Daily writing prompts from June 9th, 2008 to December 31st, 2022
Wednesday February 27th, 2019
The exercise: Let's get back to the Random CD prompt. Pick a song as randomly as you wish, then make use of its first line as your own (with credit due, obviously). Then... take it from there.
Curiously I was listening to the song I've picked today just yesterday and thinking it might be a nice choice for the Random CD prompt. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to Rpwl and
Roses "If the world is one big plan, why must we lose our innocence? Why have we lost our paradise?" Paralysed, nothing to give,, Angelica stared at the tear-blurred eyes of the young girl. She was thirteen, thin in an athletic way, and just starting to blossom into a woman. Her face was still soft with some of the fat of childhood, but the bone structure underneath was emerging like a submarine coming into the bay below the castle. Her hands were pressed together as though in prayer, and her white dress, a luxury afforded to no-one else in the castle, hung as heavy as a surplice. Angelica pulled herself back together, and reached for the Bible on the lectern, bound in calf's leather and bulging with bookmarks. She already knew that none of them had answers to this question, and she dreaded what the question might be leading up to; the child had a habit of finding the horns of a dilemma and hoisting herself onto them. "Leave us, Sister," grated a voice that sounded like it should belong to a demon, and she shivered. She wanted to leave, to run away from a presence so vile that even the Archbishop was considering issuing an official sanction against it, but there was the child to consider.... "MacArthur," she said, but Mac was already sitting down in a percussion of pops and crackles that ought to be made by cereal, not bones, and taking the child's hands. His paws -- hands she quickly corrected herself -- were as clean as could be expected from him, and she couldn't see any unnecessary blood. "Go, Sister," said the detective. "That book holds a lot of words that were relevant centuries ago. This head," he tapped his skull with a finger and Angelica wondered if it was a trick of the light that made it seem like it left a dent, "contains ones more relevant for today." She gave in to the internal screaming and fled the room. "The chestnut vendor," said the girl. "In the rain?" "I haven't seen him since I moved away." "Since you were moved away." MacArthur's voice would have been gentle if it didn't sound like he gargled with broken glass twice a day. "Please tell me what I'm doing here. These strangers do not speak to me." "Monkeybutt's got a plan," said MacArthur. He raised a quieting finger. "I know she says that's not how it's pronounced, but have you ever heard her tell anyone how it should be pronounced? She wants to bring in foreign investment, and she wants to take control of some parts of the city by more than just abusing the Road Fund and restricting the police response. You're part of her plan, so you're here where she thinks you're safe." "The chestnut vendor?" "I haven't found all of him yet. I'm up to seventy percent though." The girl stifled a small scream. "All the things I tried to do," she said. "I never thought it was too late...." There was a scream from somewhere outside. Mac shrugged when the girl looked at him. "Sounded like someone not looking where they're going and tripping over a mop-bucket left carelessly close to the crenellations," he said, spitting blood at the effort of the last word. He forced a smile. "So in this silence say a prayer for the one who went away. And while you're doing that, I'll figure out how we're going to get you out of here."
This is a fascinating bit. A side of Mac I don't think we've seen before. I hope you continue this, when inspiration moves you to do so. Or the prompt, I suppose :P
2 comments:
Curiously I was listening to the song I've picked today just yesterday and thinking it might be a nice choice for the Random CD prompt. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to Rpwl and
Roses
"If the world is one big plan, why must we lose our innocence? Why have we lost our paradise?"
Paralysed, nothing to give,, Angelica stared at the tear-blurred eyes of the young girl. She was thirteen, thin in an athletic way, and just starting to blossom into a woman. Her face was still soft with some of the fat of childhood, but the bone structure underneath was emerging like a submarine coming into the bay below the castle. Her hands were pressed together as though in prayer, and her white dress, a luxury afforded to no-one else in the castle, hung as heavy as a surplice.
Angelica pulled herself back together, and reached for the Bible on the lectern, bound in calf's leather and bulging with bookmarks. She already knew that none of them had answers to this question, and she dreaded what the question might be leading up to; the child had a habit of finding the horns of a dilemma and hoisting herself onto them.
"Leave us, Sister," grated a voice that sounded like it should belong to a demon, and she shivered. She wanted to leave, to run away from a presence so vile that even the Archbishop was considering issuing an official sanction against it, but there was the child to consider....
"MacArthur," she said, but Mac was already sitting down in a percussion of pops and crackles that ought to be made by cereal, not bones, and taking the child's hands. His paws -- hands she quickly corrected herself -- were as clean as could be expected from him, and she couldn't see any unnecessary blood.
"Go, Sister," said the detective. "That book holds a lot of words that were relevant centuries ago. This head," he tapped his skull with a finger and Angelica wondered if it was a trick of the light that made it seem like it left a dent, "contains ones more relevant for today."
She gave in to the internal screaming and fled the room.
"The chestnut vendor," said the girl.
"In the rain?"
"I haven't seen him since I moved away."
"Since you were moved away." MacArthur's voice would have been gentle if it didn't sound like he gargled with broken glass twice a day.
"Please tell me what I'm doing here. These strangers do not speak to me."
"Monkeybutt's got a plan," said MacArthur. He raised a quieting finger. "I know she says that's not how it's pronounced, but have you ever heard her tell anyone how it should be pronounced? She wants to bring in foreign investment, and she wants to take control of some parts of the city by more than just abusing the Road Fund and restricting the police response. You're part of her plan, so you're here where she thinks you're safe."
"The chestnut vendor?"
"I haven't found all of him yet. I'm up to seventy percent though."
The girl stifled a small scream.
"All the things I tried to do," she said. "I never thought it was too late...."
There was a scream from somewhere outside. Mac shrugged when the girl looked at him. "Sounded like someone not looking where they're going and tripping over a mop-bucket left carelessly close to the crenellations," he said, spitting blood at the effort of the last word. He forced a smile. "So in this silence say a prayer for the one who went away. And while you're doing that, I'll figure out how we're going to get you out of here."
Greg - hah, good timing then!
This is a fascinating bit. A side of Mac I don't think we've seen before. I hope you continue this, when inspiration moves you to do so. Or the prompt, I suppose :P
Post a Comment