Halloween, pre-NaNo writings.
Prompt: A witch, a pumpkin, a bat; five minutes to write. Actually inspired mostly by an act in the Pitt OUTlaw drag show tonight.
He was beautiful. His skin, white and cracked; his hair, crimson red and falling in delicate waves around the pale, vacant face. She leaned over him, his body laid out on a long mahogany altar, and touched something to his lips--a shallow cup carved from a pumpkin, bubbling with a strange frothy liquid. She poured it over his lips, gently tilted back his head and bid him swallow. She waited, a bat fluttering its wings eagerly by his shoulder, and finally his lips parted of their own will. Shakily, he inhaled his first breath, and his eyes began to crack open--glowing, smoldering obsidian spheres; inhuman, unearthly. She shuddered with excitement as he began to raise his head, his fingers twitching. The bat took to fluttering about above his head in dizzy patterns. Finally, he raised himself to look at her--his creator, his god, this wretched witch--and she clasped his hand and kissed his lips, still tasting of the ungodly nectar that had brought her homunculus to life.
I intend to write more about this fellow. Androgynous zombie/homunculus who comports himself sensually and wears a mask made of little mirrorshards. Ohyes.
Dictionary.com in sixty seconds: tenebrous.
It was in the tenebrous murk of the woods that he found it--a mask; a beautiful half-face mask covered in glittering silver gems, like tiny shards of a mirror. Tentatively, he lifted it and placed it on his face, wrapping the damp silken ribbons behind his head.
Also this, on a sixty second random word thing. (oneword.com)
He picked up the scissors from the table, toying with them idly. They were almost beautiful, the simple cleverness, the usefulness--engineer's eye, always watching the world with an engineer's eyes. He made some idle snipping motions. How easy it would be, god! how easy.
And then I cheated. So many people talking about hair; I wanted to bandwagon.
He grabbed the scissors and hacked at his hair; catharsis. I wasn't there; I was out having dinner bought for me. But this is what I'm told. He was crying, I imagine, and maybe bits of hair stuck to the tearstreaks on his face. I still regret it. I would've liked to be the one there to assess the damage and turn it into a cute, stylish cut. He had such beautiful hair.
He was beautiful. His skin, white and cracked; his hair, crimson red and falling in delicate waves around the pale, vacant face. She leaned over him, his body laid out on a long mahogany altar, and touched something to his lips--a shallow cup carved from a pumpkin, bubbling with a strange frothy liquid. She poured it over his lips, gently tilted back his head and bid him swallow. She waited, a bat fluttering its wings eagerly by his shoulder, and finally his lips parted of their own will. Shakily, he inhaled his first breath, and his eyes began to crack open--glowing, smoldering obsidian spheres; inhuman, unearthly. She shuddered with excitement as he began to raise his head, his fingers twitching. The bat took to fluttering about above his head in dizzy patterns. Finally, he raised himself to look at her--his creator, his god, this wretched witch--and she clasped his hand and kissed his lips, still tasting of the ungodly nectar that had brought her homunculus to life.
I intend to write more about this fellow. Androgynous zombie/homunculus who comports himself sensually and wears a mask made of little mirrorshards. Ohyes.
Dictionary.com in sixty seconds: tenebrous.
It was in the tenebrous murk of the woods that he found it--a mask; a beautiful half-face mask covered in glittering silver gems, like tiny shards of a mirror. Tentatively, he lifted it and placed it on his face, wrapping the damp silken ribbons behind his head.
Also this, on a sixty second random word thing. (oneword.com)
He picked up the scissors from the table, toying with them idly. They were almost beautiful, the simple cleverness, the usefulness--engineer's eye, always watching the world with an engineer's eyes. He made some idle snipping motions. How easy it would be, god! how easy.
And then I cheated. So many people talking about hair; I wanted to bandwagon.
He grabbed the scissors and hacked at his hair; catharsis. I wasn't there; I was out having dinner bought for me. But this is what I'm told. He was crying, I imagine, and maybe bits of hair stuck to the tearstreaks on his face. I still regret it. I would've liked to be the one there to assess the damage and turn it into a cute, stylish cut. He had such beautiful hair.