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I have nothing to write
Feb. 11th, 2002 10:16 pmand this freaks me. I'm having a fictional crisis. Oh, not a bad one, just one where I fret and putter and stew for a bit. I have to big stories that I need to read again before I can work on them, two collaborations with maygra that need to be picked up and dusted off and worked on, and -- I'm just not into the big tonight. I could work on the next hp thing, too, but I think I need to get three nailed before I head for four. I want...something of middle length. That has a bit of a plot, but isn't an epic. Something doable...
And I have no where to start. What is my flavor of the month? What is it I write again? How does anyone ever think of a plot? Man, the thought of structuring something... *shudder*
So instead of doing any of that, I wrote this. It's HL, and hey, it's 225 words:
Twilight
Brick by brick, the doorway closed. Duncan hung in his chains, the small room around him growing dark. He felt his life bleeding away, the incisions in his body held open, refusing to close. He knew that he could not survive. He would die, and when he awakened, he would be trapped here, entombed in the cold and the dark, his world airless, lacking both water and food.
Already, the light had been reduced to a thin strip. He watched as the gnarled hands slid another brick into place, the darkness almost complete. He didn't speak, and neither did the Watcher who sealed him in; they both knew it was a waste of time.
Sanctuary, they'd said. A way to keep the game alive. A thousand immortals kept safe in their rooms, safe from one another, needing nothing, enjoying their memories and their dreams.
A raft of living dead men, to keep the world alive.
His side throbbed with pain and Duncan watched as the last brick scraped into place, pushing some of the mortar into the room. Three taps on the brick, to make sure it was secure, and then the job was done. The darkness was complete.
He thought he could hear his captor leaving, his gait stiff with time. "Goodbye, Joe," he whispered, as Sanctuary claimed him.
Duncan died.
And I have no where to start. What is my flavor of the month? What is it I write again? How does anyone ever think of a plot? Man, the thought of structuring something... *shudder*
So instead of doing any of that, I wrote this. It's HL, and hey, it's 225 words:
Twilight
Brick by brick, the doorway closed. Duncan hung in his chains, the small room around him growing dark. He felt his life bleeding away, the incisions in his body held open, refusing to close. He knew that he could not survive. He would die, and when he awakened, he would be trapped here, entombed in the cold and the dark, his world airless, lacking both water and food.
Already, the light had been reduced to a thin strip. He watched as the gnarled hands slid another brick into place, the darkness almost complete. He didn't speak, and neither did the Watcher who sealed him in; they both knew it was a waste of time.
Sanctuary, they'd said. A way to keep the game alive. A thousand immortals kept safe in their rooms, safe from one another, needing nothing, enjoying their memories and their dreams.
A raft of living dead men, to keep the world alive.
His side throbbed with pain and Duncan watched as the last brick scraped into place, pushing some of the mortar into the room. Three taps on the brick, to make sure it was secure, and then the job was done. The darkness was complete.
He thought he could hear his captor leaving, his gait stiff with time. "Goodbye, Joe," he whispered, as Sanctuary claimed him.
Duncan died.
