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Old 09-10-2004, 13:20   #1
Nephilim
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2nd Guided Excercise: 100 Word Story

In the last excercise, we worked on character development. For this excercise we'll work on something that is much more challenging than it seems. The 100 word story. It is an excellent chance to hone your writing skills, with only one hundred words to spare brevity and precision is key.

I recommend this handy java applet to do the counting for you. Its much easier than constantly hitting the wordcount key in Microsoft Word.

http://javascriptkit.com/script/scri...untwords.shtml

As always, I'll never provide an excercise that I don't complete myself... here is my hundred word story


Quote:

Battle of Hein-Sie, January 29th 2057

“Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Today we die.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a robot with all this f'king gear.”
“Yeah.”
They were silent. The war was not.
“Your great grand-daddy in the ‘Nam too?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he sing this song…”
“Hmm?”
“And we will all go down together…Yes we will all go down together…”
“Yeah.”
“Not gonna be a f'king robot Charlie”
John shed his suit.
“Th’hell you doin’?”
“Come on… we’re going down, but we’re going down as men.”
Charlie nodded and dropped everything but his rifle.
They stood.
They charged.
To the very end they sang.
And we will all go down together…
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Old 09-10-2004, 21:40   #2
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Okay Nephilm, here's my story with exactly one hundred words, according to MS Word. I promise, I did not pull this one out of the book.


Critical

He lays in innocence, a tiny angel in a high crib. Alternately, a faint smile tickles one corner of his mouth and quivers his chin. One of God’s perfect blessings, seemingly at rest.

Around the crib hovers a worried young mother, trying to glean strength from an uneasy clan. In a hallway nearby, a team of doctors shakes heads and rubs chins. Peacefully oblivious, the baby sleeps on, a thin feeding mix dripping into his veins.

Infinity passes, one drop at a time. Eight pounds of life just beginning to bloom. When wakefulness brings seizures, where can it end?
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Old 09-11-2004, 01:49   #3
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Quote:
Originally posted by Miss Maggie
Okay Nephilm, here's my story with exactly one hundred words, according to MS Word. I promise, I did not pull this one out of the book.


Critical

He lays in innocence, a tiny angel in a high crib. Alternately, a faint smile tickles one corner of his mouth and quivers his chin. One of God’s perfect blessings, seemingly at rest.

Around the crib hovers a worried young mother, trying to glean strength from an uneasy clan. In a hallway nearby, a team of doctors shakes heads and rubs chins. Peacefully oblivious, the baby sleeps on, a thin feeding mix dripping into his veins.

Infinity passes, one drop at a time. Eight pounds of life just beginning to bloom. When wakefulness brings seizures, where can it end?
Thanks for participating maggie Would you like some feedback? As I get to know individual writer's I won't ask that question... but in the mean time I'd like to get a feel for the level of feedback people desire/can handle
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Old 09-11-2004, 06:53   #4
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I'd love to get feedback. I've been a member of a writer's group for several years, so being slaughtered is no new thing to me. I can handle it.
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Old 09-13-2004, 18:18   #5
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Well, I've been ill and I was napping in the ol' recliner. As I started waking up I had bits and pieces of this in my head. Let's see how it goes:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SNOW DAY!

"Ungh."

"Come on, time to get up."

He rolled over, sat up, stretched. "Ungh."

Peeking out through the heavy curtains that covered the window next to his bed, he saw - Snow. Bounding out of bed, dressing to play outside, he hollered, "Mom, it snowed last night, no school today."

"Sorry honey, the roads are plowed, and the busses are running. School starts right at 9:00 just like every morning.

"But, mo...," he started to say.

"Enough of that young man. In Alaska, THERE ARE NO SNOW DAYS!!"

"Hey, that's a dirty trick!!"

Get ready for school, young man.

"Ungh."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Comments welcomed.
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Old 09-24-2004, 13:27   #6
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Quote:
Originally posted by Miss Maggie
I'd love to get feedback. I've been a member of a writer's group for several years, so being slaughtered is no new thing to me. I can handle it.
Goodness, sorry for the lag time between the feedback request and me getting back to it. I just started and internship and I put in a ridiculous amount of over time this last week
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Old 09-24-2004, 13:36   #7
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Quote:
Originally posted by Miss Maggie

Critical

He lays in innocence, a tiny angel in a high crib. Alternately, a faint smile tickles one corner of his mouth and quivers his chin. One of God’s perfect blessings, seemingly at rest.

