The_Solipsist
03-19-2009, 9:40 PM
This is something I wrote one night. I'd like to turn it into something much bigger. There are many points I need to clean up, some imagery that needs to be more distinguishable, but critique for me, if you will:
You opened the window, and jumped out. As you landed, your legs became of your consciousness. The grass was dry, lifeless, slivers of sand. This did not please you, so you turned it to glass. You walked upon the smoldering earth, and lifted your eyes. The sky was blue. You writhed in disgust, bellowing so loud and full that the sky became gray. As you breathed, you felt the air around you. Warm, moving, the wind spoke and whispered as you turned your head and felt it whistle sweet lies into your ears. Such defiance you would not withstand. You thrust you fists against the stratus, and Boreas birthed a cacophonous squall. The ice crawled up your arms with its tiny feet. You smiled and smiled such a bright smile that it shown to those so far above as a reckoning, and those so far below as misguided hope. O what a pleasant thought, you smile to yourself further, to be in such a world. The wind, so abject and distraught, catches itself in your ears, wailing, praying for resolve. Annoying, you whisper to yourself, and the wind dies and dies, letting loose the stench of a spring, the stench of flowers, of the damp ground, of the rotting penance they sprang from so readily.
You opened the window, and jumped out. As you landed, your legs became of your consciousness. The grass was dry, lifeless, slivers of sand. This did not please you, so you turned it to glass. You walked upon the smoldering earth, and lifted your eyes. The sky was blue. You writhed in disgust, bellowing so loud and full that the sky became gray. As you breathed, you felt the air around you. Warm, moving, the wind spoke and whispered as you turned your head and felt it whistle sweet lies into your ears. Such defiance you would not withstand. You thrust you fists against the stratus, and Boreas birthed a cacophonous squall. The ice crawled up your arms with its tiny feet. You smiled and smiled such a bright smile that it shown to those so far above as a reckoning, and those so far below as misguided hope. O what a pleasant thought, you smile to yourself further, to be in such a world. The wind, so abject and distraught, catches itself in your ears, wailing, praying for resolve. Annoying, you whisper to yourself, and the wind dies and dies, letting loose the stench of a spring, the stench of flowers, of the damp ground, of the rotting penance they sprang from so readily.