Uninterested Narrator

The same story as exercise seven, but narrated by an uninvolved, distant narrator. I hope this isn't very exciting.

Mid April

Masses of men gathered not very far from each other and assembled into orderly rows and columns. One group of them wore grey and were very dirty and seemed very weary and at the same time ferocious. The other group wore blue and seemed intent but a little paranoid, like something would fall out of the skies and explode them into thousands of fragments.

In front of the grey group of men, rode another man clad in grey and wearing very clean clothes. They had gold brocades and he wore a sword. He rode haughtily and distant. He gave a salute to the men assembled with his hat in the air. Most of those men almost burst into tears. He arrived into the lines of soldiers wearing blue. They gave their own salute to him and he tipped his hat to them. He arrived by horse at a small cabin. A man came off of the porch and met him. They did not speak. The man from the porch wore blue, but no hat. The man just arrived on his horse offered his sword up to the other man, but the man from the porch would not accept it and gestured for them to enter the cabin .

Two Generals Meet in April

Okay, the next exercise has many parts. The first part has two sections, which lie below. This exercise is a work in point of view and for this exercise we will be telling the same story from different characters' points of view. I probably cheated by using a real life story. It's what moved me. It's probably not completely accurate.

The General in Gray

He stood on his horse as tall as he could. He wore full dress uniform, gold brocade circling up his arms, a sword slung around his waist, a tassled hat sat on his grey hair, white gloves, and his boots polished black. He rode in front of his troops, serious, stern. He knew if he looked into their faces he would cry because he knew what their faces would say: dirty, tired, tried, worn, fragile, proud. He would never ask for his time with these men back. He prayed for their souls and wished so many of their lives had not been so violently cut so short. He asked God to give him strength for this meeting, for these men, to see his land through this abyss. He could no longer look forward, but turned his head towards his men and lifted his hat above his head in grand salute to their valor, their sacrifice, and their memory. He prayed to hold his tears in and they held their ground, as his army had always done.

The cabin approached. His line of grey clad troops ended and another stretched out before him like a blue sea. Waves of them had crashed themselves to death upon his army and here they now stood. He had never seen them so close. As he looked over them from his horse they shifted position together into perfect salute. To him. He tipped his hat in response, honored and impressed.

An attendant took his horse's reins and he stepped off in front of the cabin. His horse was led away and he stood alone in an ocean of blue. The dark bearded man stepped out of the shade of the porch of the cabin, serious, somber, with solid eyes, and nodded. The grey general undid the ties holding his sword and scabbard to his belt and held it before him with two hands. He bowed his head and presented his sword to the victorious general. The blue general shook his head and gestured that he would not accept it. With honor surviving, he was done.

The General in Blue

He leaned against the post of the porch on his elbow, with his hand over his head, looking out over his troops. Most of them had cleaned their uniforms for today. He had sent them through the meat grinder, but these boys had survived, and they wouldn't get killed by war now. Not after today. He was ready for a rest, ready to write his memoirs, to record and reflect on the moments he hadn't let himself think about because danger was ever present and each moment was more painful than the last. He couldn't forget these men. And he couldn't forget the man he fought against. He would finally meet that man today.

His aid handed him his gloves and began buttoning his dress coat. It was first time he had worn gloves the whole war. He watched his great foe ride up. He saw the boys' impromptu salute as if he expected it. He was the grey bearded man step off his horse and face him. He saw poise itself in that man before him. The blue general walked forward somber and serious, impressed by this man who had resisted him so long and so valiantly. He nodded his respect.

The great grey general removed his sword and presented it to him. The blue general felt like it was all finally over at last, that this was a man one could converse with even when both disagreed, that this was a man fit for the task at hand and he would not let him down. The blue general could not accept the sword; his opponent was too honorable, too valorous, too respectful and too much a part of bringing back together these people. No, he could not take his sword, this was not a conquering was, it was a war of union. He motioned for them to enter the cabin. The business was at hand.

