Random fiction
So this has been sitting on my hardrive for quite a while. It was originally supposed to be part of an application to the film program at York (the university where I'm going in the fall) but then I changed my mind and switched film for creative writing and so this was never sent. It's only been read by a couple of people so I'm posting it here now. It is a story of 250 words or less that I was supposed to write using these 3 prompts:
- A spark
- Something tight
- A misunderstanding
That + boredom = this completely nonsensical piece that, ironically, I actually kinda like. So enjoy (or not, maybe)!
It is a kaleidoscope. Yellow to orange to red and back to yellow. You are reminded of fireworks in your backyard, when you were 10 years old and air was free to enter and leave your lungs. Still 10 years old, you take a deep breath, but only carbon oxides scrape your trachea this time (you would have also remembered hydrogen cyanide had your haemoglobin been doing its job). You are not in Kansas anymore, quite literally. You are in what could well be hell itself. It certainly has the flames, the heat and the mandatory pain in your body, as the tight ropes snaking around your wrists, feet, torso, everywhere, gently remind you.
You inadvertently inhale more poison and numbly wonder why are you there in the first place. The playful sting of a small spark on your fingers brings everything rushing back: your name. Paris Clinton. You hear the voices again, whispering close to your ear, something about your name meaning money. You don't understand, nor will you ever. You can only shudder and exhale (inhaling is too painful now) and feel and taste the salty tear path down your right cheek as more sparks fumble like ants with your reddened fingers. Somewhere around the world, Paris Hilton hugs a teddy bear-sized dog and inhales painlessly, not a single thought about the difference two letters can make.
- A spark
- Something tight
- A misunderstanding
That + boredom = this completely nonsensical piece that, ironically, I actually kinda like. So enjoy (or not, maybe)!
It is a kaleidoscope. Yellow to orange to red and back to yellow. You are reminded of fireworks in your backyard, when you were 10 years old and air was free to enter and leave your lungs. Still 10 years old, you take a deep breath, but only carbon oxides scrape your trachea this time (you would have also remembered hydrogen cyanide had your haemoglobin been doing its job). You are not in Kansas anymore, quite literally. You are in what could well be hell itself. It certainly has the flames, the heat and the mandatory pain in your body, as the tight ropes snaking around your wrists, feet, torso, everywhere, gently remind you.
You inadvertently inhale more poison and numbly wonder why are you there in the first place. The playful sting of a small spark on your fingers brings everything rushing back: your name. Paris Clinton. You hear the voices again, whispering close to your ear, something about your name meaning money. You don't understand, nor will you ever. You can only shudder and exhale (inhaling is too painful now) and feel and taste the salty tear path down your right cheek as more sparks fumble like ants with your reddened fingers. Somewhere around the world, Paris Hilton hugs a teddy bear-sized dog and inhales painlessly, not a single thought about the difference two letters can make.