Scribbles...

[AquaBlue]

This is just a quick and undeveloped brain fart. Not finished of course...

How many people do you know who live on a dead end street? I sometimes wonder if the person who coined that phrase “Dead End Street” actually lived on a dead end street. Our house, if you could see it through all the trees, rested in such a block. Visiting a dead end street would be like visiting the dead at a cemetery. For those unaware, such houses cast their own entity, like a foul stench. Some days I feel my house alive as if the walls were collapsing upon themselves or moving inward on me like a vice.

Sometimes I would feel that I was born to die in that dreadful place - my bygone dwelling. It was drab, gloomy and stunk of mildew in the mornings. It is a dump. The house we lived in was a dump. Normal folks never live in a dump. Normal folks have gardens in their back yards, friendly neighbors, and fine plate settings. Normal folks would have brightly colored walls, a pool in the back and an embroidered framed cloth with the words, Home Sweet Home near a sunlit window.

But oh no, nothing like that in my dump. In my dump not a single picture frame hung on its walls. Not one lousy frame! Dump Bitter Dump would be the words defining our house.

Now If a solicitor would come calling, our listless Fred, our brave mutt, would hardly bring alarm to such a daring cretin. Fred would simply amble up to the fence, give you a long, lazy look-over before retreating back into the shadows.

_


An image prompt is a common exercise for writers. One takes a random image and writes something about it. It must be a very brief writing. Here are just two I did as a drill.

First the image then the wording:

The tree monkeys giggled at their own antics. The first primate, in a dark blue t-shirt and shorts, covered his eyes, bored. Next to him sat two hysterical chimps bursting at the seams. The middle one of the bunch, the red shirted one, tried to contain himself but could not mask his cheery eyes; face aglow. The third one, with elbows on bent knees, was defeated by his own hilarity. It was hard for the threesome, minus one, to keep straight faces. This shameless riot was caused, not by their infectious laughter, but by the poor soul behind the camera – a diminutive man speaking a choppy talk and maintaining an appealing grin; never keeping his bobble head steady - the mocked tourist with scrunched-up eyes. Such wise (evil) boys!

Adorned in pristine bell skirts and white floral headbands, the ballerinas assembled behind a massive stage curtain, lowered. Two stood coolly, veering their eyes off-stage. Around them an assemblage of angelic dancers mingled in anticipation - bent torsos, loose shoulders, and hair parted straight. It was grace at-the-ready. At the forefront of the class, a reflective prima ballerina. Her mind, fluent: each step, flow of motion and posture unfolding in thought.

Then, at once, the awaited gestured cue was displayed and the dancers arranged themselves fleetly. Her focus now in-tuned; her initial pose set when the giant curtain began to rise to an ovation of theatergoers.

All these scribbles are full of mechanical errors so please ignore.

_

 

[defmanbogeyman]

Scribbles or not, it's....

VERY GOOD!

Wow, not bad. My attention was grabbed and the words PULLED ME IN.

You're a VERY GOOD WRITER!

Thumbs UP!

 

[AquaBlue]

Sorry to be tardy replying. Thank you for your comments.

 

[AquaBlue]

Scribbles I wrote for a story idea that came to mind:
(Those notes within parenthesis are just scribbles)

Wheel In The Sky

(The naked eye is blind on either end. From a notch under the amoeba to beyond the dead and ancient pale-red refraction, humans, as yet, cannot venture. We desperately scope such destinations with unstable footing. Propelled by illusory fabrications and veiled authenticity we wash clean the rationale and replace it with dreams and nightmares.)

At the tender age of 482, Comfort, so was his given name, was empowered by those upon the heavenly plane to undergo visionary experiences of future happenings.

(Comfort pressed the palm of his hand down on the dry earth. He raised it in a slow graceful motion and touched one digit to his lips. The young man’s eyes, suddenly revived from their tiresome heaviness, looked heavenward as salt water ran down his wrist and dripped in heavy drops off his elbow. And so was the vision he witnessed; so was the promise true in his heart.)

His days of toiling stood in readiness atop a grassy slope. Life of every sort filled its hull.

(In the horizon massive sheets of rain began to fall. Comfort and his kin gathered inside their wooden haven and sealed off its entry way. Nights of endless rainstorms poured upon the soil, a drowned world. The out cries of a scornful, lawless race were at once silenced beneath the waves.)

Adrift upon a chaotic ocean the faithful waited for a raven that would return without evidence. A dove was sent out and on its third flight returned with an olive leaf in its beak. Joyful tears filled their eyes for faith’s reward had brought them an answer, a salvation. Days later they were anchored upon the jagged hardness of a mountain peak.

(Note: What Comfort [Noah] sees in the sky (vision) is the Wheel structure Isaiah witnessed in his vision.)

Please ignore all errors above. Thanks.