...setting his cup of now cooling broth on the kitchen counter he treads to the couch, standing an uncomprehending moment before continuing his vagrant movement to the cabin door. Indecisively he leans on the oak barrier. Minutes as years pass. He, sweat soaked and stinking of acrid smoke, reaches down trembling fingers to the door knob. As the barrier pushes outward against the crush of immense space, he steps to the threshold; a man inflamed, empty-handed, powerless, with a moan of bitter discontent ready on his lips; a moan that, had it come out, would have drained blood from the heart of God and rung tears from the roots of the universe, as true, as great, as profound as any philosophical shriek that ever issued from the depths of academia. Instead, a foul pallid breath escapes his mouth as a malignant blackness expands behind his spectating eyes...
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i despise the excessive use of adjectives in final drafts always believing there is a single noun that can compress it and say it better. i also hate showing first drafts in public but this is sorta fun. should we consider this guy history or do you have any ideas that might give him a future?
ghunk |
