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July 2012



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vaalski: (Default)
We're having a storm: wind and rain. It's lovely. Our power was knocked out for several hours earlier - surprise!

And a fragment for you, possible longer piece, straight from what I remember waking up this morning:
In my dream I knew two things, and both of them were true. I knew that she was my best friend in the world, and I knew that I had never seen her before in my life.

Catching her gaze as I entered the room, I could see that she knew it too.
vaalski: (Default)
People used to say photographs stole your soul. With every click, a little more of yourself went away. Enough little clicks, and there was none of your soul left to go to the Hunting Grounds in the Sky. Perhaps they believed the person behind the camera was eating their soul. It wouldn’t have been hard to believe, in the old days, when cameras flashed and poofed and sent up smoke.
And perhaps photographs do capture soul; perhaps that’s why people keep so many around, even if they never look at them – so that they never lose their soul completely. Maybe that’s why people change over time; they accumulate so many photographs that the souls in those photographs become part of themselves, changing who they are. Maybe there are photographically created vampires, people whose souls have been leeched away. Maybe they become photographers, stealing others’ souls.
vaalski: (Default)
So I just found several shorts from Absolute Write prompts while pulling a portfolio together, and I decided to show you this one. Partly because a lot of you will be able to ID the person I used as my 'stranger on the train'.

The prompt:

You are on the subway. It is Midnight...the bars are emptying and the streets are filtering into the subway. You're sitting in the back corner taking in the action. Look around you and describe to your reader what you see. Make the spectacle come to life for them...

Go for 5 minutes...and don't edit yourself.

The result:

Nobody notices me, sitting there in the corner seat, curled up even smaller than usual. I hold a book as a shield; no-one glances twice at a reader on the subway, and it allows me to observe people without appearing to.
She gets on at the stop after mine. Looking at her makes me drop any pretense of reading and just stare openly. People like her appear on my train from time to time, people who are worth writing about, and so I reach in my bag for a notebook. I don't take my eyes off her.
She is tall, I write, tall and lanky, with long reddish-blond hair. She wears a trenchcoat of silver, over black leather pants and a top that laces, and a top hat, black. She turns to look at me briefly; her eyes are blue-gray. She wears a messenger bag - black again - dotted with pins. I look down; her boots are scuffed black, lace-up.
Desirous demon, I name her, for that's what the biggest pin proclaims. And then the train stops, and I must get off. She watches me go. As the train pulls away, I turn for one last glance.
The girl raises a hand to me, in silent farewell, and suddenly, I know I'll see her again.

Yeeeeah, you know who you are.
vaalski: (Default)
I make it past the hut that squats on chicken's legs, and avoid the cottege that smells of sugar. Climbing, I never look back. Flying, I do not approach the sun. When I am given advice, I take it. I do not interfere in the tasks of youngest sons. I keep a careful eye on the clock, and I always think out my wishes. I am polite to strangers and old women. I have faith that I will find strawberries in winter, and I remember that a comb has more in common with a forest than might first be suspected. I do not eat apples, and I have a healthy respect for spinning wheels. I do not make foolish promises.
I do not trust the wolves.

But there is one thing I forget to watch for, and when I hit bottom, she smiles and reminds me.
"I told you to be careful," she says. "Have you forgotten so quickly? Rabbit holes are always deeper than you think they are."
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