From a work in progress
Carl gazed transfixed at the ridge curious to know all about the girl who had fire and lightening in her hair.
Lovely!Noah and Andrea were having a discussion. Noah said something he might not should have said.
"The storm clouds rolled over her face. This had happened a few times before, back when they'd first met. Her dark eyes would flash and her face would take a set like a tall ship heading into the wind. Best to give her plenty of room when that happened. He had learned that the hard way."
Usually I lurk. Today, I shall post. My MC has just been told by her longtime friend, and potential husband that he is off to be a warrior at the high king's request. BTW, she has lived another life in the 20th century. In this life, she is now about 16 years old (going on 75) ---
It felt as if a giant hand was crushing her chest. An undeclared war had scraped through her former life like a tractor, plowing up her future and leaving it barren. In the last days before her husband had donned his uniform and gone off to fight, she’d said all the wrong things to him. She hadn’t understood that until it was too late, too late to apologize, too late to encourage and support instead of rant against the evils of war and berate him for not refusing to go. He hadn’t come back, not in a coffin, not in a bag. Not at all. By the time Uncle Sam took her brother, she knew better. He and the boys he’d trained with had traipsed in and out of her small apartment and her small life. She’d fed them, encouraged them, told them how big, and strong, and brave they were. She’d laughed and joked with them and then gone alone to her room and prayed for them and cried. Her brother had returned sound of body, but in his eyes she saw the ghosts circling, unable to free themselves or him from the everlasting nightmare.
She smiled for Stevan, and she strung stupid sentences together. “How proud you must be. How proud your father must be. All the province will be toasting and boasting when they learn of it. I’m so happy for you.”
He laughed. “You are not! Come now, what is wrong?”
She laughed back, the tears that clogged her throat choking a little.She looked at the western skies. “I shall miss you, Stevan.” Yes, so much.
The ship imagery is great; gets the mood across exactly.Her dark eyes would flash and her face would take a set like a tall ship heading into the wind.
Diamonds and rust, very evocative of a particular kind of contrast.“You didn’t wake me, but I’m not in the mood for diamonds and rust right now.”
Nice work with parallelism here (and there's a rhetorical term I'm not coming up with right now ("her small apartment and her small life"), but I like it anyway). And powerful emotional dynamics.He hadn’t come back, not in a coffin, not in a bag.
...
He and the boys he’d trained with had traipsed in and out of her small apartment and her small life. She’d fed them, encouraged them, told them how big, and strong, and brave they were. She’d laughed and joked with them and then gone alone to her room and prayed for them and cried. Her brother had returned sound of body, but in his eyes she saw the ghosts circling
Just nice phrasing and great contrast (rot/wondrous)."You will see things that will rot all the wondrous secrets of your soul from the inside out."
posted by Alessandra Kelley- we can throw ourselves to chaos and say anything can be real. Or we can try to determine what actually is real and true and deal with it with our eyes open.”[/QUOTE said:I like the character you have created here and I also like this part in particular. I think it's one of those lines that people can relate to not only in this fictional world but one that people would apply to their own lives. If that makes sense I do realize at times I do not.
Usually I lurk. Today, I shall post. My MC has just been told by her longtime friend, and potential husband that he is off to be a warrior at the high king's request. BTW, she has lived another life in the 20th century. In this life, she is now about 16 years old (going on 75) ---
It felt as if a giant hand was crushing her chest. An undeclared war had scraped through her former life like a tractor, plowing up her future and leaving it barren. In the last days before her husband had donned his uniform and gone off to fight, she’d said all the wrong things to him. She hadn’t understood that until it was too late, too late to apologize, too late to encourage and support instead of rant against the evils of war and berate him for not refusing to go. He hadn’t come back, not in a coffin, not in a bag. Not at all. By the time Uncle Sam took her brother, she knew better. He and the boys he’d trained with had traipsed in and out of her small apartment and her small life. She’d fed them, encouraged them, told them how big, and strong, and brave they were. She’d laughed and joked with them and then gone alone to her room and prayed for them and cried. Her brother had returned sound of body, but in his eyes she saw the ghosts circling, unable to free themselves or him from the everlasting nightmare.
She smiled for Stevan, and she strung stupid sentences together. “How proud you must be. How proud your father must be. All the province will be toasting and boasting when they learn of it. I’m so happy for you.”
He laughed. “You are not! Come now, what is wrong?”
She laughed back, the tears that clogged her throat choking a little.She looked at the western skies. “I shall miss you, Stevan.” Yes, so much.
"Did you know 'mother-in-law' is an anagram of 'Woman Hitler'?"
"Is it?" Steele asked.
"Yes. And it's true. My mother-in-law even had a little moustache."
I hope this is Okay.
These lines appear in a juvenile, aquatic animals', mystery, written in rhyme. The Eel has been implicated in the murder of a Trout, and, is now on the stand fighting for his freedom. The judge directs a question towards Eel, but, Eel's attorney cuts in, to advise the Eel not to respond.
"Eel, Eel, can this be true?"
"Don't answer, Eel, I will answer for you!
"Futher, Your Honor, I have to insist,
This haggling of Eel is a fish prejudice!"
It felt as if a giant hand was crushing her chest. An undeclared war had scraped through her former life like a tractor, plowing up her future and leaving it barren. In the last days before her husband had donned his uniform and gone off to fight, she’d said all the wrong things to him. She hadn’t understood that until it was too late, too late to apologize, too late to encourage and support instead of rant against the evils of war and berate him for not refusing to go. He hadn’t come back, not in a coffin, not in a bag. Not at all. By the time Uncle Sam took her brother, she knew better. He and the boys he’d trained with had traipsed in and out of her small apartment and her small life. She’d fed them, encouraged them, told them how big, and strong, and brave they were. She’d laughed and joked with them and then gone alone to her room and prayed for them and cried. Her brother had returned sound of body, but in his eyes she saw the ghosts circling, unable to free themselves or him from the everlasting nightmare.
She smiled for Stevan, and she strung stupid sentences together. “How proud you must be. How proud your father must be. All the province will be toasting and boasting when they learn of it. I’m so happy for you.”
He laughed. “You are not! Come now, what is wrong?”
She laughed back, the tears that clogged her throat choking a little.She looked at the western skies. “I shall miss you, Stevan.” Yes, so much.