Tag: Exercises

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Takeover

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Takeover

It started at the North end of the city, near the Cy factories. No one admitted to knowing how it started, but in these things, no one ever did. One witness said it was the generator, another the production furnace, and yet another claimed the offices. That last one was what we focused on, while the company went with the first.

Corporate line rules all.

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A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Past

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Past

That’s the end.

I would make the same choice again. Even if time was still a concept out of my reach, I would not have changed that moment in the eternity I had to do so. Or so I believe. Must believe.

Because there is an end now.

It’s not gone, though. I had always thought they made choices, left them behind, left in what they call the past. It isn’t so. They carry their pasts around with them, dwell in them as much as we ever did, and now so do I.

Even if I wanted to, I cannot take it back.

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Movement

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Movement

Ellison pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and blew to watch the mist of his breath float up into the night sky. It faded as it went, long before it reached the stars. He tilted his head back, and wondered what it would take to reach them. If the old stories were true, people had known once.

“So this is where you’re hiding.”

He jumped as Brier joined him, settling herself on the edge of the cliff, frowning into the darkness below.

“I hate being up here at night.”

“Seeing the water wouldn’t help you if you fell.”

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A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Meeting

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Meeting

I found him again, three years later, in the corner booth of a dim campus bar. He was wedged in against the wall, notebook and text books barricading him in, his pipe and ash tray close enough to threaten the paper. It would go up in a second, one careless tilt of a match, a whoosh of joy, and his wall would consume him. That old out-of-place recklessness appearing in the least threatening way I’d ever seen it.

His hair was longer, though not shaggy literature ponce length yet. It looked good on him, the slight wave taking away from the gaunt lines of his cheeks. The low light made it hard to see, but there were circles under his eyes, grey shadows still trying to fade. He looked tired.

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A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Plans

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Plans

“So what are you going to do?”

It should have been a simple question. It wasn’t. “Why’d you do it?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” Yes.

“So?”

“Damn it, I’m not going to drag you in there without knowing what the hell you were thinking.”

“It was ten years ago. I’ve been about two or three different people since then. Do you really think it’s going to make any sense?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I met your mother.”

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