A Long Two Part Exercise

Here is exercise six. It has been a very difficult exercise for me because one of the requirements was to write a story about an old woman. Apparently, I don't know old women well enough and also, I wanted to take the story a little deeper than I was capable. So, below is the best I can do. The rest of the exercise, which was the point of the exercise, not actually learning about what it is to be an old woman, but telling the story of an old woman who is living in the present while having thoughts and memories of a time past by. And then telling her reflections and her doings in either the first person, with her narrating, or in a third person narrator. And then using either all past tense, all present tense, or changing the tense used when the time being discussed changes. I focused more on what kinds of different things are discussed when telling a story from first or from third person perspectives. Can you tell I'm starting classes tomorrow?!?

Third person, completely in past tense:

For Establishing Less

She stormed out of the coven. She raged, screaming, sobbing, shaking, cursing those stupid witches. Her emotions overwhelmed her. She had no thoughts, just feelings of remorse, regret, rage, loss. She tripped through the moonlit midnight.

The dark had never bothered her. Not that night she first forced her presence on the coven, not any night since nor before. They had gathered in their circle like always, surrounding a bonfire of cedar. She remembered having gone there every full moon for two years, in secret and unknown to anyone, she watched and longed to join them. She worked up her courage and entered their circle to all their shock. They delayed her admittance. They stalled. They let her come but dallied around the idea of her full initiation into the coven. They said she had had no teacher. They said she was too wild, too out of control, not sensible enough. and tonight they threw all those same allegations at her. Threw at her refuse and curses stinging and paining her. She had lived for the coven. She would die for the coven, for their secrets for the rites. But they rejected her after twenty six years of service, they rejected and exiled her.

She tripped over roots and vines, despite the bright moon. She stumbled through the underbrush, lashing out at branches and leaves with her hands and twigs and rocks she would pick up after having fallen. Her hands bled and her lip swelled. Her forehead already had bruises and her elbows were scrapped raw and covered with dirt. Dried leaves clung to her wool clothes. She cried, she sobbed, she moaned for her loss, for the life she had always dreamed was taken from her, stolen, robbed. She had nothing left. She knew so much and wanted so much to help, to play some part, to join in to raise up the sisterpact. But why had they cast her into oblivion? Why had they declared her forbidden? Why did they do that? Why did they do that?

How could they?

She slipped on leaves and crashed into the ground. She covered her face in her elbows and sobbed. She sobbed there for hours. Squirrels came and went. Ants investigated and moved on.

She felt empty. She stood up slowly and realized she knew where she was and how to get to her shack. It didn't take her long to get back. Her head was empty now, not wanting more grief from her memories. She approached the her shack. Vines had long ago replaced the walls. Anda tree now supported the roof it had once counted on for protection. Moss reflected the moon back in a bright green light all around the shack. She opened the door and shuffled inside and risking a conflagration of emotions, slammed the door. They didn't come back. Instead she remembered one of her young pupils, just the other day having stormed off in frustration from her lesson. The girl had called her a hag, had said the old hag couldn't teach because she didn't know a broom from a forkroot. The girl had shouted that she wanted a new teacher, someone who could actually make a potion that worked, someone who could actually start a bonfire, actually lead to completion a group spell. The old woman, remembered the dumb brat and wondered if that was why she'd lost her place. Or was it before the girl storming out, when she filled the head mistresses house with scorpions?

She reached her tinctures and potions shelves. She grabbed a jar labeled wanderlust. Dust shifted on the lid and fell as she yanked it off the shelf. She read the label, then lifted the bottle high in the air, as high as her stout arms could reach, and looked at the ground, she crashed it into the packed dirt floor of her shack. It shattered, glass covered the floor and stuck in her woolens. She reached up to the shelf again. She grabbed a jar labeled Vengeance Procured. She didn't read this one, she just shattered it against the floor. Her foot began bleeding from a sharp glass piece.

