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Writtin' Thread

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Elizzybeth:
A sonnet:

In the kitchen, eating a tomato
I come upon the ending of the world:
Revelation in an old potato,
Apocalypse in coffee, gently swirled.
Up close, he's personal and calm.  He sighs,
"What are you doing after all?" and frowns,
Teeth gray, hair singed--there's salt in both his eyes.
"I'm only throwing out the coffee grounds.
I do what must be done.  How have I sinned?"
He presses up against my teeth, and slides
Against my tongue, so sweet.  "This is the end,"
His dying cry is faint, a whimper from inside.
I swallow fast; I do not dare to wait.
And when I'm done, I do not lick the plate.

mishy:
beautiful. and about food! amazing food.

Eris:
I watched intently as she sat across from me, looking past me with bright eyes and gesturing excitedly; painting her dreams in the air, talking more to herself than to me. I tried to imagine what she was explaining, but what were bright, vibrant pictures to her were muddy and dull. The hazy scenes in my head didn't incite the same feelings of grandeur, but I didn't mention it to her. I never remembered my dreams, so living vicariously through someone else, even if they were pale imitations of the real thing, was better than nothing.

I wonder where all these dreams come from in that brain of hers; the fantastic images of other worlds or psychopaths torturing innocent people seem so out of place coming out of her mouth. Yet every morning when she mumbles out what she saw, starting half asleep and waking up more as the anecdote continues, it seems like such a natural situation for her to be talking about. It makes me look forward to waking up, even if I can't properly appreciate what she is trying to say.



(argh, I haven't written in ages and I am rustyyyy)

Siibillam-Law:
Here's something I started writing ages ago and stoppec so I realised that I had lots of uni work and other things to write

It's a QC screenplay!
it's a pre-credit prologue where Marten gets a leaving gift from his mummykins to find, omg, that it's Pintsize




EXT. Suburban house - day

A bicycle is squeaks its way to the front of an average suburban house. The rider dismounts and opens the gate to enter. A loud whip crack is heard.

Int. Suburban house - Day

"Johnny B. Goode" by Chuck Berry plays loudly. a web camera and a laptop are set up on a table. On screen we see video playback of a woman in leather bondage gear cracking her whip and wrapping it around herself. A small IM Board next to it is buzzing with activity. The sound of a door opening and closing is heard from downstairs. Looking worried, Veronica Reed turns off the music, and closes the lid of the laptop. She exits the room and hurries down the stairs where Marten Reed removes a satchel and places it on the floor. He looks up at Veronica and sighs.

Veronica

Hey, honey. Home already?

Marten
(annoyed)

Mom, do you have to do this today? I mean, come on. I'm leaving tonight.

VERONICA

I'm sorry, honey. But I have to. It's my job and it's all the time. Besides, someone had to pay for the delivery truck.

MARTEN

There wasn't a lot anyway.


... and thats it

Oli:
Sunlight glides through my window and I blink bleary eyed, my mouth is the desert and this is the first morning. The first morning I've seen in weeks? The first morning. I roll over and God hurls a jolt straight into my brain. I groan.

'What did I do?'

Hazy recollections. Innocence lost. Oh Lilith...you whore.

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