Give Him the Money[316 words]The small convenience store sat at the end of a dark Chicago street. Midnight swirled with the wind along the pavement, snatching at the crunchy leaves that lined up along the curb. A scrap of paper flew by the neon signs that flickered now and then, hanging inside the stores windows, advertising cigarettes. One neon letter was dead. In a burst of sound and light, two police cars suddenly careened around the corner. The screaming sirens ricocheted off the tunnel-like walls of the buildings lining the street and the light flooded through any crevices in curtains it could find. The clerk inside the store was moving too slow. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking. The gunman squirmed as the sound of car doors slamming reached his ears. Give me the money! NOW!The door of the store flew open and in flooded three uniformed men, also armed.
TriadStudentLeisurely, you stretch upon the sofa like a cat whos settling into her napping position. You drape yourself upon the furniture any old way. You lack inhibition when you are here, with me. Your thoughts flow a steady stream of articulation, relaxed releasing. Your eyes are wide open windows--I can see all the possibilities. You are glass spun of the sun, and I behold you with care. You trust. Childlike conception of interaction. Student, you are a teacher.TremorI was finishing up after my shower in the bathroom when a Chopin etude burst from the round radio sitting on the sink. It pounded forth, angrily at first, seizing me by the scruff of my shirt and shaking me. The pianist was racing through the typical Chopin scales, creating layers of light and dark and pouring waves of expression, rolling sound against me like the tide of the ocean, pushing yet pulling me closer. I turned it up, welcoming the increasing vibrations, and switched off the light. I sat i
Jenny Master CopyThis is a master copy of short sketches written about my character Jenny. I will add additional sketches that I write about her to this deviation.[Dancing Dust] --------------------Stretched out on her bed, Jenny lay as still as a cat snoozing in the sun. Through her half-open window streamed a delicate river of light, and suspended within it were hundreds of tiny dust particles riding waves of air through the room. They were always there, of course, but normally you couldnt see them so vividly.Jenny studied them. Each glimmered, danced, like youd imagine a handful of stars would if you could gather them up and scatter them through the air. At a simple movement from her, the particles would react violently, spinning and swirling in intense patterns that Jenny couldnt believe they hadnt rehearsed. They were so tiny and fragile, and yet untouchable because of their size.Turning over onto her back, Jenny studied the ceiling: white plaster, etched with random de
Sketching Sound 2[435 words]Wrapped around a rolling chair, with loose limbs escaping here and there, Jenny stared analytically at the desk before her. On the smooth wood surface, bruised here and there by typical teenage wear, lay the sketch of the stairway cellist. A lamp shone down upon it, illuminating incorrect perspective here, too much shading there.Abruptly, the young woman stood. A strand of her hair flew out like an angry blackbird from behind her ear, but Jenny didnt seem to notice. She strode across the room
and promptly flung herself on the red-robed bed. After the first impact, she bounced gently a few times, cupped her chin within two pencil-smudged hands, and gazed listlessly out the window. The evening was resolving into darkness, like a canvas just inked over with black paint that glimmers, still damp, with stars and the reflections of streetlights. A pedestrian or two passed by, but Jenny didnt study them. She was busy gazing listlessly, not focusing.Then she sig