle or squirm or tap endlessly on the desk like a woodpecker with a nervous disorder. As Ben entered the interrogation room, watching the mouse-man, the world-weary officer could hear alarms ringing shrilly in his head. Robert was damn guilty, and that was that. Maybe guilty of murder. Maybe not. But he was damn guilty of something.
Ben Halfwaters did not speak as he settled into the steel chair across from Robert Greens. The police officer only took the moment to view his suspect. Robert’s nervous tics increased. He tapped his foot, sank deep into his chair, and pulled at his thinning hair with those fragile fingers of his.
And he twitched. If there was one thing Ben hated, it was when suspects twitched.
“So, Robert Greens,” began the officer, dropping a manilla file onto the interrogation table with a slap that echoed in the quiet room. Robert jumped. Twitched. “My name is Officer Halfwaters. You’re probably wondering why we asked you to come...”
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I have absolutely no idea where to go from here though. A long snippet, but a snippet nonetheless...
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Posted: Wed May 04, 2011 9:33 am
(It's a sci fi book, so dont be confused by all the silly nonsense words i made up)
Karsh was struggling with his formal outfit. Officers were required to wear them for dinner parties, held occasionally by the higher ranking military officials and politicians. He had traveled a long way to come to the party, and thought many occasions of not going. When he was threatened of being stripped of rank, however, he obliged.
The formal outfit that he was required to wear was made of black whale leather, with thin, sharp plates of obsidian on the chest, arms, and legs. Most of the plates were blocked by the leather, but some of them made contact with his skin. They were so sharp and thin that they left little cut marks on his flesh, like lines made of scarlet crossing across his chest. They were particularly uncomfortable in his inner thighs and crotch.
When he had finally gotten his painfully extravagant suit on and spent a few minutes in the dressing room, making sure it was all fit and correct, and pinning his cape and medals on his shoulders, then spent a minute or so admiring and examining his revolver, he left to the main dining hall. He wasn’t wearing his cybernetic goggles, as was custom for more formal meetings, so it was hard to see what colours everything was. He could tell though, from sonic hearing, that there were many high ranking officers in the room, wearing equally fanciful clothing. When he saw one with less medals, he felt a strange, false sense of superiority, which was curbed when he saw one with more medals. He didn’t see any food he particularly liked, didn’t see anyone he knew and felt very awkward, tapping his boots together and adjusting his suit.
“Alg’Shar, Karsh! How is life treating you?” He heard a familiar voice coming from behind him. He turned around to see his friend, Ulshkal. They gave each other the typical formal Kal’ha greeting, and butted heads with each other. It was a habit of Ulshkal, something common in the Death Sharks horde, but Karsh never particularly liked it. He tried to hide his dizzying headache to not appear weak to the others.
“Eh, things are going well. We lost the battle for Eden, but we have had many victories in the Uon system. I heard of your victories in the asteroid belt around the Valos system.” “Ha, yes. We crushed the humans, I almost felt pitiful of them. The asteroids were only a few miles apart, fairly close, so we were able to send entire battalions and bombs towards enemy positions. One small explosion and the entire asteroid went splat, ha! Stupid humans.”
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Posted: Wed May 04, 2011 9:25 pm
When I returned to the hospital the next day, I was informed by a nurse that Tommy had collapsed on his way back to his room the previous night. This really got my heart thumping. When I entered Tommy's room a few minutes later, I noticed with anxiety that he looked several times worse than when I visited him the day before. Tommy appeared to be thinner, if that was even possible. He had the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes and the yellow tint to his skin was more obvious. He looked exhausted. Nevertheless, he gave me a wide, happy smile when he saw me. I sat down on the edge of his bed and helped him to sit up. He was warm, feverish even. I rested my hand against his forehead. Yes, he was definitely feverish. I frowned, dread seeping into me. It was beginning to seem like Tommy wasn't going to make it after all. The thought made me feel sick. I looked away from him and twiddled my thumbs. "How long have you been
like this?" I asked.
"Like what?" Tommy asked, playing dumb.
"I mean, how long have you been sick?"
Silence followed. I looked over at Tommy. He was looking down at his hands, his expression thoughtful.
"I dunno." He finally answered. "For a while, I thought that it was just some annoying bug and it would run it's course. But after a while..." He stopped talking and shifted uncomfortably.
Trying to figure out where to go from here.
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