RE: SeaWyrm's Talon Exercises
11-08-2012, 04:19 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-08-2012, 04:22 AM by SeaWyrm.)
The world had ended. But deep down, the clock ticked on.
Down, deep down, beneath the dead foliage and bleached animal bones, beneath the empty subways and stagnating sewers, past fossils, through empty caves where no sentient being had ever set foot - but one cannot penetrate too deeply, or one reaches magma, yes?
Yes. Once. Then the magma cooled and hardened as the world died, so we can resume our downward journey through sharp, jagged and igneous cracks, through an alien world inside the world, to at last a core.
This is where there is a ticking sound. It is a strange, metallic and echoing beat in an immense spherical hollow, black as endless void but resplendent, if only one could see it, with shimmering metallic facets and strange mineral growths that formed before time in the liquid and heat. But there is also a house.
A house? Yes! Somehow, yes. It has brown paint over red bricks, and a gabled roof oriented arbitrarily, since at the very center, every direction is up. The house rests on that control point. In fact, it pivots wildly and aimlessly about it.
In the house is a thin man with spectacles and a pipe. He wears a bathrobe and slippers. He sits in a green Victorian armchair, reading a leather-bound book, and glances occasionally up at the mantlepiece. Above the mantlepiece, there is a clock.
This clock is not ticking.
Occasionally, he turns a page or two forward, or sometimes back. He is not reading linearly. Neither is it a very linear book - it looks to be a scrapbook, full of notes and loose pages, old photographs, things folded up and tucked away. There may be order to it, but it is not evident that there is even organization.
Presently, he looks up from the book, puts his pipe down, and stares directly at you, dear reader.
"I know you are there," he says.
He stands slowly. He seems sturdy despite his thin frame, as if he were carved entirely from a single piece of something.
"You want to know where the ticking noise is coming from, I suppose? Or how the world died? Very well, I will show you. Follow me."
He sets the book down as well, walks to the mantlepiece, and retrieves a key.
---15 Min---
//Should I stick with empty lines for paragraphs? Or go back to not that?
Whythankyou! ^.-.^
Down, deep down, beneath the dead foliage and bleached animal bones, beneath the empty subways and stagnating sewers, past fossils, through empty caves where no sentient being had ever set foot - but one cannot penetrate too deeply, or one reaches magma, yes?
Yes. Once. Then the magma cooled and hardened as the world died, so we can resume our downward journey through sharp, jagged and igneous cracks, through an alien world inside the world, to at last a core.
This is where there is a ticking sound. It is a strange, metallic and echoing beat in an immense spherical hollow, black as endless void but resplendent, if only one could see it, with shimmering metallic facets and strange mineral growths that formed before time in the liquid and heat. But there is also a house.
A house? Yes! Somehow, yes. It has brown paint over red bricks, and a gabled roof oriented arbitrarily, since at the very center, every direction is up. The house rests on that control point. In fact, it pivots wildly and aimlessly about it.
In the house is a thin man with spectacles and a pipe. He wears a bathrobe and slippers. He sits in a green Victorian armchair, reading a leather-bound book, and glances occasionally up at the mantlepiece. Above the mantlepiece, there is a clock.
This clock is not ticking.
Occasionally, he turns a page or two forward, or sometimes back. He is not reading linearly. Neither is it a very linear book - it looks to be a scrapbook, full of notes and loose pages, old photographs, things folded up and tucked away. There may be order to it, but it is not evident that there is even organization.
Presently, he looks up from the book, puts his pipe down, and stares directly at you, dear reader.
"I know you are there," he says.
He stands slowly. He seems sturdy despite his thin frame, as if he were carved entirely from a single piece of something.
"You want to know where the ticking noise is coming from, I suppose? Or how the world died? Very well, I will show you. Follow me."
He sets the book down as well, walks to the mantlepiece, and retrieves a key.
---15 Min---
//Should I stick with empty lines for paragraphs? Or go back to not that?
(11-07-2012, 05:38 AM)AgentBlue Wrote: »SeaWyrm, you have a knack for compelling stories, has anyone told you that?
Whythankyou! ^.-.^