She stood, panting over the broken jars. She noticed a large, long, pointed piece of broken glass. She knew what she had to do. She reached for it, picking it up while it sliced a red line across her fingers. She didn't notice the red flow down her newly made weapon. Her eyes were distant, looking out the walls of the shack, towards the glen where under the moonlight no doubt were still gathered the witches of her old coven. She would teach them all she knew tonight. She would hear their howls and call them banshees.

And now we move on to the second part. First person, present tense shifting to the past tense:

A Darkness Disclosed

Ahhhhhhh! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What were they thinking? What could they possibly be thinking? Mother of life, how could they be so stupid! How dare they! How could they? Oh nooo.

I've fallen. My mouth is full of dirt. How could they? What have they done to me? I am nothing now. I am lost. All I can do is wander through this forest forever. I can haunt them and their children and their children's children. Ohhh, nooo. There is nothing left for me.

I've got to get away from here. I've got to get away from their glen. I've got to find a way to get far away. These trees. Curse these trees. They hate me. I hate these trees. I punish these trees. Ahhhhh! Stupid trees. Stupid leaves. Stupid branches. Stupid vines. Ahhh. Curse you dirt. Dirt in my mouth is better than they have treated me. They never liked me. They never wanted me. I always wanted them. I loved them. I love the coven. Those abysmal scoundrels. They exiled me? How could they? Why would they? I gave them everything I am. I watched their meetings for so long before I could ask them to help me learn, before I could ask them for help. And then they wanted nothing to do with me. They hoped I would go away, but they wouldn't send me away then! Why do they send me away now! Noooooo. How can it be?

It took me so long to get up the courage to ask for their help, to approach their fireside. I wanted to learn. I wanted to know. I wanted to help them for helping me and now they turn on me. They throw me out into the abyss. They forbid me from returning. What did I do wrong? Why?

No, I fell again, I can't bare this. I can't go on. Ooooh, nonoooononooonooo. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Hmmmm. Where am I? I know this place. I must get to my house. I must get home. Home will help me. It's not far now. I know the way. There it is. I see it through the thicket. Almost there. Home will help. But why would they? Here's the door. And here I am and why would they? I needed them so much. Unlike that little brat. That little child monster, shouting and yelling at me. Telling me I knew nothing of the craft. Threatening me like that. How could she? Didn't she know what I have been through? Didn't she know my loss? I just want to help, doesn't she know? My baby, my baby, my poor little baby. I just wanted her to live. I just wanted her to be here. She's gone. She's gone, my baby. Forever. And now I have nothing again. Now, I am alone again. They cast me out. They threw me out and I have nothing. NOTHING!

Oh, I've broken my jar. My tincture shelves are here, but I've broken one of them. There are more. I don't need them anymore. I don't need anyone anymore. I can't need anyone anymore. I've got nothing left. There is no one to need anymore. They can all disappear! They can all die now because I don't need them anymore. No MORE!

I broke another one. I broke another one. There it is. They have broken me. Why did they break me. Why did they destroy my life? Why choose me to punish when I was already being punished? Didn't they know? Didn't they see my loss? Didn't they care? No, they didn't care. They always hated me. They never wanted me. They never knew my pain. I'll show them my pain. I'll teach them so they learn real good why I hurt. Oh, she'll learn now. They'll all learn now. I'll write their lessons on their bodies so they can't forget. I'll make sure it sinks in all the way to their bones.

Hunting Flowers

Here is exercise five. Absolutely no adjectives or adverbs allowed. Brutal.

