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Literature Text
They had weathered everything the world could throw at them. Storms and floods and fires and all the terrifying rage of nature against whatever happened to stand in the wrong place at the wrong time. They had lost their shelter and felt cold exposure, but they simply rebuilt; they had lost their most reliable means of gathering food and felt sharp hunger, but they forged on, finding new ways to sustain themselves.
The world was vast and cruel and they were small and ineffective in the middle of it, but they held on. They proved themselves stronger than the storms through their endurance.
But now there was no they.
Only him, and a heap of stones.
The world was vast and cruel and they were small and ineffective in the middle of it, but they held on. They proved themselves stronger than the storms through their endurance.
But now there was no they.
Only him, and a heap of stones.
Literature
Curtain
The rich old man was going to die. Somehow, he knew. It was as if the silk curtains floating in from the summer breeze had whispered this secret into his ear, a billowing angel. Sunlight streamed into the room, lighting the dusty interior with golden rays, but the old man's vision was failing, and he could only see the blurriest of shapes.
“Please,...” he whispered. “Please, someone...”
A figure slipped into the room.
“Oh, good. Good. Please, come sit with me.”
The figure came and sat, guiding a chair to the bedside with precise movements.
“Listen to me, please. I think I'm going to die ver
Literature
Donnie's Decision
“Hey Floater!”
The shout tore across Zeeko's awareness. His lanky frame sloshed about in the gelatinous pool that had once been his home.
So many straight lines. So many edges.
Donnie stood over him.
"Floaters aren't allowed down here, so why don'tcha go back where you came from?"
Zeeko shivered in the cold morning air. The blue glow under the skin of his chest darkened slightly. He rolled his head towards Donnie, winced at the bright orange sun. He wanted to block it out with his hand, but could barely raise either arm in the gravity of this world.
"Can you hear me, freak?"
Soft pulses of air pressed against Zeeko's skin.
Literature
an infinitesimal sibilance
a wisp of a whisper
remains in possessions
long after we're gone
perhaps forever
things we create
or build
or just treasure
faint echoes of others
faint echoes of us
still here
llp - dA - oct2013
DD - jun03/2015
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FFM Day 21! Dang this one came out sad...
Challenge day:
In honor of the Late Great American Novelist, we propose a toast of a challenge:
Today would mark 116 years, so you have 116 words to work with.
Hemingway's work played heavily on four major themes: love, war, wilderness and loss. Your piece must revolve around TWO out of those four.
He was also a big fan of the polysyndetonic sentence. It's okay, read the link, we'll give you a minute. Your piece must include at least one example of a polysyndeton, including at least three conjunctions.
Challenge day:
In honor of the Late Great American Novelist, we propose a toast of a challenge:
Today would mark 116 years, so you have 116 words to work with. Hemingway's work played heavily on four major themes: love, war, wilderness and loss. Your piece must revolve around TWO out of those four. He was also a big fan of the polysyndetonic sentence. It's okay, read the link, we'll give you a minute. Your piece must include at least one example of a polysyndeton, including at least three conjunctions. © 2015 - 2024 Oreramar
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Hemingway would be proud of this piece.