Have some of dis writings?
Written for an quick-fire assignment: Make a character within no more than two pages. Just description won't cut it; I don't want a backstory of their life since birth, I want to know who they are now. Give me a feel of who they are, a glimpse into their life. Go wild.
We were given a half-hour, which probably explains why it's a little crazy and doesn't make complete sense.
"Makin' the lie is the easy part, kid. It's followin' through that makes it an art form."
The smoke curls upwards from her cigarette as she drawls this sentence to him. She's nice enough, has a bland enough accent that he's not exactly sure where she's from but he knows it's somewhere in the upper South, like Virginia or Maryland. Her eyes are wide and bright and excited. Whenever she takes a drag of her cigarette he watches her fingers lightly brush her impossibly red mouth. (The color shouldn't look good on her. She should be wearing a pink hue, something lighter. But the red suits her.)
"The desperate lies, they aren't so good. Ones thought up on the spot can go wrong fast. You need to think about a good lie. Take a little time to make it form in your head. Know your audience and make them believe it." She grins like the Cheshire Cat, and for a moment the boy fleetingly wonders if he is in some kind of booze-addled Wonderland. "I've told a lot of 'em, I should know."
"How many?" the boy asks in a stutter. Her grin twists and turns before his eyes but he's not quick enough to catch it.
Her lean into his personal space is all smooth seduction. "Enough to wrap around the world twice and not break a sweat." The smoke curls around him now as she reaches out and lightly pokes his nose. "I'm a champion liar, honey, don't you ever forget."
"Why?" he asks, the words dripping from his tongue like molasses. "Why do you do it?"
"Does anyone need a reason?" She chuckles and it sends a small thrill through him. "I started because I felt I had to. Eventually it got to be a habit." Another drag, smoke flooding the air like a fog. "Sometimes I tell the truth. Mix it up a bit."
It suddenly hits him that this woman is a dangerous individual. She's nice and the conversation comes easy enough. But underneath the surface something is waiting. Something hidden in that smile of red lips and white teeth. Something that could ruin you forever and you wouldn't even know until it was too late and you were already on the floor in pieces.
Her dress is red as well. It hugs her curves. Her shoes are black heels that tap on the floor in a slow rhythm. When she smiles, her eyes crease into slits and the skin crinkles happily at the edges. People come in the bar door, and the small breeze pushes the strands of hair from her neck.
"Why tell the truth at all when you're so good at lying?" He takes another gulp of his whiskey.
"Want to keep people on their toes, don't you?" In her glass the ice cubes are melting into the drink. What was she even drinking? Something fruity? Something strong? He doesn't know. Her perfume smells like promises you make knowing you won't keep them. "Why do you tell the truth?"
"Because--"
"--you're a bad liar," she purrs, cutting him off. "Most people are, don't worry." She touches his thigh lightly and he suddenly feels trapped. She's got him revving at a hundred miles an hour but it's like she hasn't let off the brakes. "Most people aren't smart enough for a well-thought lie."
"O-oh really?" He tries to sound nonchalant, flirtatious. It fails miserably. The biggest problem he's having is that, despite all the bells and whistles...she's not that much older than he is. Younger, maybe, if you could wipe all that makeup away. Usually he'd sweep girls off their feet. Girls his age were usually easy enough. This one wasn't. Obviously.
"Like, obviously you couldn't tell anything but the truth right now," she says, easing into the words as if not to offend him. "You give yourself away." She squeezes his thigh as if to make a point. He bites the inside of his cheek and tastes blood. Jesus. "But I'm all cool and calm and even if I did want to take you to bed and fuck you, you would have no idea, would you?" He shakes his head slowly, and her grin gets wider. He feels like he's falling down the rabbit hole and he's not sure if he's rocketing down or declining oh so very slowly. "And that, my darling, is the basis of a wonderful liar. To keep every emotion secret."
She gently lifts her cigarette from the ashtray to her mouth--he doesn't even remember when she put it down--and then blows the smoke in his face. He doesn't cough. "Lying gives me an edge above everybody else. That and it's fun as hell. We're playing poker, sweetheart, and I've always got the ace in the hole." She lifts an eyebrow, and he realizes this is how she plays everyone. A verbal runaround. Nice at first, and soon enough you realize there's something hidden underneath this calm, artful exterior. Soon enough you realize this isn't someone you should be playing with but by that time she's already got you in the game.
Her hand that isn't on his leg taps on the counter. Her fingernails are painted gold.
"Hey, Barry!"
The bartender looks over. "What's happenin', doll?"
"I'm headin' out," she proclaims, and gets up. Her hand slides up his pant leg to his chest and she pats near his heart. One eye gives Barry a quick wink. "This fine gent is going to catch my tab."
"All right," Barry replies, winking back. "You stay safe. See you next week?"
"I'll let you know, darlin'." Before she leaves, she puts her lips to his ear and goddamn it just is not fair at all that he is left this way in a bar. "Good luck in the world, honey. Better shape up before it eats you alive."
