(no subject)
Oct. 9th, 2004 08:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosIf you ignore the wank that goes with it and just read the OP, this "Make Your Own Anita Blake Book" post is far too accurate. *giggles*
So I guess there's a writing meme where I toss together a list of the first lines of my stories and maybe that might inspire someone to write a drabble or something. And it's early and I'm bored, so what the hell? (And I'll edit out any specific references to characters so anyone can use 'em.)
-- It's pretty much a given that at some point in your time with the team, you will trip, jump, or get knocked into an interdimensional portal.
-- When he first sees her, he's just getting back to his hotel from busting his friend out of the morgue.
-- When he bumped into the skinny brunette as he got off the Metro, he couldn't decide whether the strange tingle he felt was annoyance or love.
-- Alcohol units: 1. Cigarettes: 13. Considering the reasons for all, may not be trying hard enough.
-- "Is she allergic to peanuts, dear?"
-- ... so the notebook I've been using for it, for writing down the dreams like he asked me to, is one of those mottled cover ones that you get for two bucks at 7-11 or something kind of like it.
-- ... and I've been staring at the stupid doorbell for what's got to be fifteen minutes, like if I focus on it long enough I'll suddenly develop telekinesis or something and get the damn thing to ring on its own.
-- "Mom, I'm pregnant." (Said by a guy. :))
-- It's strange, the way some things just don't occur to you until it's too late, like nicking the wrong brand of fags or getting shagged in the wrong bloody place at the entirely wrong bloody time not a few feet away from a video camera. (I skipped the real first line because it was actual dialogue from the show.)
-- ... because it's been one hundred and seventy-seven hours, forty-three minutes, and a handful of seconds, and neither one of us has slept, or shaved, or bothered with those annoying showers. (*snerk* I think it's possible I use that trailing-off-sentence starting point waaaaay too much.)
-- So he's been rambling for about an hour, something about cracked women and mentally scarred carpeting and bad break-ups, and it's all in this harsh, lower-class voice she never would have expected out of the simpering fool she'd known.
-- ... and sometimes, I catch her staring at me, you know?
-- So I'm pretty sure I'm on something, potent, viscous and hazy like the fog the car wades through, a thickened mess I can barely see through.
-- The old man at the counter had been blubbering on and on for the past hour or so about devils in the streets.
-- It was incredible how many rotten things could happen to you after you died.
-- The young women and men standing outside the small pub in London were positive they had seen a ghost.
-- "Are we there yet?"
-- Hi. You don't know me. I'm Fate.
-- "Y'could 'ave been prevented for a quarter."
-- His big problem was that he had arms.
-- If killing myself were an option, if I thought that slicing my wrists in a T-cut or shooting myself in the head would do anything more than ruin a perfectly good Gap sweatshirt, I'd do it.
-- I think I have failed my students.
-- It's what's commonly referred to as a history test.
-- She says it so casually. You ever notice that? "I died."
-- Let me give you an idea of my current situation at the exact moment that we're interrupting my life.
-- Ah. So this is what he'd forgotten to experience today. Abject boredom.
-- It seems funny to him somehow, but he always tells her he loves her with his eyes.
-- She had learned two very important things from dating him ... going with what worked, and optimism.
-- He perked up the second his mother stepped out of the conservatory, then sat down cross-legged next to the car seat on the floor. "Okay, you two, we need to talk."
-- The concept of an alter ego went out the window when the wave hit New York.
-- "How exactly do you call in sick for work because of the apocalypse?"
-- Just because you're supposed to survive one apocalypse doesn't mean you're supposed to survive them all.
-- See, the thing is, you're a prototype now.
EDIT: Dear spammers,
You are the only company sending spam to my email, and it's all golf-related. I don't play golf. I don't watch golf. In fact, the only time I do anything remotely golf-related is when I'm throwing up and I make a noise that sounds vaguely like "golf" as I eject my breakfast. And considering I only do that when I get a stomach flu, I'm pretty sure I don't need an entire outfit including fancy leather gloves and spiked shoes to do it, and I certainly don't need to go to a famous golf course and use their bathroom to do it, either.
