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 Posted: Fri Jul 30, 2010 8:35 am
Since we're allowed to post most things here, I thought I'd start a little word game.
See, how it works is this: Somebody posts the start to a story. Somebody posts a paragraph (Or a few sentances, or several paragraphs...) continuing the story. After that person posts, another person adds onto the story, and so on and so on.
Theoretically it should end at some point, but the main purpose of the game isn't so much to make a breath-taking work of art as to have a little bit of fun.
Anyway, here's a start.
* * *
It should have been raining. It should at least have been a bit overcast, with an overwhelming sense of sadness, as if the entire world was mourning. But in reality, weather has never really cared to be convenient for drama.
In fact, today was one of the most beautiful days that Jean-Jacques had ever seen. The sun shone, birds sang, and the flowers were blooming everywhere you looked. Normally Jean-Jacques would have appreciated the weather, maybe even have been inspired enough to make a start on another of his paintings.
But today of all days, when he was standing outside in the middle of the graveyard with the rest of the funeral procession, watching with a heavy heart as the late Mr. Durand's coffin was lowered into the ground...
...something about it made the weather seem almost an insult.
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Posted: Sat Jul 31, 2010 7:46 am
Lying Eerily It should have been raining. It should at least have been a bit overcast, with an overwhelming sense of sadness, as if the entire world was mourning. But in reality, weather has never really cared to be convenient for drama. In fact, today was one of the most beautiful days that Jean-Jacques had ever seen. The sun shone, birds sang, and the flowers were blooming everywhere you looked. Normally Jean-Jacques would have appreciated the weather, maybe even have been inspired enough to make a start on another of his paintings. But today of all days, when he was standing outside in the middle of the graveyard with the rest of the funeral procession, watching with a heavy heart as the late Mr. Durand's coffin was lowered into the ground... ...something about it made the weather seem almost an insult. As he watched his mentor leave the world, he reached into his pocket. What was in his hand was a of great sentimental value, a small golden locket, ingraved with beautiful images of angels and clouds. He flicked it open, and music began to play music. A sort of lullaby-like tune, calming his thoughts. He felt an indescribable sense of melancholy. He closed the locket. After the funeral had ended, he headed home, to his small apartment in Maine where he did all his paintings..
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Posted: Sat Jul 31, 2010 11:12 pm
With heavy steps Jean climbed the stairs to his loft. He cast off his jacket into a lonely corner and flopped onto his bed. He sighed, today had been tiring. The closer you are to someone, the harder it is to let them go, and he couldn't yet register that Mr. Durand was gone. He reached into his pocket and felt the cool metal of the locket, rubbing his fingers across the intricate details. This part of Mr. Durand was still real to him. His fingers flicked the locket open, and the quiet chiming lullaby made his apartment feel even smaller; made him feel even smaller. A small man in a small musty bed. A speck of dust on the face of the world. Was it so selfish to care that another speck of dust was gone just because he was my friend? (I don't know if I should keep that last sentence.. btw, great writing guys! ^_^)
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 1:55 pm
Jean stared blankly at the ceiling above him. Nothing but a dull off-white color, with small cracks in the plaster crisscrossing it here and there up to the painfully bright fluorescent light bulb in the center of the room. Normally Jean's head would have been buzzing with images, urging him to get out of bed and begin work on his latest picture, but right now he felt curiously blank. Just lying there, listening to the tinny lullaby in his hands. He was about to close his eyes when he was jolted by the sudden sliding noise and thump as the newspaper was delivered into his mail box.
* * *
I think the sentence should be fine. I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you- after all, this is mainly just for fun.
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 2:46 pm
Immediately after hearing the newspaper drop through his mail slot, he got up off of his bed. He picked it up, quickly flipping through each section until he got to the obituaries. Thats where everything became real to him. There it was, the picture of his close friend who died as long as an eternity ago. Unable to believe it, he fell onto his knees and began to sob.
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