Okay, here we go
May. 18th, 2009 05:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bliumchikHomework Exercise
Wordcount: 500
Notes: Constructive feedback is really appreciated for this one. I plan to add to it for my final piece in Intro To Short Fiction, and I need to especially know what confused you, what information you wanted and didn't get before and after. This was written in response to a homework task which basically amounted to "write song-fic." I'm serious. If you're curious the song I picked is Hang em High.
-so get your gun and meet me by the-
Couldn't get any blacker and we walked away, walked, walked, deliberate footfalls as though we could see an arm's length ahead in the darkness. Eyes on the backs of our heads, malicious eyes but still we were thinking we made it, we made it out of there just like I promised and we're just home free if we don't look over our shoulders.
And then it was '96 Chevy convertible with the back seat all torn out for our sharp things and we were hurrying, faster and keyfumbling home free home free weight on the pedal and then
a sharp retort
and as the scenery accelerates I'm close-up the dashboard
my name over and over transmutes to a fingerprint tinniting round and around on the wet
glass
I
*
They're whispering, they're whispering about you and you know it. (She cuts a black black figure on the soylent green surrounds) and (she hasn't spoken a word since she turned up in the driveway with a corpse and a silver chain she won't put down). File into the church and you hear a crack of wood so faint you'd have to be listening for it (and you are).
You smile.
*
They're singing me hymns I don't need. Waste not, want not. I'm feeling souls and souls and falling through the doors.
*
Just the priest left, now, and you. He's begging you (he knows somehow) but you just keep on smiling, fingering the silver chain. (I can feel it on my throat from here). I match it with the rosary, tighter, careful. His little cut-off gasping noises fascinate me, I have already forgotten how to breathe.
*
The Chevy still runs a treat. You kept the gas tank full for us, love.
Wordcount: 500
Notes: Constructive feedback is really appreciated for this one. I plan to add to it for my final piece in Intro To Short Fiction, and I need to especially know what confused you, what information you wanted and didn't get before and after. This was written in response to a homework task which basically amounted to "write song-fic." I'm serious. If you're curious the song I picked is Hang em High.
-so get your gun and meet me by the-
Couldn't get any blacker and we walked away, walked, walked, deliberate footfalls as though we could see an arm's length ahead in the darkness. Eyes on the backs of our heads, malicious eyes but still we were thinking we made it, we made it out of there just like I promised and we're just home free if we don't look over our shoulders.
And then it was '96 Chevy convertible with the back seat all torn out for our sharp things and we were hurrying, faster and keyfumbling home free home free weight on the pedal and then
a sharp retort
and as the scenery accelerates I'm close-up the dashboard
my name over and over transmutes to a fingerprint tinniting round and around on the wet
glass
I
*
They're whispering, they're whispering about you and you know it. (She cuts a black black figure on the soylent green surrounds) and (she hasn't spoken a word since she turned up in the driveway with a corpse and a silver chain she won't put down). File into the church and you hear a crack of wood so faint you'd have to be listening for it (and you are).
You smile.
*
They're singing me hymns I don't need. Waste not, want not. I'm feeling souls and souls and falling through the doors.
*
Just the priest left, now, and you. He's begging you (he knows somehow) but you just keep on smiling, fingering the silver chain. (I can feel it on my throat from here). I match it with the rosary, tighter, careful. His little cut-off gasping noises fascinate me, I have already forgotten how to breathe.
*
The Chevy still runs a treat. You kept the gas tank full for us, love.
