afraid I can't follow the prompt
it's entirely outside my area of expertise
guess I could make it all up
but that's not my thing today
thought I would be writing truth
and deep strongly held beliefs
but the prompt about news reporters
and grabbing for glory
doesn't sound like my kind of story
glad for the time limit
as it ticks away I think
at least I will not be verbose
and yet there is something
I really wanted to say about
praying for peace and going to war
and fighting terror with terror
that niggles at my gut...
It was morn in the Garden of the Hesperides. Clouds of warm mist floated around, cloaking everything in white. The three Hesperides were dancing around Hera's golden apple tree, singing to make it grow. Ladon burst from his cave, growling. "Everyone's a critic. Quiet Ladon! You're upsetting the tree!" Hope, the eldest Hesperide, yelled at their scaly roomate. They sat down near the roots of the enormous tree and waited for their 9:00 appointment. "Cousin Apollo should be here in 3...2...1." Peace said, looking at the vines.
I held it at arms length. I wondered who had stuck that dead rat in my desk anyhow. i carried it out to the garbage bin and flipped up the lid. Ugh. The stench was overpowering. I dropped the little carcas in and slammed down the lid. After thoroughly sanitizing my hands, i opened my spiral notebook and jotted down a list of suspects. Number one: Brayden Leston. He was known for all sorts of less than hilarious pranks, like the time he dropped an entire 2 liter bottle of Pepsi into Mr. Zapinski's Mentos drawer. The resulting explosion caused...
"I've got a loaded weapon and I'm not afraid to use it!" she shouted, holding the cat in her arms like an AK-47 as the snow swirled around her on the open playing field.
"You touch my snowman again and I will set the cat on you!"she snarled, walking menacingly towards the group of chav-scum teenagers who were busy kicking over her children's carefully constructed snowmen.
"Oh yeah, as if we're scared!" one of them challenged her. She just smiled, peeled back her black balaclava and revealed her badly scarred face. "He did this last month." she said simply, and...
When I was twelve I went to sea, aboard a small ship. They hired me to clean and sweep and feed the men, in exchange they said they would take me across the ocean to the new world.
A week or two after shipping out, a storm rose on the horizon. The wind she blew and rain she fell and waves crashed into the sides.
The captain went first, and then his crew, leaving just me and another, a drunk.
The sails were torn, and the bow was pierced, the hull became full of water. Neither of us knew how...
"This is a little weak on the nose, and blunt in taste. To put it mildly, I wouldn't serve this wine to my guests, nor likely drink it for pleasure." Those were the only words I have ever received, in written communique, as it were, from the famous wine critic Perry Daniels. It was also my first review as a vintner. Unfortunately, besides being in the show, it was also published in the Post. A shame. And great annoyance.
Because of this man, my start in vintering is in somewhat of a decay. I am looking in to brewmaster jobs...
The wind is picking up outside. It's unsesnoabley warm. The announcer on the television rattles off a list of counties that are under the warning. Leaves scuttle along the patio outside the window. There is no fear, just curiosity, a little confusion. People step outside to gander at the sky. The voice on the tube implores us to take cover, yet we continue to look out the windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. People sit on the swing set, passing cigarettes and smiling. It is always calmest, right at this
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. Like it had been ever since the Chinese industrial 'revolution', it was smoggy and grey. She stared off into the limited distance, trying to peer beyond all the smog.
"Where's mother?" A voice came from behind her.
"Oh, you know the answer to that, Chang'e," she replied. "Go ask dad. I'm sure that he'll say what he's always said."
"What's that?" she asked.
"You're so forgetful..." the girl mumbled.
"But you are too!" said Chang'e. "I bet you don't even remember what father said to you...
The idea is to create a false memory. Get a pretty model, blur the edges, overexpose the film. You can also create that overexposure effect digitally. Have her smiling, playing. Give her something that evokes childhood. Red balloon. No, we don't want to be cliche. Green balloon. And make sure there's an overriding color scheme. Green. We don't see a background - nothing but light on the horizon. This is memory, and memory is supposed to consist of overreliance on symbols, strong images, single focal points. That was the summer when...
We hire the model. She's angry and unhappy the...
Gigantic. Alana stared at it, her mouth open wide. The only word to describe it was gigantic.
"I - I don't know what to say." her voice was barely louder than a whisper.
"Say 'yes'." prompted Max, his eyes wide with anticipation.
Alana stared at it, not daring to make eye contact with him. It was all such a shock and she hated suprises.
He should know that, if he knew her as much as he said he did, he would know this about her. That he didn't raised all sorts of questions.
Braving a glance at Max, she saw...