Hunting Flowers

The moon lifted. The sun set. The grass grew. The flowers bloomed. Their blossoms released their fragrances. The bees searched. The ants dug. The hills felt the cascading light. The wind played with the grasses and flowers of the meadow. The trees sat. The birds sang. The shadows grew. And the lovers meandered. They talked. They smiled. They saw squirrels and laughed. They touched the bark of the trees. They would take a moment to stop and gaze at each other. They saw hanging pine needles and leaves. They saw the flowers. They smelled the flowers. They picked the flowers and adorned them on each other. They held hands, intertwining fingers. They wandered. They whispered of marriage. They dazzled each other. They heard the howl. They froze. They saw the moon. They knew what it circle meant. They knew the stories. They ran. It ran. They sprinted. It sprinted. Their breathing hurt. They didn't care. But they slowed. It stalked them. They wondered if they wronged in running. They doubted their instinct. They could not hear it. They could not see it. They looked and saw only the shadows. And then they heard it. They heard its charging. They turned and saw its fangs. They saw its snarl. They saw its fur. They saw its jaws. But all they could see while they screamed, while they were torn apart, forever, was its eyes.

Putting on Heirs

Here is the third part of the fourth exercise. Again with the repetition. Only now, it is repetition of the structure, which is to say, some part of the story itself, rather than the words or rhythm is repeated, such as an action or event. I accidentally already accomplished this exercise in the story Raven. I anticipated the repetition technique. But, here is what I hope is another example of the repetition technique.

Heir

The wind blew off the sea. It was a cooling breeze, the man thought as he reached the top of a hill. The sea stretched out before him. he was unafraid. He carried with him a satchel for his belongings. He scanned the horizon, seeing no ships masts or sails. His eyes reached the shore again and saw across a green valley another hill. On top sat a town behind a tall wall, with watch towers. He adjusted the spear he carried in his hand. He had no fear. He would soon be vaulting walls much bigger than those, with sentries much more sinister, and foes much more dangerous. He noticed next to him an altar. Taking a few steps towards it, he saw it was an altar to Zeus. The could not even scare him.

He walked away, down the hill and into a gathering of people. Everyone craned their necks to see and hear and the little ones tugged at togas to get to know what the fuss was all about. he strode through the crowd till he reached a comfortable spot.

A bard danced about before them all. He sang a ridiculous and raucous song while throwing things in the air and catching them while all the people laughed. The act ended to shouts of pleasure, but then the man of everyone's attention became quite grave. He looked about , not menacingly, but worried that those within his confidence lacked something mortally important.

"Do you know?" His voice was slightly more than a whisper. Everyone hushed. "Do you know?" he asked again pleading from face to face all around him. Louder now, he asked them all again, "Do you know the beginning?" And the people looked around slightly confused. He said so all could clearly hear him now: "Do you know how ruled the great gods and whence they came and how majestic their power became? Do you know the truth of the matter of the immortal deities? Well, what are we teaching our young these days. Leave it to this old bard then.

From against a rock, he too up his lyre and with a chord strummed shook the revelry from everyone and brought worry and doubt. Another discord strummed and his hand continued in grand gesture pointing to the Olympians high upon their thrones.

"As many stories begin, so does this one: not where one might think. Not on the snowy clearness of Olympus, but everywhere and nowhere. Chasm ruled al and was it all. For none could chaos but Chasm. Chasm wrought the Earth in all her random holy mess and brought forth Earth's mothering wisdom. And Mother Earth then ruled the world in Chasm's place for now there was order from the abyss. And Earth's rule was fair of face and firm of figure and flowers grew in meadows made for maidens, while mountains crashed up and up and over it all Earth bore Heaven to worship her and she him, for without passionate Eros, all would be lost and potential would not be. And earth's equal, Heaven, gave to earth his seed and she then in her mighty wisdom she created children of power and of light. Many stories do her children have but only her own struggle concerns us now. For it is there where we find the fate of our own predicament.

"The youngest of all Earth's children, the most brave, the most clever, the most exacting; the one who was not afraid. It was he who stood up to the invincibility of his astral father.

