Picture Perfect - Waiting at the door

The Picture Perfect Writing portion of Wordtrip is used to inspire writing through the "VISUAL" of life. Look at the current picture and write an opening line, paragraph, poem, or short story. Perhaps even begin a new novel!

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Picture Perfect - Waiting at the door

Postby Anblick » Thu Aug 21, 2008 9:40 pm

Wordtrip wrote:The Picture Perfect Writing portion of Wordtrip is used to inspire writing through the "VISUAL" of life. Look at the picture below and write whatever comes to mine... short story, Fast Fiction or novel... even a poem may be inspired from this picture.

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Here's your next picture challenge to inspire us to write. Write an opening line, paragraph or even a short story to go along with the picture. Perhaps even begin a new novel! Maybe members would like to use these as future tags... just ask the person who starts it if it's ok to use.

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Postby Saphyre » Tue Sep 02, 2008 5:49 pm

A Michael/Sabrina exercise... set when his mom and her godfather were still just courting.


Michael, who was hiding in the library, chucked to himself, then fled into a servant’s passage. If only he could see her now… that witch would look so beautiful when she was mad.


“What’s all the yelling about?” Michael heard him mother demand. Three stories separating him from the action and he could still hear every word- Magics below, he loved having the heightened senses of a dragon.

Michael has nearly drowned my mother’s familiar.” Magics below- the way she made his name sound like a curse was almost poetry. He was so relishing having made her sufficiently mad as to almost compensate for her have bewitched his sheets that he didn’t register the rest of the sentence.

Then he double-tracked dragonish thinking reconciled himself and he yelped, scurrying up a servant’s access way onto the fourth floor. Her mother’s familiar… Sheesh. He’d been aiming for hers. That mutt could have used a good dousing. How had the spell triggered on that old cat? If Sabrina didn’t flay him, his mother would probably nail his kneecaps to the floor. Magics below- his goose was dead, cooked, eaten, and processed.

HE WHAT!” yep. He was definitely dead. “MICHAEL YOU GET DOWN HERE!” yeah right- like he was going to willing walk into that nest of Klhorlics. No thank you.

“Find him Kyalebb.” Sure… that’s right, Sabrina. Sick your mutt on me like I’m some sort of rabbit to be run out of a hole. That dog’ll never find me- not in the home I’ve been raised in. I know this thing so well… I could hide forever.

You’ll have to if you want to live.’ SHOOT- magics below- Michael had forgotten she had phoenix blood in her. How was he supposed to ward him mind against THAT? He couldn’t, of course, not without serious training, and with Sabrina giving Kyalebb constant updates on where he was it was a matter of minutes before the creature had cornered him in a fifth-floor office.

Michael had to admit, as the thing marched him back downstairs, that it really was a beautiful creature. It was a predominately grayish beast, with a fine black mask and a deep silver-white underbelly. Like all familiars it had an undercoat of brilliant color that only showed when he ran flat out and the wind stirred it into rivers of vibrancy. He knew from experience with Kyalebb that his undercoat was a deep royal blue- but you wouldn’t know it to look at him now. A part of Michael knew he was only thinking of such things so he wouldn’t be dreading the fury that was about to unleash itself- but he ignored this part. It was a coping mechanism, you could say. Of course that didn’t change the fury that was waiting for him.

In the entryway stood his mother, arms crossed, scowl in place, silver-black hair pulled into a neat bun. But far more terrifying was Sabrina- his might-soon-to-be-almost-step-sister. She had her mother’s familiar, a black (currently sopping) cat, cradled in her arms. Her face wasn’t scowling, or even grimaced. She was not glaring. Her face wasn’t red with anger like his mother’s, her foot wasn’t tapping in irritation, her hands were not clenching and unclenching with the desire to smack him.

Instead she was gazing levelly at him, face perfectly composed into an expression that was almost calm, but with a touch of pleasure in it. she said very little, when she spoke, and her tone was a level and reasonable as though she bid a sincere good-day to a stranger on the street. “You can expect my revenge when it is least expected and when it will be the most humiliating. I will have justice.” And then she turned and walked out of the manor, and Kyalebb followed her.

It dawned on him that the pleasure in her face had probably come at the exact moment her vengeance had occurred to her. After all, she’d been poking around in his head- so she knew how best to humiliate him. Magics below- if that girl wasn’t about to be his almost-step-sister, he’d ask her out. You couldn’t ever marry such a gal, of course, because they were never submissive, totally unpredictable, and untouchably wild, but to date her… what a hoot it would be.

Just you try it, Michael Shanavitch Korflip. I will send you to the current home of your ancestors. And there is little exaggeration in that statement.” Drat her phoenix blood.


The story of her revenge is posted here... http://www.wordtrip.com/phpBB2/viewtopi ... 397#204397
For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus…
For by grace you have been saved through faith… it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.
Please always feel free to critique anything I write as I am by no means perfect!

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