Part of a scene from the abcess of my brain meats...
Oh to be able to write again! To take a pencil in hand and feel the explosion of pure inspiration flow from my brain, through my arm, and onto the crisp notebook paper. At first glance it could easily be mistaken for the scribblings of a madman, but within the words hides the very essence of my creativity and a precious shard of my very soul. What glorious elation! To finally feel the flow of language to my fingers, to guide the pencil across this once naked paper and clothe it with my words and my heart. I am excited, and even more hopeful - my future was uncertain, I had lost all drive and desire to return to school, lost all inspiration to write or even read! What joy to find it again! Even now with three pages of this notebook filled in the span of an hour, all the while being pestered by the unimportant "job", I feel ready to write a hundred more pages about anything I can think of. My desire has finally been sparked, and I owe it to Stephen King, in part. I just picked up On Writing, and believe me when I say that it is one of the most entertaining and fascinating books I have ever read. I think I could kiss his Coke-bottle glasses wearing, butt-alien loving face for it right now. Below is the product of my current inspiration, and hopefully there will be more to come! If you find I am slacking on an entry or feel like you want to read more, yell at me! Nothing motivates me more than someone asking me to create for them.
A Scene
A man stands behind a desk in an office in a tall skyscraper, staring out a window into the streets of the city around him. His good friend sits in a chair in front of the desk, eying the first man with care and concern.
(Man 1)"What rogue is this that pilfers my essence, cached and sealed in the vault of my heart? Slipping under every portcullis, over every wall, and slaying every guard posted, they make off with the whole of my most prized possession. Aye, they! Only a horde of the most skilled burglars and the most cunning robbers could vanquish the defenses I had in place. And what, my friend, would you imagine they would do with such a treasure? One would think a wise thief would fence the goods, turning their bounty into wealth, aye? Not these fools, no. These jesters toss it to the crowded streets, at any beggar with strength enough to raise a hand. I watch from my perch in happy horror as the needy dance and rejoice in a shower of my most valued possession. My robbe'd heart fills the pockets of the needy, and I am loathe to protest."
(Man 2)"To what end, brother?"
(Man 1)"To the end that makes all men around me happy, my good friend. What good is wealth if it is never spent? I only wish I had chosen to give of myself, maybe then I would have been able to keep some for myself."
(Man 2)"Why then do your eyes protest what your heart wishes not?"
(Man 1 sighs, moves away from the window and sits at a desk. While pouring 2 drinks he continues.)
"Why do the thirsty crave water, brother? Why do the hungry beg for food? Why does the smith stoke his fire or the potter kick his wheel? It is need that drives these simple men, my friend. Every man needs love. I had a plethora, hidden away in the most clever of spots, but now, thanks to those wretched thieves, the halls where my pride once laid are now full of only echoes of the past. Would there a tap to fill it, or even a trickle from the gaps torn asunder by those meddlers, the issue would be at rest. But without any such charity, the coffers will gather dust and the vault will grow dark and cold.
(Man 1 hands a glass to Man 2, then sips his drink and stares into it.)
(Man 1)"And woe to the next fool who exhumes my fallen heart, for they will be subject to a thirst greater than all those who have ever been lost in the sands of the desert. There would be enough thirst to drown any mortal in it's intake."
(Man 2)"Woe indeed, my friend."
A Scene
A man stands behind a desk in an office in a tall skyscraper, staring out a window into the streets of the city around him. His good friend sits in a chair in front of the desk, eying the first man with care and concern.
(Man 1)"What rogue is this that pilfers my essence, cached and sealed in the vault of my heart? Slipping under every portcullis, over every wall, and slaying every guard posted, they make off with the whole of my most prized possession. Aye, they! Only a horde of the most skilled burglars and the most cunning robbers could vanquish the defenses I had in place. And what, my friend, would you imagine they would do with such a treasure? One would think a wise thief would fence the goods, turning their bounty into wealth, aye? Not these fools, no. These jesters toss it to the crowded streets, at any beggar with strength enough to raise a hand. I watch from my perch in happy horror as the needy dance and rejoice in a shower of my most valued possession. My robbe'd heart fills the pockets of the needy, and I am loathe to protest."
(Man 2)"To what end, brother?"
(Man 1)"To the end that makes all men around me happy, my good friend. What good is wealth if it is never spent? I only wish I had chosen to give of myself, maybe then I would have been able to keep some for myself."
(Man 2)"Why then do your eyes protest what your heart wishes not?"
(Man 1 sighs, moves away from the window and sits at a desk. While pouring 2 drinks he continues.)
"Why do the thirsty crave water, brother? Why do the hungry beg for food? Why does the smith stoke his fire or the potter kick his wheel? It is need that drives these simple men, my friend. Every man needs love. I had a plethora, hidden away in the most clever of spots, but now, thanks to those wretched thieves, the halls where my pride once laid are now full of only echoes of the past. Would there a tap to fill it, or even a trickle from the gaps torn asunder by those meddlers, the issue would be at rest. But without any such charity, the coffers will gather dust and the vault will grow dark and cold.
(Man 1 hands a glass to Man 2, then sips his drink and stares into it.)
(Man 1)"And woe to the next fool who exhumes my fallen heart, for they will be subject to a thirst greater than all those who have ever been lost in the sands of the desert. There would be enough thirst to drown any mortal in it's intake."
(Man 2)"Woe indeed, my friend."