there must be more to life than lip gloss
Created | Updated Mar 31, 2003
Talents should not be wasted - obviously. But then again, I thought to be as good as they could be talents had to be cultivated. Now it has gotten to the stage where I can't think of any outstanding talents that I have. All of my friends either play instruments, sing, draw - or at least drive!
I have always relied on writing - poetry, songs, newspaper articles and possibly my least developed area - fiction stories. I always find myself pitying the character being left in the dark and giving them a bit too much information or killing the superstar hero using ingenious methods and then realising that the story is also effectively dead.
This is an opening I wrote a while ago, rough title "Kill Me First"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
It disgusted her, the way the tormentor looked as it explained her circumstances. She was frantically hacking at her thumbnail as it spoke, using the index finger as a substitute for the control she craved. Though rude to refer to any fellow being as ‘it’, her head could not begin to contemplate what the creature was. She was more concerned as to whether it intended more harm, and why it seemed to know more about her whereabouts than she did. The nostrils started heaving and it’s nose began omitting dubious-looking fluids, such a beast as this could not go on talking for long - as the effort required seemed to be more of a challenge than it had anticipated. The fact that it spoke English shocked her; she was not anthropocentrically arrogant enough as to think that everything revolved around the human race.
"Listen…you must take notice of this, you must heed what I say to you. What I am, who I am are not important. There are things we must just accept, things we cannot ever comprehend and must just take them in...I have known you your entire life, Claudia, each life you have lived I have followed and studied. Every life you have taken I have revived. The life you are living must not be the one you will proceed with. I will kill you myself if you kill again.".
The fear had passed. "I will kill you if..." was not a proper threat. It was an empty ideology, a way for it to make her obey. You do not offer conditions to deaths you provide; the execution must be planned intricately. Anyway, it was just a job. A toilet cleaner wasn’t a toilet cleaner when they were off-duty, Claudia was not a murderer when she wasn’t murdering. Who the hell did this stalker think it was telling her to stop the job she prospered in? Though, this creature seemed intent on sabotaging her efforts, providing life to the clearly undeserving. She knew that those she disposed of had done wrong.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't think it's effective enough - this creature is HIDEOUS, and in the first paragraph this fearless girl is supposed to be shaking in her Jimmy Choos.
Now here's one written considerably later than the above. It is a definite short story, nothing else supposed to be added.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Called 'Sarah - Class 6'
Sarah hated school; she hated school so much she took some of it home. Every day it was something else, a stapler here, and a pack of plain A4 paper there. Her triumph was a desk, difficult to move but very effective in demonstrating her adverse feelings. All of the items went into her bedroom; nobody else ever went in there. She returned home one day and hurled the blackboard in, sat on her bed and looked around. Her bedroom resembled a classroom and her haven had become her hell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
My poetry is elsewhere, I think that will have it's own entry though.
I have always relied on writing - poetry, songs, newspaper articles and possibly my least developed area - fiction stories. I always find myself pitying the character being left in the dark and giving them a bit too much information or killing the superstar hero using ingenious methods and then realising that the story is also effectively dead.
This is an opening I wrote a while ago, rough title "Kill Me First"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
It disgusted her, the way the tormentor looked as it explained her circumstances. She was frantically hacking at her thumbnail as it spoke, using the index finger as a substitute for the control she craved. Though rude to refer to any fellow being as ‘it’, her head could not begin to contemplate what the creature was. She was more concerned as to whether it intended more harm, and why it seemed to know more about her whereabouts than she did. The nostrils started heaving and it’s nose began omitting dubious-looking fluids, such a beast as this could not go on talking for long - as the effort required seemed to be more of a challenge than it had anticipated. The fact that it spoke English shocked her; she was not anthropocentrically arrogant enough as to think that everything revolved around the human race.
"Listen…you must take notice of this, you must heed what I say to you. What I am, who I am are not important. There are things we must just accept, things we cannot ever comprehend and must just take them in...I have known you your entire life, Claudia, each life you have lived I have followed and studied. Every life you have taken I have revived. The life you are living must not be the one you will proceed with. I will kill you myself if you kill again.".
The fear had passed. "I will kill you if..." was not a proper threat. It was an empty ideology, a way for it to make her obey. You do not offer conditions to deaths you provide; the execution must be planned intricately. Anyway, it was just a job. A toilet cleaner wasn’t a toilet cleaner when they were off-duty, Claudia was not a murderer when she wasn’t murdering. Who the hell did this stalker think it was telling her to stop the job she prospered in? Though, this creature seemed intent on sabotaging her efforts, providing life to the clearly undeserving. She knew that those she disposed of had done wrong.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't think it's effective enough - this creature is HIDEOUS, and in the first paragraph this fearless girl is supposed to be shaking in her Jimmy Choos.
Now here's one written considerably later than the above. It is a definite short story, nothing else supposed to be added.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Called 'Sarah - Class 6'
Sarah hated school; she hated school so much she took some of it home. Every day it was something else, a stapler here, and a pack of plain A4 paper there. Her triumph was a desk, difficult to move but very effective in demonstrating her adverse feelings. All of the items went into her bedroom; nobody else ever went in there. She returned home one day and hurled the blackboard in, sat on her bed and looked around. Her bedroom resembled a classroom and her haven had become her hell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
My poetry is elsewhere, I think that will have it's own entry though.
