For Creative writing today we did two things – one of which feels unseemly or seems unfeely to gloat about. The other was to do a writing exercise, writing down introductory sentences to stories, ideally the same story. Here, then, without varnish, is my homework:
- I reflected upon the mirror of myself while we rode downhil, amongst the blood and screaming, how transitions such as these should be exciting and not so marked by a dull pout.
- Why does everyone seem to think so little of beige?
- Upon the shoulders of one young man falls a burden seen only by himself, invisible to those who crafted it.
- The perimeter of the suburb had been every bit as flat as Engadine had been not.
- Chickens, nurses, rain, as a man walked into a bush.
- If only my faith had been lost the night my silver chain broke in the scuffle, sending its crucifix to the ground between my feet and those of the pastor’s eldest.
- “No,” I insisted again, “Aslan is not an allergory.”
- Was there anything left to move but those rust-tainted drips of brackish water?