"As for Heaven, he remained frightened of his children and so once each was born, he hid them deep in the caverns of earth. He could not bear their birth. And when Mother Earth could bear such suffering no longer, she riled her children. 'Who among you is not afraid? Who among you is mighty enough to wield this weapon of my creation, Who has the power to slice with my sharp sickle at the power of Father Heaven?' And only one among the many children of Earth, whether of her own making or from the loins of Heaven, stood forth and raised their voice in courage.

"'I shall,' stated bold Kronos. The strong-handed Titan took up the sickle and waited.

"And the time came when Heaven came down upon Earth, revealed himself and filled her deepest inner reaches and at that moment, hard hearted Kronos swung his blade, scattering Heaven's power across the Earth and sea and over the wide width of the world. And from them arose more tales of power, beauty, and love, which we must forsake for our most important of tales concerning us now. For from that strike onwards, Kronos ruled the world from the distant high mantles of the sky to the lowest, darkest crags beneath the land. With his power, he took fair eyed Rhea, his sister, to wife and showed his power through his divine offspring.

"But it was just those offspring who he feared. He grew timid when he heard, and remembered, the children of the mighty are also the greatest threat to the mighty. And so, not trusting his wife's dark recesses, he swallowed each offspring as its mother bore them. In a gulp each, he assured his place atop the world.

"And lo, how beautiful eyed Rhea suffered and tor at her hair and garments and grew weary and sad giving up her children to the mighty mouth of Kronos. She sought the wisdom of her mother and father, Earth and Heaven and they divined the future. When her broad shouldered son approached, heralded by floods and lightning strikes of pain, she snuck through darkness, hiding herself away from even the most penetrating vision. There she bore thunder wielding Zeus, in secret and safety. To her mighty husband she handed a rock, wrapped in swaddling clothes, and named him son, Zeus, and bold Kronos, he took the boulder up and right away devoured it whole, knowing his food sustained him in his power.

"But in great secret in the caves and gardens of Crete, there grew a boy who would challenge the mighty Kronos. The son of Heaven's son brought forth his rival power and with his mother's aid and knowledge he overthrew the tyrant Kronos and forced out each sibling in turn to be free and roam the land and sea and skies in freedom, pronouncing their own glory. Kronos could not stop allmighty Zeus. Coming to Kronos' aid were the rest of his siblings, the Titans, but they could only compete with these overpowering Olympians.

"After ten long years of suffering and strife, the immortal gods of Olympus prevailed, overthrowing their Titan forebears and tossing them forever into the abyss of Tartaros.

"And thus it comes to reality the Thunder bearing god became father of all and ruled if not beneficently or mercifully, than most certainly, justly over the wide earth. Remember forever that what we have can be taken away and give unto he whose plans never fail, whose all knowing and cunning have yet to miss their mark, the mighty, the powerful -"

"Bard!" came a shout from the audience. "Silver tongued Bard! the traveling man with the spears and satchel said, stepping forward. "Bard! Answer a searching man a question! In what direction did you say lies mighty Olympus? Remind me where I might find this thunder bearing Zeus!"

The bard faltered, began to speak, and then, just stood pointing in the direction of Mount Olympus, home of the gods.

"Thanks from a stranger, fair Bard," the man said and turned in that direction.

"Wait! Wait fine sir! What awaits you on the Olympic mountain? Do you travel to pray? To sacrifice? To divine your future? Surely you must have some purpose to your journey?"

The traveling man stopped, turned his head, and said over his shoulder, "I pray none to no one. I sacrifice to no one and so never sacrifice in vain. My future, I know already, Bard of sweet words. I lay claim to Olympus. I challenge the might of those gods. I am the heir to Zeus and I got to take my rightful throne. He can not stop me," he said facing forward. "I am not afraid."

What They Found

Here is the second part of the fourth exercise. The goal of the exercise was to repeat the syntactic structure of a sentence several times, which is to say, the rhythm of a sentence. See if you can find which rhythm I used. I repeated it quite a few times. There is actually a lot of repetition I used. A lot of repetition all over the story. I mean, its all over the place. 

