tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post481916392849019731..comments2023-12-06T00:48:23.734-08:00Comments on Daily Writing Practice: Thursday July 16th, 2015Marchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-53040709153996412572015-08-06T10:02:44.444-07:002015-08-06T10:02:44.444-07:00Greg - no, no offense. I'm just a combination ...Greg - no, no offense. I'm just a combination of lazy and tired and rushed for time. The only reason I'm catching up now is because I'm taking it easy this morning after yesterday's harvest and market.<br /><br />Ooh, a connection with your earlier Red Riding Hood post! I like this muchly. The world they live in is developing nicely - now we just have to meet Mr. Wolfe!<br /><br />Morganna - that is a fantastic acrostic. Minimalist in the best possible way. This is definitely one of my favorites from you :)<br /><br />Ivy - this is really beautiful. Some really great imagery and descriptions and emotions. Very impressed :)Marchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-72312119998654124752015-07-18T19:05:52.606-07:002015-07-18T19:05:52.606-07:00His voice was no more the roaring thunderstorm it ...His voice was no more the roaring thunderstorm it had been right after his death. I used to hear him professing his love for me in the middle of the night. I could still hear every confession he had made to me, as if he was lying beside me, his fingers twirling their way into my hair. <br />But as of late, his voice has lost its strength. No more can I clearly hear him speak my name. The thundering timbre is now only a whisper caressing my cheek like the faintest gust of wind. Where I used to fall asleep listening to his protestations, I now stay awake throughout the night, fighting my memory to give me even a glimpse of his deep chocolate voice. <br />Why must time be so cruel as to heal the wound slightly only to snatch away the very sutures that were holding you together? <br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-73696693098277109232015-07-17T05:30:32.322-07:002015-07-17T05:30:32.322-07:00Feeling
A little
Incoherent, perhaps
Not quite ...Feeling <br />A little <br />Incoherent, perhaps <br />Not quite all <br />There.morgannahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04295309367485408358noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-25832150278812124602015-07-17T00:31:11.041-07:002015-07-17T00:31:11.041-07:00An anniversary should be celebrated because it mea...An anniversary should be celebrated because it means something to you, not pushed aside because it's too close to another, so I think you did the right thing: this clearly means a lot to you :) It's also why I don't have birthdays most years (although another aspect of that is that birthdays cause wrinkles and I'm terribly, terribly vain).<br />As for comments: well, I just thought I'd offended you horribly somehow :-P<br />Hmm, would today's story have been inspired by the recent events with New Horizons? I like your narrator's confidence and how he works up to his conclusion from some fairly reasonable premises, I'm almost with him in believing that events on Pluto are being covered up back here on earth.<br /><br /><b>Faint</b><br />"What... what happened there? I feel like someone turned me off and back on again."<br />"Just stay calm, Mr. Phillips. You fainted, that's all." He's going to figure out he didn't pretty quickly when he finds the first set of burn marks on his chest, where the taser hit him. The second set, at either end of his pacemaker scar are going to confuse the issue though, because he'll probably never guess that I had to attach a car battery there with jump leads to get the damn device going again. It's lucky they build them to be pretty robust really, if it had melted in his chest there'd had been no hope for him.<br />"Did some... Are there... What's a... wibble?"<br />"You told me you were just telling me about Wolfe, Mr. Phillips," I say. I'm trying hard not to sound angry, but I'm very angry. Almost angry enough to tase him again if I'm honest. "I rather think you'd already approached him. Met him. Made... <i>arrangements</i>."<br />"Blerk." He rolls over onto his side and vomits. I stand back, I'd rather not get my hooded red cape any dirtier than I have to, and there are scorch-marks on the cuffs already.<br />"Eloquent," I say, and realise that I'm tapping my foot. "Wolfe hit us, Mr. Phillips." I still can't control the convulsive shudder when i have to say his name. "I think he intended to kill everyone, but he probably wasn't expecting you to have told me about him yet. That was either genius on your part, or a richer vein of stupidity than I'd previously suspected."<br />"He knew about my mother," says Mr. Phillips.<br />"So does half of the criminal underworld," I say. "You're the only one with delusions of saintliness where she's concerned."<br />"Bler." He vomits again.<br />"I'm going, Mr. Phillips," I say. "I'll be leaving some evidence as to where I've gone; faint evidence, stuff you'll have to hunt to find. But Wolfe will hunt and he will find. And I will have to deal." I pull the taser out and consider shooting him again, and then decide that there was no point resurrecting him only to kill him a second time. "I suggest you faint again," I say. "Wolfe may just come back to clean up."Greghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08503319830584828982noreply@blogger.com