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Writing Exercise 2, CompleteThe bottle shook, rattling. Pills fell against each other in the tremors, clicking on the orange-golden plastic of the container. Their name was written on the label. Shaking white hands fussed with the top, tugging, pressing, twisting. It opened with a jerk, contents spilling out onto the tile floor of the bathroom.
In the dark, the only light came from the street lamp outside, barely glowing orange through the window. The boy sat still, gray eyes darting haltingly to each caplet as he counted, lips barely moving as he mouthed the numbers. Seven, Five, Nine, Ten--
Shaggy black hair fell in front of him as he shifted onto his knees, the rest of the pills clattering down as he dropped the container and supported his weight on his hands. Twelve, Four, Nineteen--
He took a pill between his thumb and forefinger, raising it up to his mouth to push it against his tongue. He crunched down on it. One. He re
Writing Exercise 1It fell the way many things fell from that world- as a strike of lightning to the earth. A tree split down the middle, falling apart in a blaze of terrible beauty, framing the figure with orange light. It stood on unsure legs, knees buckling with a desire to give, body twitching from crackles of electricity winding around it.
Water flooded down from the black clouds in the sky, hissing in the flames and drenching the soldier clad in white. The simple tunic hugged her meager frame like a lover, rippling in liquid-like manners both thick and fluid. Her boot covered feet tottered forward in the mud, sticking and peeling, sinking and sliding. She tumbled like a marionette with its strings cut, face splashing in filth on the ground as strands of snowy hair were clumped together by the muck.
Her hands sunk into the sludge as she rose, mouth hanging slightly open as she softly, slowly panted. Droplets beaded and fell from her n
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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