What They Found

A red light hung above the street, flashing its warning. A stop sign shot its red glare, seeking a ceasing. The smallish, rotund man kept walking through the night; not fast since he continued glancing to his left and right and even back from where he had come, but jittery, twitching forward towards a meeting he could not halt. He reached the alley where his business was. The black lane sunk into the dar, hiding its secrets. It perturbed him that the flashing red above gave him no greater vision beyond the darkness of the alley. He stared down the alley, his fingertips chattering their nervousness against each other. His sweat steamed in the cool night air. His left eye twitched. He slunk down the alley. He called out, "I'm here. I'm here as you directed." The red light pounded behind him, casting his red haloed figure before him. 

"Stop," came a dire voice from the dark.

He froze. 

The voice continued, "Tell me." The little round man flinched, looked up and down the black walls flanking him, glanced back towards the red light and up then at the midnight sky.

"I," he began. "I thought," he started.

"Tell me," threatened the voice in the dark.

The little man leaned forward, "The tall man took it already, saying it was his. He told me he would find you soon," but the rotund man was interrupted. A bright white flash lit up the alley, halting the small man. The dark quickly returned, while his thick knees sunk to the ground. His head leaned back, towards the heavens, his lips quivering. His chest and chin then fell, pounding the paved ground of the alley. A puddle grew around his girth. The tall man stood behind the corpse, laughing to himself. The long gun pointed at the dark, leaching its death smoke.

"... signaling your doom," the tall man finished what the small man had started.

The voice said from the dark, "I've got a gun on you."

The tall man shrugged and simply said, "You're dead already."

The voice behind the dark pleaded, "You seem a devil before that infernal red flashing. I can make a deal. I have much I can offer you."

The tall man answered quickly with a pulled trigger. The lightening flash revealed the dark location of his foe. The tall man flung himself towards a wall while spotting his target in the sudden light. Without a thought he killed the man, hiding in the dark. Two quick hot bullets found their way, screaming out their pain. The tall man turned and walked out of the alley, under the flashing red light, past the stop sign, and back up the street.

Cashier

Exercise four in the series and boy is it repetitive. 

Cashier

"And here's your change," he told the lady behind his counter. She grabbed her few packed up groceries and disappeared from his world. 

He turned to the face next in line. "Hello and how are you today?" he asked scanning the twelve items or less waiting on the belt. "Oh, good enough," came the response. Quickly, the bag was ready and the bill paid. "All righty. Here's your change and have a great day." He wondered if his smile came off as bullshit. 

The next customer approached with only a container of eggs. "Doing some cooking?" he asked. "Oh, no, not really. I just like eggs. I might have change here," he checked his pockets. "No, no change. Just take it out of that." "Farewell." 

"Hello and how are you today?" he said to the lady moving up. She was dour. "Fine," she said. He gave her her change with a simple, "Goodbye." Brusque people didn't bother him so much. He was brusque himself. But over and over again with not two seconds of connection wore him out. Just another reason this job sucks. 

"Hello and how are you?" "Thanks for shopping, have a good day." "And hello to you. How are you doing today?" "Here's your change and have a great day." "Hi." "Hey there." "Greetings." "Good bye." He saw so many people in a day and knew none of them. "Hello today. How are you?" he said for the quadromillionthle time.  The man stood still for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the lit up register number. "You know, I sucked today. I messed up a deal and it fell through. My boss is pissed. The company is pissed. And that's why I'm getting the ice cream. I hope it will smooth over the day's lumps." "Well be careful. We all know ice cream is a gateway drug." The man smiled and said, "How much is it?" "Three seventy nine." "I've got change," said the man and gathered it and handed it over. "Thanks." he said as he threw the change in the drawer. "Good luck to you. And thanks for the change." 

Raven

Here is the second part of the third exercise. The point is to write a short narrative that is all one sentence. There are a few places where my sentence below slips. I'll save editing for later.