Around the crib hovers a worried young mother, trying to glean strength from an uneasy clan. In a hallway nearby, a team of doctors shakes heads and rubs chins. Peacefully oblivious, the baby sleeps on, a thin feeding mix dripping into his veins.

Infinity passes, one drop at a time. Eight pounds of life just beginning to bloom. When wakefulness brings seizures, where can it end?
I like the over all movement of the piece, but there are certain phrases/words I'd work with. With a 100 word story every single word is so important for shaping the scenery, the characters, and the movement. For instance... I like the phrase "he lays in innnocence", but I'm not so sure about the follow up "a tiny angel in a high crib" Is "high" an important word? Is tiny angel the best way to present the image? Angelic children is a well used idea after all. The middle paragraph is good for establishing some characters and scenery.

"Infinity passes, one drop at a time." Infinity is one of those massive words that needs to be seriously well anchoredt to any sentence, poem, etc. to be pulled off well. I'd ditch it, and work another measure or description of time in there.

Nice work
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Old 09-24-2004, 13:43   #8
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Quote:
Originally posted by Timber Wolf
Well, I've been ill and I was napping in the ol' recliner. As I started waking up I had bits and pieces of this in my head. Let's see how it goes:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SNOW DAY!

"Ungh."

"Come on, time to get up."

He rolled over, sat up, stretched. "Ungh."

Peeking out through the heavy curtains that covered the window next to his bed, he saw - Snow. Bounding out of bed, dressing to play outside, he hollered, "Mom, it snowed last night, no school today."

"Sorry honey, the roads are plowed, and the busses are running. School starts right at 9:00 just like every morning.

"But, mo...," he started to say.

"Enough of that young man. In Alaska, THERE ARE NO SNOW DAYS!!"

"Hey, that's a dirty trick!!"

Get ready for school, young man.

"Ungh."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Comments welcomed.
I'm not really sure about the character voices. Like for instance, the mother's incredibly stern voice... she shifts from "Sorry honey" to "young man" and then "THERE ARE NO..." its a pretty quick shift in diction. Also... in a 100 word story, you've used the phrase "young man" twice, which is 4 percent of your type space right there. You have to weigh if its that critical of a compent of the dialogue.

Finally, the piece is largely circular... the boy awakes with the grumpy exhalation, and cycles through exhaltation at the sight of the snow... and then back to the grumpy voice again. The point seems to be of course, that there are no snows days in Alask... but the boy should be well aware of that, as should the mother. Having the mother explain it seems to stretch too far. Kind of like when you're watching a commercial and there is the smart guy/dumb guy:

"What are you doing bob?"
"I'm cooking these eggs!"
"With no butter?!!??"
"Thats right charlie, with no butter! This pan is coated with a space age polymer called teflon!"
"Oh man! This I've got to see!"

I'm using that as example of voice, not to make fun of your work btw just to be clear on that.

So all that said... is the point of the piece just to show the temporary excitement of the boy? establish that there are no snow days in alaska? What part of the text is strongest to evoke some sort of response from the reader?
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Old 09-24-2004, 14:32   #9
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Quote:
Originally posted by Nephilim
I'm not really sure about the character voices. Like for instance, the mother's incredibly stern voice... she shifts from "Sorry honey" to "young man" and then "THERE ARE NO..." its a pretty quick shift in diction.
Thanks for the feedback. THERE ARE NO was not supposed to be stern, it was supposed to be emphasized, I didn't know how to show that in text. Maybe "There - Are - No - ..."??



Quote:
Also... in a 100 word story, you've used the phrase "young man" twice, which is 4 percent of your type space right there. You have to weigh if its that critical of a compent of the dialogue.
As far as the "young man," how ''bout using his first and middle name? Like "Get ready for school, John Henry."??


Quote:
Finally, the piece is largely circular... the boy awakes with the grumpy exhalation, and cycles through exhaltation at the sight of the snow... and then back to the grumpy voice again. The point seems to be of course, that there are no snows days in Alask(a)....

I guess I wrote this more as a 100 word scene (unintentionally). I was trying to wrtie a story about a kid who moved from, say WA where there are snow days just about whenever there are flakes in the air. Has been in AK since the beginning of summer, and now it's snown for the first time and he was expecting to get a day off from school. When he finds out (is reminded) that there are no snow days - after all there would be no school, he is bummed out again. Kinda like a kid you can't get up at 7:00 on a school day, but is outside playing at 6 on Sat.

