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Random Scene Writing Meme filled by TheaFlyrhHoedenmaker’s Random Scene writing Meme
Welcome to my Scene writing meme! You don’t have to write a whole scene complete with ending, just write as long as you have words!
Have fun! Be creative!
Rule: Write no more than 100 words per scene!!!! Fuck that!
First a few general questions (If they bore you, just skip them, no prob!)
1. Where do you get your inspiration from to write? Well, i listen to music, and pictures and movies help me too. Sometimes my characters just walk into my head.
2. What do you like to write about most? Uh, everything? I dont know, apocalyptic and insanity and fantasy.
3. What do you do when you have a writer’s block? Do memes and challenges! Only reason im doing this.
4. In your stories, do you write: “I walked into the room” or “He/She
Black Blood (2)"You know im not stupid, Grohk. And if you dont call of the guards and make your people go to Mhrykull, we will kill you."
"Stupid little lunch! I should no make you Jester. Now, get out or feel my wrath. I have thing do."
"Stupid orc. Yes, i am goblin. But i am not stupid. People thought that we were stupid in the start. But our accent, its not intelligence. We hid it. Some of us did go insane, yes. But some just acted. And now you pay. I am tired of you. You have one week. But, to get us goblins a base, we took over Mrina, the small island in the little you didnt care about? Its on that island the Stone of Bryna is, and...."
Blood, and a lot of it. The stench of dead orc was the only smell left on the two islands that the goblins needed. And the only home of the orcs. The names of the islands meant Blood and Gore in the orc language, and it was like the humans knew that they would find that on the islands. The goblins where hiding: they knew that the
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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