Raven

The attendants attired the priest slowly and carefully beginning with the ceremonial cotton undergarments hanging loosely from his aging, sagging body, then taking great pains to anoint him with the holy water that was brought thousands of thousands of footsteps by hundreds of young people from high in the mountains of the rising sun; liberally they soaked him in the sacred water and once purified they placed over his shoulders three robes, one of white, one of red, and one of black, all tied on with a deep purple sash, under which they slid a long, sharp black feather and over all of these they hung about his shoulers a gown of exquisite embroidery detailed and flowing of a scene of once upon a time and always when the great Raven brought forth the gushing blood of life from the two sided clay form of humanity with Raven's great knife of a beak; upon this great priest's head they sat the Raven's headdress: dark black feather covered the head, glistening river rocks black as night sat as eyes overlooking the massive curved, sharp, and bladed beak of this manraven creature all the while lay in supplication and prayer a nake man and woman on a high holy platform in front of all the people, these two, lasted together with crude ropes of stalks of grains and vines with fruit and vegetables surrounding where they exalted in their testament, but suddenly there the god appeared and approached and exhortations to the great host sounded and then thunderers roared at the coming of new blood for the new creation and Raven gathered its might and drew closer to the honored pair and Raven raised its beak high for all to see and the duo sucked in their breathe in ecstasy as Raven crashed its razored beak into the chests of first one then the other drawing blood and slinging it across space and time and into creation and with the destruction of these two clay forms, life is birthed again. 

Hounded through the midnight fog

The following is from Part One of Exercise Three. The object was to tell a story using only sentences with less than seven words. 

Hounded through the midnight fog, he ran. Roots, thorns, and slippery grass delayed him. Was there safety to be found? Could he unearth his haven? All he knew was to speed on. With every little trip, he languished. For every caught cloth, he cursed. Insufferable delays tensed his cheeks. His left eye soon began twitching. He paid it no mind. There was no time to dally. Yet his legs could move no faster. His thighs burned. His mind raced. No time, there was no time. His legs would not obey him. Faster, he shouted, futilely. If anything, they seemed more constrained. There was nothing now except the fear. He knew his once speedy legs. He knew their top speed. He felt their terrible suffering. He knew his cause lost. Lost, but not forsaken. For he strove onwards. But oh the burning thighs. Oh, the tortuous straining for rapidity. Acceleration intended only resulted in hindered sluggishness. There was no time. His fear mounted. His afflictions escalated. And a sudden pause. A blackness descended. The silence echoed his fearful throbbing. The running finished, terror clung to him. Or perhaps, him to it. He could move his legs, almost freely. The sensation of running through glue remained. The feeling stuck to his stretched nerves. In the blackness, he felt his sweat. Through the stress, he felt a pillow. Among his strained limbs, there were blankets. He dare not open his eyes. He managed a thought: Is it over? The broiling pain hung in the blackness. Yet he opened his eyes. The horror of the moment bound him. Though still enchained, he saw his room. Though stricken with panic, he knew now. Though enveloped, he now saw the day. The dark feelings continue. But now his dream is finished. 

high noon gun fight

Here is the Second Exercise, which forced me into committing the terrible crime of abandoning all punctuation. God be with you.

