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started writing again - would love some input (this is short)
    #6779624 -

i don't know if this will become just a short story or an attempt at a novel.


screenplay



Students full of dreams come and go in swarms, like bees they envelope themselves in the quiet hum of textbooks and debate.
Tired from reading books they never desired to read.


Homeless men look like they belong in a different century, or perhaps galaxy.
Prophetic and insane.
They live in a world all of their own.
Finding God in the CRV of every can they pull out of the trash.
He is tired of walking and getting no closer to peace of mind.
He runs but can’t escape the demons.
What will he do when he realizes they are all in his mind?


She looks like a lost princess from some twisted fairytale.
She wears lipstick, and if you look closely you can see the coarse, dark stubble starting to grow back o her chin.
Why wasn’t she just born a female?
Eternally innocent yet weathered by the horrors of the inhumane.
She uses methamphetamine like European princesses used opium.


He plays because it’s the only thing he’s sure of.


A man carries an umbrella even though there is no chance of rain. Like a sword, he grips it tightly, darting eyes meet cold and strange faces. He is ready to battle the invisible insanity that fills these streets.


People are complex yet simple. They all need the same things. So what’s so special about that? Nothing and everything.


Fifteen feet away in the second story window a young mother cries quietly in the bath tub at night.
She’s completely alone, yet surrounded by millions of Lilliputian bubbles. She holds them in her hands, lifting them up off of the water, small mountains of clean - every second that goes by they are dying, slowly expiring and one step closer to never even having been there. But she’ll always remember the feeling of them on her palms.
She realizes people are just the same. Millions of us, one step closer to death, every second as we breath.
Some day her children will mourn and remember the feeling of her skin on their palms as well.

She cries alone. Rivers of black run down her face. Like veins in the human body, ever flowing ever going. Blackened teardrops fall from her face and into the clean warm water. Destroying the white of the bubbles but soon disappearing into nothing. The faucet leaks. Drip. Drip, drip. She loves the rustic personality of this place. It reminds her of her grandmother and how she used to talk about the old country. A place of poverty yet beauty. Mass murder and loving embraces. History tells many stories, but non like her grandmother used to. She was a saint, a modern day angel. A holy woman untouched by the corruptions of modern society. Her body had never known the poisons of processed foods. It was a concept as foreign to her as her accent was to other people.

She sees it sticking out of her pants pocket on the ground by the tub. Natural green next to deep blue jeans. She remembers everything about the moment she found it. She feels the slight raised textures of two perfect peas in this little pod. Sealed by nature in a tight package. She knew at that moment she would have twins one day. She couldn't’t tell anyone how or why she knew such a fact. But she knew deep inside.


what do you think?


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Re: started writing again - would love some input (this is short) [Re: laska]
    #6779756 -

Very descriptive. you dont have to try at all to picture it in your head.


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"There is never a wrong note, bend it." Jimi Hendrix


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