Quote:
but the boy should be well aware of that, as should the mother. Having the mother explain it seems to stretch too far. Kind of like when you're watching a commercial and there is the smart guy/dumb guy:

"What are you doing bob?"
"I'm cooking these eggs!"
"With no butter?!!??"
"Thats right charlie, with no butter! This pan is coated with a space age polymer called teflon!"
"Oh man! This I've got to see!"

I'm using that as example of voice, not to make fun of your work btw just to be clear on that.
And no, I didn't take it that you were making fun.

Quote:
So all that said... is the point of the piece just to show the temporary excitement of the boy? establish that there are no snow days in alaska? What part of the text is strongest to evoke some sort of response from the reader?

[See above comment about kids and school
So, with my response to your comments. And now knowing my intentions - suggestions?, can it be done in 100 words, or was I right, did I end up writing a 100 pg "scene," instead of a 100 pg. "story?"
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Last edited by Timber Wolf; 09-16-2007 at 18:09..
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Old 09-24-2004, 15:10   #10
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Quote:
Originally posted by Timber Wolf
So, with my response to your comments. And now knowing my intentions - suggestions?, can it be done in 100 words, or was I right, did I end up writing a 100 pg "scene," instead of a 100 pg. "story?"
Your feedback on top of mine definately helps. The whole idea of the kid moving from a warm climate to alaska isn't present at all in the original, and thats a huge part obviously, after your description to me.

You'll note that in my 100 word story, I used a pretty descriptive title. Its not part of the 100 words of the actual story, so you can stuff some information in there. From my title you've got a date, location, and already a mood, you know its a battle. Try giving your story a title that gives more information about location, mood, or scene. It'll help

A good way to emphasize instead of using ALL CAPS, would be to italize the text by clicking the "I" button above the area you type in when you post (between the B and the U, and above http://)

You can trim alot of fat, and then use the new found space to insert fresh ideas.

For instance... the part about the kid scrambling to get ready to go out and play in the snow, and then announcing that its a snow day... him hollering takes up 10 percent of your story space. Its obvious what he's doing, he's going outside to play in the snow. You can just as easily transition that into a confrontation with his mother, without him yelling about it being a snowday. We see the snow, his play clothes, and his excitement through other actions. The reader can pick up on the intention
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Old 09-26-2004, 23:57   #11
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Quote:
Originally posted by Nephilim
I like the over all movement of the piece, but there are certain phrases/words I'd work with. With a 100 word story every single word is so important for shaping the scenery, the characters, and the movement. For instance... I like the phrase "he lays in innnocence", but I'm not so sure about the follow up "a tiny angel in a high crib" Is "high" an important word? Is tiny angel the best way to present the image? Angelic children is a well used idea after all. The middle paragraph is good for establishing some characters and scenery.

"Infinity passes, one drop at a time." Infinity is one of those massive words that needs to be seriously well anchoredt to any sentence, poem, etc. to be pulled off well. I'd ditch it, and work another measure or description of time in there.

Nice work
Thanks for the critique, Nephilim
I just saw your reply. I'm rewriting according to your suggestions. You're right. Angel has been used so much for small children that it is a cliche. I used the word high to describe the tall cribs hospitals use. I couldn't think of any other word that would give the image of a babe in a hospital bed at the time, but maybe sterile will work better. The hundred word limit really makes it a struggle to pin a story down.

Critical

He lays in innocence, a growing preemie in a sterile crib. Alternately, a faint smile tickles one corner of his mouth and quivers his chin. One of God’s perfect blessings, seemingly at rest.

Around the crib hovers a worried young mother, trying to glean strength from an uneasy clan. In a hallway nearby, a team of doctors shakes heads and rubs chins. Peacefully oblivious, the baby sleeps on, a thin feeding mix dripping into his veins.

Eternities pass, one drop at a time. Eight pounds of life just beginning to bloom. When wakefulness brings seizures, where can it end?
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Old 11-11-2004, 21:10   #12
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Nephilin, sorry its a bit long, but dying for feedback. Thanks.

The figure lay prone on the ground, avoiding the bright rays of the rising sun. Motionless, the tree bark camouflage blended among scrub oak saplings and supplejack. The noisy grate of grackles blended with the constant traffic noises of Interstate Highway 10 to the rear. A slow moving rock train began blowing it’s whistle at a railroad crossing not 200 yards away and would soon intersect the distance to the highway. Whitetail deer were feeding on acorns under a live oak on the other side of a dew damp Bermuda grass fairway.

