Wednesday, March 31, 2004

I've been reading WAY too much David Foster Wallace lately. Here's what I have so far for my next Creative Writing assignment.

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A girl sits outside of an old yellow house on a small concrete patio, surrounded by varying shades of green and the smell of spring.
Strong sounds of machinery buzz all around her, periodically interrupted by the shrill cry of bird or bug.
Her father's dog, hunched into a familiar position, looks strained as he forces out his pedigree poops. Lamb and rice from yesterday's dinner is birthed unto a reluctant mound of grass. Relieved, the mongrel runs off to bark at empty air.
Overhead, a dove lands on a high tree limb. It's head bobs and weaves, pops and locks; each step a timid one, looking not unlike a paranoid junkie. Grasping, watching. SPLAT! A milky brown stain on the earth below.
Suddenly it seems, all sound has paused. A lonely star peaks through the trees, and crickets join the silence with their nighttime lullaby. A plane slices through the dirty-blue sky, and heads toward a burning horizon.

.:dr0wningophelia:. 17:36 | |