Janet CollinsPart III - Deception and Deceptive Living.
March 1st 2007 11:57
WANNA WAKE UP WITH THE KING?
A lively, vivacious but all together too confident slogan emblazoned the shirt of a man too tall, too bulky, too... oddly constructed. Nick Waters, a man of complete complacency, troadlled (a stepping motion somewhere between a trudge and waddle) the gritty and worn bitumen of yesteryear's urban ghetto. Streets that bore witness so much heartache, streets that housed the bawdy, the licentious and the utterly depraved were overnight swept up in a maelstrom of pine, cheap carpet and rainbow paints. The remnants of the wore-torn landscape cut suddenly short by a yellow brick road of polished dreams. The new estates. PVC Perfect.
"Hey, Chestnut!" A sluggish, calm-and-collected turn preceded a lazy wave of the arm. This way of communication - this series of gesticulations constituted the language of the confused, the rebellious, the insufferable. This language - these words are those of the heart, not the mind. In this culture, a warrior's code of honesty, of valor applied - not morality, immorality Injustice is a burning feeling felt from losing a fight or lover. Pretty crimes meant nothing, and neither did the victims. Here, there is only pride; and the lack thereof when you are disrespected.
Chestnut... Who called him that anymore? That was a name given to him by a girl many, many years younger. They had met at a party. It was love. They had snuggled on a couch and shared tender kisses... Maybe more? Did they do more? Others had been watching, young girls glaring; hearts raw from the hard grating of pure envy. The many nights spent pining for this man too tall, too bulky.
"What up, Chesty?"
"Not much, dude."
Philippe had been one to hear the many tales of sleepless nights and rowdy love sessions. He had not, by any means, been the only one. Nor was he the only one with doubt as to its veracity. Philippe has always been tall, with a boyish charm - thin and spindly in appearance. Should he tan... should he fill out a frame built for someone far more athletic than he... then perhaps Nick may have competition...
Suddenly, sharply something flickered. Something silver, something definite. Something shimmered from the corner of Nick's pocket... Nick's hand gently withdraw, coming to rest at his side. Something was said in monotone, a low noise escaped deceitful lips. Though the words themselves made little sense - Philippe clearly heard dry, forced laughter, thick with feigned reassurance.
A lively, vivacious but all together too confident slogan emblazoned the shirt of a man too tall, too bulky, too... oddly constructed. Nick Waters, a man of complete complacency, troadlled (a stepping motion somewhere between a trudge and waddle) the gritty and worn bitumen of yesteryear's urban ghetto. Streets that bore witness so much heartache, streets that housed the bawdy, the licentious and the utterly depraved were overnight swept up in a maelstrom of pine, cheap carpet and rainbow paints. The remnants of the wore-torn landscape cut suddenly short by a yellow brick road of polished dreams. The new estates. PVC Perfect.
"Hey, Chestnut!" A sluggish, calm-and-collected turn preceded a lazy wave of the arm. This way of communication - this series of gesticulations constituted the language of the confused, the rebellious, the insufferable. This language - these words are those of the heart, not the mind. In this culture, a warrior's code of honesty, of valor applied - not morality, immorality Injustice is a burning feeling felt from losing a fight or lover. Pretty crimes meant nothing, and neither did the victims. Here, there is only pride; and the lack thereof when you are disrespected.
Chestnut... Who called him that anymore? That was a name given to him by a girl many, many years younger. They had met at a party. It was love. They had snuggled on a couch and shared tender kisses... Maybe more? Did they do more? Others had been watching, young girls glaring; hearts raw from the hard grating of pure envy. The many nights spent pining for this man too tall, too bulky.
"What up, Chesty?"
"Not much, dude."
Philippe had been one to hear the many tales of sleepless nights and rowdy love sessions. He had not, by any means, been the only one. Nor was he the only one with doubt as to its veracity. Philippe has always been tall, with a boyish charm - thin and spindly in appearance. Should he tan... should he fill out a frame built for someone far more athletic than he... then perhaps Nick may have competition...
Suddenly, sharply something flickered. Something silver, something definite. Something shimmered from the corner of Nick's pocket... Nick's hand gently withdraw, coming to rest at his side. Something was said in monotone, a low noise escaped deceitful lips. Though the words themselves made little sense - Philippe clearly heard dry, forced laughter, thick with feigned reassurance.
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Comment by Wendi
Comment by katyzzz
Photography Tips
MS Paint Art
When is the next episode?
katyzzz
Comment by AnthonyB
The next episode will most likely be tomorrow. I'm hoping to write one every day. Soon everything will make sense. At the moment, it's a little choppy - cutting between stories, events and the like, but you'll see how it all links up.
Thanks for the interest, guys !
- Anthony
Comment by Wendi
Have a great weekend, enjoy your next week, and happy writing!
W
Comment by AnthonyB
Chat soon !
- Anthony