Thanks bunches,
Me
PREVIEW-PIMPING FRIEND OF EDIT: So I laughed much harder than I should have at Eulogy and Fat Albert, and think Kate Bosworth looks much too pretty to hook up with Kevin Spacey in what occasionally looks like really plastic makeup in Beyond the Sea.
So I guess there's a writing meme where I toss together a list of the first lines of my stories and maybe that might inspire someone to write a drabble or something. And it's early and I'm bored, so what the hell? (And I'll edit out any specific references to characters so anyone can use 'em.)
-- It's pretty much a given that at some point in your time with the team, you will trip, jump, or get knocked into an interdimensional portal.
-- When he first sees her, he's just getting back to his hotel from busting his friend out of the morgue.
-- When he bumped into the skinny brunette as he got off the Metro, he couldn't decide whether the strange tingle he felt was annoyance or love.
-- Alcohol units: 1. Cigarettes: 13. Considering the reasons for all, may not be trying hard enough.
-- "Is she allergic to peanuts, dear?"
-- ... so the notebook I've been using for it, for writing down the dreams like he asked me to, is one of those mottled cover ones that you get for two bucks at 7-11 or something kind of like it.
-- ... and I've been staring at the stupid doorbell for what's got to be fifteen minutes, like if I focus on it long enough I'll suddenly develop telekinesis or something and get the damn thing to ring on its own.
-- "Mom, I'm pregnant." (Said by a guy. :))
-- It's strange, the way some things just don't occur to you until it's too late, like nicking the wrong brand of fags or getting shagged in the wrong bloody place at the entirely wrong bloody time not a few feet away from a video camera. (I skipped the real first line because it was actual dialogue from the show.)
-- ... because it's been one hundred and seventy-seven hours, forty-three minutes, and a handful of seconds, and neither one of us has slept, or shaved, or bothered with those annoying showers. (*snerk* I think it's possible I use that trailing-off-sentence starting point waaaaay too much.)
-- So he's been rambling for about an hour, something about cracked women and mentally scarred carpeting and bad break-ups, and it's all in this harsh, lower-class voice she never would have expected out of the simpering fool she'd known.
-- ... and sometimes, I catch her staring at me, you know?
-- So I'm pretty sure I'm on something, potent, viscous and hazy like the fog the car wades through, a thickened mess I can barely see through.
-- The old man at the counter had been blubbering on and on for the past hour or so about devils in the streets.
-- It was incredible how many rotten things could happen to you after you died.
-- The young women and men standing outside the small pub in London were positive they had seen a ghost.
-- "Are we there yet?"
-- Hi. You don't know me. I'm Fate.
-- "Y'could 'ave been prevented for a quarter."
-- His big problem was that he had arms.
-- If killing myself were an option, if I thought that slicing my wrists in a T-cut or shooting myself in the head would do anything more than ruin a perfectly good Gap sweatshirt, I'd do it.
-- I think I have failed my students.
-- It's what's commonly referred to as a history test.
-- She says it so casually. You ever notice that? "I died."
-- Let me give you an idea of my current situation at the exact moment that we're interrupting my life.
-- Ah. So this is what he'd forgotten to experience today. Abject boredom.
-- It seems funny to him somehow, but he always tells her he loves her with his eyes.
-- She had learned two very important things from dating him ... going with what worked, and optimism.
-- He perked up the second his mother stepped out of the conservatory, then sat down cross-legged next to the car seat on the floor. "Okay, you two, we need to talk."
-- The concept of an alter ego went out the window when the wave hit New York.
-- "How exactly do you call in sick for work because of the apocalypse?"
-- Just because you're supposed to survive one apocalypse doesn't mean you're supposed to survive them all.
-- See, the thing is, you're a prototype now.
