Writing Dialog 2:
Writing dialog 2:
Two friends were drinking ice tea on top of a bridge, overlooking a dead road.
-"So... how was your week?" Asked Suzzane, mixing some sugar in the cold infusion.
-"Nothing out of the ordinary; I went to a cemetery," said John, sitting on the bridge's guardrail.
-"Thank god you didn't do anything weird! what happened? was someone you knew?"
-"No, the professor recommends that I see some scultures for my anatomy assignment," answered John nonchalantly, serving himself another glass of tea.
-"Let me get this right," said Suzzane, with a contagious smile. "When someone says sculture, do you think of cemeteries?"
She had a quirk when talking about something funny; she would move her hands as if they were a tennis fan, moving his head from one opposite side of the field to the other in mere seconds.
-"No, it wasn't my first pick; museums aren't cheap, you know." John almost choked on his tea. He was about to ask Suzzane about her week when suddenly heaven became real and in technicolor, a great roar could be heard from miles, John almost lost his balance from the guardrail, the silvery light became lighting shooting upwards, breaking that afternoon's peace in the valley, shaking bones, breaking glasses, and damaging eardrums. The rocket, the last wonderful thing humanity created, was now in high orbit, leaving a white, fluffy cloud where it once flew.
They were rigid, looking upwards, not in glee as Suzzane's little brother, but with disdain. The first rockets were a great talking point among the people of the valley, some sort of privilege and pride they share and show like a medal to the region, "They are close to the stars!!" Would said journalists but now it's more like a nuisance. The Mac's and Roudy's were the first families to leave, followed by the Carlson's and the Evans. Soon the grand majority of the town was a collection of empty spaces, lost in time while the future was roaring and flying no more than 6 miles from them.
Suzzane broke the silence.
-"The old tongues said that winter and fall were below 68 degrees, and that the rockets brought longer days and shorter nights." Said Suzzane contemplating the amber liquid flowing from the broken glass.
-"I went to the cemetery because it's quiet, no packs of people, no flashes, no laughs. I mean, what kind of museum puts on display bright colors and chalkboards? Cemeteries have that hidden effect on us; it's no place to be joking; it's solemn. A radiography of time, where different art styles and movements solidified for eternity, did you know that the real Gioconda was burned for her smile? Cemeteries have this aura of the past, the unbearable past, where all the bad, decadent, and violent were normalized, a place where museums go to die, where memories are set in stone, crimes and regrets are visible for you to be horrified or wonder, not only did I finish my sketches, I came with horrible conclusions."
But before John could elaborate, another wonder of humanity rose free from gravity. A deafening chorus made by millon dammed souls.
In order for something to prosper, other things or someone must be wretched.
-"I'm sorry about your father. I know things seem bleak, but he will get a job really soon." Said Suzzane, enveloping the broken glass in newspaper.
-"Thanks, it was a long week." John sighted, jumped from the guardrail to Suzzane, helped her put the glasses in the basket, and they started to descend the bridge.
-"My little brother is obsessed with space; he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up."
-"Good for him, I guess; at least he doesn't need to commute that much from here."
And they walked together, alone, in the middle of the dead road to their homes.
More Posts from Raven-quote and Others
December fright
December fright.
There's no peace of mind.
Just empty laughs, echoing around.
-"OMG! Are you sad?"
-"Hide your face right now!"
-"You're dragging us down!"
Now, I drink alone on the roof.
Having a slice of pizza at midnight.
While fireworks paint the sky blue.
No more empty ball rooms,
No more wasted champagne.
It's so easy to say: "enough!"
Now the summer night is turning cold.
A small relief from the old,
Alone with my pop songs.
happy festivities to you all!!
While the rain pours
empty, wet street We were under a robust tree. An umbrella made of leaves
Silver-gray sky Waiting for the storm to pass by It was in vain, but we had to try.
Being close to each other We start to share our warm Our lips are now in touch.
The storm may stop But ours has just begun. Time will tell if everything has a point.
Typical old book cover : blank
Well... what about the first page? Also blank
Ok, ok let's see the book spine: Name of the author who I don't know (sometimes it's Russian)
That doesn't tell me anything, I shall see the back cover: blank
I'm loosing it! Maybe the last page has an index: nope.
Ok, last try second page of the book: title
But... but what's the book about? I'm in a hurry!!
Waiting for a Car
Waiting for a car. Cold street night, Looking at how people talk, Dancing clowns in the park.
Adults are drinking in the warm bar. Delicious displays are full of pie. Black, dry coffee is steaming from the cups. While my bones are crying mad.