high noon gun fight

breakfast brief bath and got last night's lady to rub down massage but my hands still too tense not much sleep for all that night the dark in bed no stars out window ready too ready scared stiff hard to rest knowing what tomorrow brought with all the thoughts of people known of people past i wondered where they might be i thought of them anyhow and lay awake maybe drifted off lonely in the dusty hot dark waiting for later but now this bright morning i have something to do ease cool metal click and part and grease and polish my side arm my shield my future my life with clean worn hands cleaning smooth glinting steel checking rechecking assembling for sure my life to live the reasons i have are the decision my choice to carry through window and out and freedom from the task and freedom but with fear no freedom from fear fear for my life fear for wondering if i couldnt have done it anyway got to take my chance to face my face to face what could be brought to rest either way brought to peace no doubt now doubt is done and gun is polished and working bullets loaded pants on tight and shirt on loose with belt slung skantly cross hips forgot to shave but can do later either me or the undertaker shake hands loose here i am and out in hallway clunking through the hall down stairs and through bar the heat is up now the sun is high the door swings free with a push and eyes need to squint to catch the glare not long now my hat i forgot my hat but no time now here he is across the street not far now got to stand tall gotta be big gotta move fast but steady now and steps down into dust street dont fall with bright sun high above but him there across the way hes gonna get it hes gonna be mine bastard take whats mine will he never again not no more and here my place in the center of this street with him in my sights and good as dead and he looks twitchy and nervous but steady i am and true my aim and nothing he can do now and hair blows in dirty wind and i cant believe i left hand he moved and i move and his gun flashes heart tears gun shot but where cant see cant hear feel rip sharp dark ache which him tear where fear lonely curse ache keen stab dark down pierce throb dark harsh dark chill cut dark ache dark dark dark dark

The People of Wak Wak

Author's note: The exercise here was to write something meant to be read out loud. So, you should read the bit below out loud. Preferably, performing with a growing crescendo until the end and of course, beyond. 

The People of Wak Wak

Welcome to the wonderful island of Wak Wak! To escape our weekly wailings, we come to the wonderful world of Wak Wak. We awake to the constant paradise of soothing comforts and continuous cool from the swimming pools to jakuzis to walks in wet sands to crawfish, brewskis, and kiwis at the Badwkin Hotel. We can can can with tucans whatever wheather confronts the fantastically wakfabulous island of Wak Wak.

But oh! Oh kindly woe! How fare the fine people of Wak Wak? Oh the wretched people of Wak Wak! The glorious glared upon glouts. Oh, abhorred and abandoned aborigines. Blinded by blusterous blunderers. Like living life luxuriously while wackos wack their waking wives. Oh the lamentable people of Wak Wak! Head strong and hardy, the people of Wak Wak. Charitable and amiable. Righteous and fortuitous. Capable yet unbendable. Now marketable and expendable. The unforgetable people of Wak Wak! They lived their days in the sun, under palms, with fresh coconuts and yawns. Dreaming day dreams and feasting for pheasants. Taboos forever fostered festered becoming shattered. A barrage of boring bureaucrats bring wickedness and weakened kin. Whatever happened to the wonderful people of Wak Wak? Wicked they grew. While coconuts died and tucans wondered, the crazed people of Wak Wak they worked. They worked for the white conquerers. They worked constantly for the whites. They cut wood for the whites. They would cook for the whites. Wouldn't come home until they cleaned all the clothes of the whites. They never wielded no weapons to kill no whites. They caved to the whites. They withered with the whites. Oh the despicable weaklings of Wak Wak! Crow about kiwis and coconut wine but I have no welcome for the wreck caused by the wake of the coming of those wicked whites. 

But lo! What wonder! What luck! What yonder cleaver breeches our catastrophe? Through what cleverness and wile will our willing savior come? Can it be oh so clear? We can construct our weapons of community. We can awaken our latent power to play. We can shock the world of Wak Wak with our great calm in the face of calamity. We can love. We can create. We can take back through a new story what cracked and broke oh so long ago. Through our infinite relaxation we beckon our limbs to heal and make again our wonderful island of Wak Wak. After destruction comes growth. The mythos is the trick. Our great tranquility within is the sword we wield. With love for all and empathy eternal we kindle in our kind the awareness of the connection of all life. The tale we tell spreads the knowledge of the constants of the world, forging creatures wise without heartache and wretchedness. Oh, the wonderful, fantastically wakfabulous people of Wak Wak! Crawl out of your caves and confines and crown yourselves kings and queens, now and forever, of the wonderful, fantastically wakfabulous island paradise of Wak Wak!

Aback

mesmerizing myriads of michael's muscle

milking meandering mendicants more magnificently