She disappears out the door, laughter echoing in the bar. He never knew her name.
The embers of her cigarette curl in the air like a smile.
We were given a half-hour, which probably explains why it's a little crazy and doesn't make complete sense.
"Makin' the lie is the easy part, kid. It's followin' through that makes it an art form."
The smoke curls upwards from her cigarette as she drawls this sentence to him. She's nice enough, has a bland enough accent that he's not exactly sure where she's from but he knows it's somewhere in the upper South, like Virginia or Maryland. Her eyes are wide and bright and excited. Whenever she takes a drag of her cigarette he watches her fingers lightly brush her impossibly red mouth. (The color shouldn't look good on her. She should be wearing a pink hue, something lighter. But the red suits her.)
"The desperate lies, they aren't so good. Ones thought up on the spot can go wrong fast. You need to think about a good lie. Take a little time to make it form in your head. Know your audience and make them believe it." She grins like the Cheshire Cat, and for a moment the boy fleetingly wonders if he is in some kind of booze-addled Wonderland. "I've told a lot of 'em, I should know."
"How many?" the boy asks in a stutter. Her grin twists and turns before his eyes but he's not quick enough to catch it.
Her lean into his personal space is all smooth seduction. "Enough to wrap around the world twice and not break a sweat." The smoke curls around him now as she reaches out and lightly pokes his nose. "I'm a champion liar, honey, don't you ever forget."
"Why?" he asks, the words dripping from his tongue like molasses. "Why do you do it?"
"Does anyone need a reason?" She chuckles and it sends a small thrill through him. "I started because I felt I had to. Eventually it got to be a habit." Another drag, smoke flooding the air like a fog. "Sometimes I tell the truth. Mix it up a bit."
It suddenly hits him that this woman is a dangerous individual. She's nice and the conversation comes easy enough. But underneath the surface something is waiting. Something hidden in that smile of red lips and white teeth. Something that could ruin you forever and you wouldn't even know until it was too late and you were already on the floor in pieces.
Her dress is red as well. It hugs her curves. Her shoes are black heels that tap on the floor in a slow rhythm. When she smiles, her eyes crease into slits and the skin crinkles happily at the edges. People come in the bar door, and the small breeze pushes the strands of hair from her neck.
"Why tell the truth at all when you're so good at lying?" He takes another gulp of his whiskey.
"Want to keep people on their toes, don't you?" In her glass the ice cubes are melting into the drink. What was she even drinking? Something fruity? Something strong? He doesn't know. Her perfume smells like promises you make knowing you won't keep them. "Why do you tell the truth?"
"Because--"
"--you're a bad liar," she purrs, cutting him off. "Most people are, don't worry." She touches his thigh lightly and he suddenly feels trapped. She's got him revving at a hundred miles an hour but it's like she hasn't let off the brakes. "Most people aren't smart enough for a well-thought lie."
"O-oh really?" He tries to sound nonchalant, flirtatious. It fails miserably. The biggest problem he's having is that, despite all the bells and whistles...she's not that much older than he is. Younger, maybe, if you could wipe all that makeup away. Usually he'd sweep girls off their feet. Girls his age were usually easy enough. This one wasn't. Obviously.
"Like, obviously you couldn't tell anything but the truth right now," she says, easing into the words as if not to offend him. "You give yourself away." She squeezes his thigh as if to make a point. He bites the inside of his cheek and tastes blood. Jesus. "But I'm all cool and calm and even if I did want to take you to bed and fuck you, you would have no idea, would you?" He shakes his head slowly, and her grin gets wider. He feels like he's falling down the rabbit hole and he's not sure if he's rocketing down or declining oh so very slowly. "And that, my darling, is the basis of a wonderful liar. To keep every emotion secret."
She gently lifts her cigarette from the ashtray to her mouth--he doesn't even remember when she put it down--and then blows the smoke in his face. He doesn't cough. "Lying gives me an edge above everybody else. That and it's fun as hell. We're playing poker, sweetheart, and I've always got the ace in the hole." She lifts an eyebrow, and he realizes this is how she plays everyone. A verbal runaround. Nice at first, and soon enough you realize there's something hidden underneath this calm, artful exterior. Soon enough you realize this isn't someone you should be playing with but by that time she's already got you in the game.
Her hand that isn't on his leg taps on the counter. Her fingernails are painted gold.
"Hey, Barry!"
The bartender looks over. "What's happenin', doll?"
"I'm headin' out," she proclaims, and gets up. Her hand slides up his pant leg to his chest and she pats near his heart. One eye gives Barry a quick wink. "This fine gent is going to catch my tab."
"All right," Barry replies, winking back. "You stay safe. See you next week?"
"I'll let you know, darlin'." Before she leaves, she puts her lips to his ear and goddamn it just is not fair at all that he is left this way in a bar. "Good luck in the world, honey. Better shape up before it eats you alive."
She disappears out the door, laughter echoing in the bar. He never knew her name.
The embers of her cigarette curl in the air like a smile.