More short exercises.

The first piece…

(This piece is unfinished. I doubt I can finish it. But what I had seemed… decent enough to share, I guess. At some point I may weave this into something else I am working on. Until then, it stands alone.)

The air smelled sweet and musky. Rain was coming soon. It lingered in the air, a delicate tease to those who had been enduring a long summer drought. The Earth was parched. Her peoples thirsty. Yet the clouds hung on to their precious gift for just a little longer. The anticipation and potential was thick enough to spoon up like yogurt.

Wind rushed through the trees and low bushes, sending a small flock of sparrows scattering to find shelter. A delicate figure perched on her front porch swing mused and willed the rain to come and wet her bare feet.

“Cowards.” She hissed softly at the dark, pregnant clouds.

Another gust of wind shook the limbs of the large tree covering the house. Was it an answer from Mother Nature herself? Probably not. The woman on the porch had long ago given up hope of making contact with any sort of deity.

A soft sigh rose up off her lips to join with the sound of rushing wind. She had been so hopeful that this would be the storm to end the dreadfully long summer. Fall was in the wings just waiting to take stage. She could smell it in the air. So why were the balmy rains of the newborn season hiding still? The woman wanted to growl in frustration.

(… and that’s it. I lost my motivation when the storm outside refused to break and the sun started to melt away the clouds. Sucks. I thought I had something going here… Maybe next time.)

The second piece…

(I did this little writing exercise based off an actual conversation with Mike about two weeks ago. Didn’t get to post it until now, but oh well. Enjoy!)

The Scene

Imagine, if you will, a small, woefully powder blue bedroom. A queen-sized bed takes up the majority of the cramped space. Opposite the foot of the bed stands a tall chest of drawers with a television perched on top.

The closing credits to the movie Milk scrawl slowly across the TV screen, flickering a dim light into the otherwise darkened room. A couple is laying on the bed. They are cuddled together as though their closeness could protect them from the harsh knowledge that even though countless people have died, the same bigotry portrayed in the film still persists to this day. Even in their small city, more disturbingly, to their own friends and family.

A sniffle interrupts the soft, almost soothing music drifting from the television. The woman has been crying on her boy friend’s shoulder. Too many bad memories and emotions were dredged up by what they have just watched.

With a soft sigh and another sniffle she rolls over and reaches for a tissue. This isn’t the first one of the night. Nor will it be the last.

Sudden silence fills the room as the movie is shut off. Neither of them dare to break the quiet for a few moments. The power of the film lingers heavily in the air.

Finally the woman manages to control her tears. The only remaining clue as to what has happened lays in her reddened eyes and a pil of tissues in the garbage can.

“So…” The man says softly as he slides over and brushes a gentle hand across the woman’s back. “Do you wanna fool around?”

Shock flashes across the woman’s face as she turns around to confront her long-time lover.

“No!” She declares loudly. “I’ve been crying.”

“Come on…” He purrs softly, his hand slipping around her waist to pull himself closer. “You know how much that turns me on.”

The woman rolls away from his grasp, springing from the bed. “Shut up!” Indignation fills her eyes, her voice. “You are such an ass!” She yells as she stalks from the room. The slamming of the door punctuating her words better then anything else she could say.

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