EDIT: Dear spammers,
You are the only company sending spam to my email, and it's all golf-related. I don't play golf. I don't watch golf. In fact, the only time I do anything remotely golf-related is when I'm throwing up and I make a noise that sounds vaguely like "golf" as I eject my breakfast. And considering I only do that when I get a stomach flu, I'm pretty sure I don't need an entire outfit including fancy leather gloves and spiked shoes to do it, and I certainly don't need to go to a famous golf course and use their bathroom to do it, either.
Thanks bunches,
Me
PREVIEW-PIMPING FRIEND OF EDIT: So I laughed much harder than I should have at Eulogy and Fat Albert, and think Kate Bosworth looks much too pretty to hook up with Kevin Spacey in what occasionally looks like really plastic makeup in Beyond the Sea.
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no subject
Date: 2004-10-09 05:44 am (UTC)Drabble - Good Omens
Date: 2004-10-09 12:04 pm (UTC)Just because you're supposed to survive one apocalypse doesn't mean you're supposed to survive them all.
Aziraphale lost Crowley to the hordes of Hell in the next uprising, only a few short centuries after the first one. Everyone above and beyond had been so desperate for a conclusion. And a culprit. Who more perfect for the role?
After the fire and plight Aziraphale found he couldn’t share with the mortals their relieved amazement that the world hadn’t ceased to exist, after all. For the solitary angel it was as good as over. Suddenly everything was alien and new – and meaningless.
*flees*
Re: Drabble - Good Omens
From:no subject
Date: 2004-10-09 10:17 pm (UTC)And does it have to be a drabble? I can't do 100 words or less to save my life.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:first line story
Date: 2004-10-13 04:33 pm (UTC)* * *
"How exactly do you call in sick for work because of the apocalypse?" Pez's week-long headache tightened its bands around her temples.
"How about, 'I can't get out my front door because I woke up this morning and the East River is turning Manhattan into Venice?'" Jake's voice was hoarse from shouting orders and herding panicked citizens to evacuation points for the past three days.
"Good one, rookie, tell me something I don't know."
"“The water's already at the second floor."
It stopped her in her tracks. Shit. And she'd sent him home to rest for a few hours.
"Pez?" The line crackled with static. "Pez, I'll wait it out. I've got a wetsuit here – the river gets much higher, I'll just head out the window." The 'Blade voices gibbered at her again, insistently, but she pushed them aside. No time now for hallucinations. "Wouldn't mind having a raft in the neighborhood to pick me up, though. That water's moving pretty fast."
He pauses, and she grits her teeth. Jake's won stuff for surfing, which has to mean he can swim against strong ocean currents, and rip tides, and whatever else comes up outside of the municipal swimming pool; she's pretty sure it's not the idea of dog-paddling until a rescue boat finds him that's making him nervous. Everyone's trying so damn hard to pretend this is just a normal natural disaster, and that they're not all fucked beyond all previous comprehension of the term.
Jake settles for clearing his throat, instead of whatever he was going to say. "Danny's family get out OK?"
“Yeah, I got him to go home yesterday, get out of town with them. I'm supposed to meet up with them...later. Whenever we leave. Listen, Jake, I'll send boats your way, but stay inside as long as you can. It's still getting colder.”
They clicked off, and she turned back to the steps into the station house, the Witchblade's continued agitation pricking at her arm and in her mind. Water lapped at the soles of her boots.
100 words. The Prophecy.
Date: 2004-10-13 07:46 pm (UTC)Came here by
The old man at the counter had been blubbering on and on for the past hour or so about devils in the streets. It was well past midnight, which was the reason there was only one customer he could inflict his tirade upon.
The tall bearded man listened politely as he purchased an apple, nodding occasionally.
He munched on the apple as he walked on the supposedly dangerous streets, eating the core and spitting out the seeds.
Humans.
He tossed the stem aside and looked at the stars.
An unkindness of ravens took wing where the Morningstar had been standing.
Image of Viggo Mortensen as Lucifer: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v25/trunte/lucifer7.jpg