Sunglow

Mar. 27th, 2003 02:08 am
jackofallgeeks: (Literary)
[personal profile] jackofallgeeks
By impulse, he grabbed his jacket and left the room. Fluidly, he locked the door with well-practiced motions and strode down the hall, pulling the black coat around his shoulders. He saw people as he passes open doors, but they didn't register with him. As he flew down the stairwell, it occurred to him that he didn't know where he was going, or why.

It also occurred to him that he didn't care.

He danced around a pair of ladies who had taken a post in the lobby, nodding his greeting more out of habit than courtesy; he didn't recognize either of the girls. The brisk air wrapped around him as he left the building and began down the brick-laid walkway. It had dropped a good thirty degrees since he'd been outside last. The ground was wet with the rain, and the wind was heavy with the scent of a recently-passed storm. He didn't notice much of anything else as he walked across the path, purposeful but aimless, sidestepping other people without more than a quick, mumbled, 'hello.'

He crested a hill, the wind streaking through his unkempt hair, and he was struck by the scene, halting abruptly. Ahead of him, the wind played in the tall, green grass along with several squirrels and birds, but what caught him and made his blue eyes shine with wonder, was the sky. The sun was caught sitting on the horizon, frozen in place mid-set. The sky was split roughly, on the one side clear bright blue, on the other the deep slate of clouds. The dynamic was such that the clouds reflected the sunlight, themselves rimmed in orange and purples, and casting slashes of pinks and yellow over the clear sky. It was breathtaking.

The sunset would not have been nearly so beautiful if the clouds had not been there.

Date: 2003-03-27 12:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] starlight1184.livejournal.com
Ooohh.. I like it. Especially the last line. Very nice little twist thing at the end. :-)
Very cool.

Date: 2003-03-27 03:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] violetmay.livejournal.com
I hope you don't mind, I happened upon your journal via someone else's journal and I just wanted to tell you that I haven't read anything that beautifully insightful for some time. Thank you for inspiring me to go outside and watch the sunset this evening...

Date: 2003-03-27 03:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jackofallgeeks.livejournal.com
The insolence! The gall! The sheer presumption of it all!

-laughs-
No, I don't mind at all, and thanks for the complement. I actually thought this one here was more rough-shod than my other works (http://www.livejournal.com/users/roliasnoom/148860.html), but I really kinda liked that last line, so I decided to write the scene. There's one (http://www.livejournal.com/users/roliasnoom/143602.html) or two (http://www.livejournal.com/users/roliasnoom/149888.html) others of which I'm quite fond.

In any case, I actually wish more Random-Observers would stop in and say hi. I mean, really, the journal's open like this for a reason.
You meet some of the most interesting people...

Date: 2003-03-27 04:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mockette.livejournal.com
another great one! i like it! the last line's quite wonderful :)

Date: 2003-03-28 02:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] thismortalquill.livejournal.com
She walks the corridors of her mind, searching for something. Many of the walkways are well lit, the tiles are polished, the door plaques are all gleaming and everything is well kept. She opens this door and that one, all of them labeled, none of them are the one she wants. Other areas have worn carpet and the door-handles have the patina of age that only comes from use and care. But this too, is not what she is looking for. She moves on.

Taking this turn and then the next, she comes to a dirty hallway lit buy a single, naked, flickering lightbulb. She takes a deep breath and enters the long disused hallway, kicking some trash aside. She hurries by the first two doors, both locked, both emitting strange noises. The third too, she passes, but the fourth feels right. She slows and then stops, facing the cobwebby door. She can't remember if this is the right place. She reads the door plaque.


Cre t i n

Excited, she brushes the layers of dust off of the writing and the words form clear and true before her:

Creative Writing

She takes the door handle in her hand. It gives only a moment's resistance before the door squeals open on it's rusted hinges

*************

Ooh, now that the door is open, can I comment on this?

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John Noble

August 2012

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