Now clouds are stealing the stars. I almost felt a presence touching my arm. The vehicle is here, and the doors are ajar. A pleasant hug inside while the rain pours down the night.
Emanations from a desperate mind
There used to be a library in the middle of the sea. Almost touching the starry sky, as shelves stood the trees. A library that holds every story to be seen.
But you found it empty, in complete disuse. You're looking for a single small, pale book. In this vast desolation, it's waiting for you.
Written in gold, it's called "The things you like." quite obvious for those know-alls who don't care or mind. However, you want to learn more about your essence.
The library is endless; you shudder for what's lurking beneath the cold waves. With strong winds, you let the small boat move again. Maybe the next row of trees might have a clue as to where to find your soul.
Vampire
"He's an immortal." 'How can you tell?' "Look at his pace." "He didn't break a sweat."
A young, handsome-looking man running laps under the misty evergreens. Listening to music on a walk-man truly an anachronistic scene.
"I hate those life drainers. A trap made in good manners, Being immune to death, They remind us, How pointless life can end."
'Maybe he feels alone, Being isolated and all Cursed to live the same night As a thousand falls'.
"He's unable to feel. Don't be so gullible. In his veins runs nothing but cold blood. There's nothing real in his smile. A shell, a mockery of man, don't be blind!"
Now the ethereal presence abandons the trees. Having dwelled in countless dark places, Being part of the scenery, never the spotlight Endless drinking, socializing, and expanding his mind…
"I must end this; that's why I call. This will be a deadly brawl. Unless I show him his true self, I need your help to break his charming spell."
Now the morning mist is on the rise. But before the helper could take a stride A soft voice calls his name. inside his head, thus sealing his fate.
'Come, rest with me,' the voice entreats. 'I feel your heart beating alone. Be mine, and you shall never be bored'.
The poor victim smiles with glee. soon to be his forever lover. Left alone, his friend chases a jogging illusion. Both were prey all along, for the mist was the real intruder.
Lots of artist sing about love, woe and abstract perceptions. Hovewer, I propose to sing about mundane things, such as that slice of pizza that calls upon you at night when you're 12 beers deep, or that thing that lives in the walls and steals your left socks.
Life is to short to worry about emotions.
Writing prompt. Dialog: 1.
-"How do you make beer?" Asked Ryan.
-"As far as I know, It's like making bread , but you add water." Said Muck
-"It can't be, my cousing works in a bakery, they use water to make the dough." Ryan took a sip of orange juice.
-"Well, if you know so much, why are you bothering me?" Muk protested.
-"I've never claimed to be an expert, I just know water is used in both processes, I was asking out of curiosity."
-"Ok, but why is beer a subject matter now? It's not even noon!"
-"I've heard some cats are collecting postcards as a hobby, well I want to make beer as a passtime."
-"You mean, penpals?" Asked Muk with a grin.
-"No, no! I mean the square thing on the postcard!" Ryan, as short tempered as he was, slammed the table, spilling some juice and almost tipping off Muk's cup of coffee.
-"whoah! Slow down pal! You were talking about beers, why this craving all the sudden?"
- "I don't want to drink them, I want to make them, as a change of pace."
-"So, are you quitting the job anytime soon?" Asked Muk before taking a big gulp of black coffee.
-"No, It'll be a passtime. Look at Tom, the poor guy never took a day off, no passions, not even a single nap. And now he's shaded, a walking corpse!"
-"I see what you mean, it would be a shame to lose you, including your charming personality." Muk smirked.
Ryan was about to protest, but he keep it to himself.
The waiter brought the check, Ryan invited the breakfast.
-"It's called a stamp." Said Muk, while giving his friend the knife.
And they crossed the door thresshold at the same time.
Wraith
The little girl at night wept.
It is no use, no time to pray.
The family man could hear her.
His time is about to end.
What a pain! So much despair!
Since the failed business, his destiny has been set.
The unrelenting foreign sorrow,
Is the hunter for such bad men.
Trapped inside his home alone.
There goes Mike O.
He was drained of blood.
Every single associate is now cold.
"I didn't do it," he shouted.
"It's not my fault, you know!"
But the walls answered with blood.
And he hears the creaking floor.
"Please! Don't come closer!"
He fired into the empty hall.
Midnight was announced by the grandfather clock.
Now her presence is seen in the corridor.
On his knees, he crumbles.
Praying to deaf gods
She touched his shoulder.
All her pain flowed into his soul.
Before being drained of blood.
He saw through her eyes what he had done.
He felt short of breath,
His finger nails are hot as hell.
He made the mortal order.
For a crime she witnessed herself
She was buried alive.
Thus sealing his twisted fate.
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