Patience. The one word repeated itself throughout the mental checklist. Never expose position. Clear view of objective. Patience. Leave nothing behind. Patience. Full breath, half out. Patience. One shot, one kill. Backtrack. The camouflaged Galil 7.62 NATO, semi-automatic sniper rifle rested sturdily on its bipod. The cross hairs of the variable scope, a 50mm Leupold VARI-X II, 3x9, kept it aimed 150 yards from the raised tee box, beyond the rough and out of bounds down the right side of the Par 3, 205-yard number 5 hole of the Dominion Country Club. Attentive, highly trained eyes peered just above the scope aperture for any sign of movement, shifting slowly left then right for anything intrusive to the situation. Only the snapping of twigs or the rustle of the thorny vines would give cause to turn and look behind. Patience.

The 4th hole at The Dominion Country Club doglegged sharply to the right about 175 yards out across a small creek that seemed more often than not, an inviting target for the club’s regular duffers. John Bell Hood V looked intently across the creek, ignoring it, and waggled the Big Bertha II Titanium driver, a Titleist ball perched on a thin wooden tee. When concentration, composure and muscle memory all became synchronized, he brought the club back with the smooth and unhurried takeaway of a PGA Tour veteran, hips turning into a coiled spring. Just as the lithe body seemed unable to contort another inch around a stationary head, the outside/in downswing exploded into a controlled collision, the club head cutting across the ball, propelling it with an exaggerated clockwise spin, like a howitzer, high and long. Starting straight, the ball began fading right about 200 yards out as planned. It turned the corner, bouncing in the fairway’s middle, getting a decent roll into a great position for a mid-iron second shot.

“Great golf shot Dad!” John Bell Hood VI, better known as “Seis” (Spanish for “six”) to friends and family shouted in jubilation, at the same time envying his father’s natural ability for the game. He wiped his chapped hands on a golf towel. Cirilo and Jose Martinez, twin brothers who also excelled in martial arts, quietly acknowledged the perfect drive as their eyes swept the course carefully for intruders and threats to their employer. Though the bodyguards, outfitted in Greg Norman shirts and Bermuda shorts, looked like part of any other golfing foursome on this warm April day, the unused sets of golf clubs and bags on the back of their cart housed much more firepower than any five iron could possibly muster. The death threats had resolved the man of God to his own interpretation of Psalms 91 and its plea for protective covering from God, by the feathers of your wings, to mean two Mexican sharpshooters with automatic weapons.

Satisfied, the elder Hood continued to relish the shot with an exaggerated follow through and looked at his younger image, proud of the result. “Thanks Son.” An arching six iron to the green left a 7 footer for birdie. Seis blasted within 10 feet of the hole on the downside from the left bunker, now laying four. John Bell V carefully touched his downhill putt a half-cup to the right and, as expected, watched with Seis as the ball lipped the cup and plopped in for birdie. Seis barely missed a straight up putt and settled for a “gimme” double bogie.

Slender gloved fingers pulled the rifle’s bolt back in a slow, trained maneuver, then forward, causing the smooth insertion of the 7.62 round into the snugness of the chamber. It was chosen for it’s high velocity and devastating terminal effect. The feeling of surging adrenaline was welcomed and heightened even more as the winner of the previous hole stepped up on the tee box, five wood in hand, one hundred fifty five yards away from the bore of the rifle, two hundred five to the cup. Through the scope, the imposing figure went through a predictable pre-shot routine -- as did the master shooter, forefinger caressing the trigger in light brushes as the others curled around the Galil’s pistol grip. Satisfied with his grip and customary waggle, the player started the back swing and all sound, highway traffic, train whistle and bird chatter included, disappeared and was replaced with a conscious drawing and holding of breath by the shooter, letting half out slowly, allowing the crosshairs of the Leupold to steady and stop.

“El Diablo! Chinga tu madre!”

Suddenly, as club and ball connected and follow through ensued, time stood still and the trigger finger reacted, first taking up the anticipated slack, hesitating, and then breaking the trigger with controlled pressure. The Galil roared and, ever satisfied with the five wood’s projection, the golfer halted in follow through, club high and over his left shoulder, chest exposed fully to the fairway, admiring the best ball he’d ever launched on this Par 3. As it bounced softly on the front apron and rolled magnetically toward the hole, the 173-grain boat tail Nosler bullet, zipping through the air at 2600 feet per second, ripped through John Bell Hood V’s chest wall. The wound channel liqufied Hood’s heart and lungs, leaving a fist size exit wound in his back. The momentum of approximately 2200 foot pounds of energy flipped his upper body grotesquely backwards, stopping only when his feet, caught up in the violent reaction, suddenly occupied the space his head had just departed a nanosecond before. The force of his body hit the ground with a resounding thud about the time the Titleist plopped unheard and unseen into the cup on the fifth green for a posthumous and un-witnessed hole-in-one.


