Random snippet of original writing
Apr. 19th, 2019 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flonnebonneSo the Get Your Words Out writing community posted a prompt:
Stop whatever you're doing.
Reply to this post.
Write whatever comes to mind in the comment box—a scene, a summary, a character sketch. It can be terrible, it can be purple, it doesn't need to make sense. For now: Just write.
Post the comment.
Then continue what you were doing.
I liked this prompt so I wrote a snippet of...something.
Cannibals!
There once was a man in the slums,
who opposed the eating of thumbs.
But his comrades did not;
they spared not a thought,
for humans, nor primates, nor Tums.
Merryweather could weather anything when it came down to it. He was a survivor, which meant he’d seen an awful lot, and done an awful lot, and a lot of what he’d seen and done was awful. Such was his lot.
But this was the first time he’d seen this sort of...fleshy urban feast. Cannibalism on the streets. And not just a bit of auto-cannibalistic gnawing of one’s own arm flesh either, because honestly everyone does that once in a while to take the edge off, but full-on, full-flavour, eat-your-neighbour, it's-fine-behaviour-sort-of shenanigans. It was positively, or rather negatively, ridiculous.
“You plan to just watch?” mutter-munched Grambly around the ring finger (sans ring) in his mouth while perusing a week-old copy of The Daily News and Views. “Or you want to be helpful and scrounge us up some pork sauce? This piece here tastes pork-like, or maybe that’s just the priming effect.”
Cannibalism, Merryweather wanted to say, is bad, and wrong too. Bad because it could rot your brain with some kind of disease, or that’s what he’d heard back in the days when there was an internet to rot your brain proper; wrong because it was just wrong.
Stop whatever you're doing.
Reply to this post.
Write whatever comes to mind in the comment box—a scene, a summary, a character sketch. It can be terrible, it can be purple, it doesn't need to make sense. For now: Just write.
Post the comment.
Then continue what you were doing.
I liked this prompt so I wrote a snippet of...something.
Cannibals!
There once was a man in the slums,
who opposed the eating of thumbs.
But his comrades did not;
they spared not a thought,
for humans, nor primates, nor Tums.
Merryweather could weather anything when it came down to it. He was a survivor, which meant he’d seen an awful lot, and done an awful lot, and a lot of what he’d seen and done was awful. Such was his lot.
But this was the first time he’d seen this sort of...fleshy urban feast. Cannibalism on the streets. And not just a bit of auto-cannibalistic gnawing of one’s own arm flesh either, because honestly everyone does that once in a while to take the edge off, but full-on, full-flavour, eat-your-neighbour, it's-fine-behaviour-sort-of shenanigans. It was positively, or rather negatively, ridiculous.
“You plan to just watch?” mutter-munched Grambly around the ring finger (sans ring) in his mouth while perusing a week-old copy of The Daily News and Views. “Or you want to be helpful and scrounge us up some pork sauce? This piece here tastes pork-like, or maybe that’s just the priming effect.”
Cannibalism, Merryweather wanted to say, is bad, and wrong too. Bad because it could rot your brain with some kind of disease, or that’s what he’d heard back in the days when there was an internet to rot your brain proper; wrong because it was just wrong.