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Old 11-11-2004, 21:50   #13
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And here's the first part of the introductory episode:

A cold wind blew down the caldera from off the shoulder of a pale shadow moon. A shiver of anticipation ran up the spine of the lone hunter who waited against the canyon wall – his form lost in the play of gray light against crack and crevice. Every now and then his head would move, ever so slowly, in response to whatever sounds came his way; but his body, itself, didn’t seem to move. He was still and silent like the sandstone into which he blended and became as one.

It was turning out to be a long night, the watcher had been on stand, now, for almost 4 hours. His body was cold. Occasionally he’d shiver involuntarily; but, he was far too self-disciplined to break cover in order to relieve himself. Instead he fell back on his training and practiced several Tai Chi moves in almost perfect slow motion. First he’d stretch one leg, then the other. Next he’d flex his backbone in smooth flowing arches, first, to one side and, then, the other. He finished by stretching his neck toward the clear dark sky above.

Through the whole process he moved no more than a snake stretching and was every bit as indiscernible. Without question, this was a very careful and cautious man – highly skilled in that art to which he’d dedicated his life and in which he took a great personal pride. The other hard part about waiting is to keep your mind occupied. Years ago, it had been French and Spanish; today it was more about reminiscing: The what, why and when of it all. The thoughts were, often, less than comforting.

A slow turn of the arm revealed the underside of his wrist and the glowing numbers 3:15. He had set up the, ‘watch station’ at a little after 23:30. (almost midnight in normal time.) Well over 3 hours of watching and waiting was starting to take its toll. He stiffen and relaxed his neck and sub-vocalized the sentiments of the night in the brief explicative. ‘Crap!’, he thought to himself. ‘There can’t be too many more jobs like this.’ ‘One of these days I’ll be called in for good; a few years in observation and planning; and I’ll take that comfortable retirement they keep promising.’ ‘In the meantime it’s the same old crap; you get to go South in the Summer and North in the Winter - never the other way around!’

A large brush mosquito buzzed in his ear, held off by the aroma of DEET. ‘Lousy stuff!’ He hated using it; but, when he couldn’t get any of the naturally repellent high vitamin B complex, ‘Skin So Soft’ he was forced to choose between the noisome standard issue liquid, or the bugs. The night was warm and humid; the mosquitoes were out in force; and this toxic goop was sweating off his neck, staining his collar. Ricardo was always laughing at him for his preoccupation with chemical phobias; but Ricardo was young – What the Hell did he know, anyway? That overly ambitious kid was, still, a by-the-book martinet – maybe, even, something of an idealist. He may have been a good shot; but, after more than 10 years and a hundred and fifty, such, of these trips the watcher knew that it takes more than marksmanship and ass-kissing obedience in order to survive, long term, at this game.

He closed his eyes for a moment in order to relieve the strain brought on by several hours of scanning the dark trail running past his right shoulder. The moon had been out when he set up the watch station; and he was able to, just, make out the tortuous path as it wound gently uphill through the pale gray air to the darkly silhouetted crest about a 100 yards away. A mosquito wing brushed his cheek causing him to open his eyes and take the familiar scene in, once more.

There was movement! For the second time, tonight, something was coming down from the top of the hill. The first visitors had been two mule deer does; but, this time, it looked like, ‘the package' had finally arrived. A slight figure, probably that of a young boy, was quietly making its way toward him. The watcher shifted his weight onto his right hip and twisted, ever so slowly, to the right. When his torso hid his arm's movement from the approaching figure, he touched his right-hand to his throat and mumbled; ‘Heads up; package has arrived!’ He spoke in barely a whisper; but it was enough for the voice transducer taped to his throat to pick up. Gently, the micro-speaker in his left ear replied; ‘Affirmative!’ ‘I have one approaching the creek bed.’ ‘It’s a kid!’

The watcher replied; ‘Let him pass.’ ‘Affirmative!’, came the reply. Then they went silent, waiting now in alert anticipation. ‘Stupid kid!’ the watcher thought to himself; ‘Wearing a white shirt for all the world to see.’ Reflecting that blood always looks black in the moonlight he mused; ‘Well, at least, we’ll be able to tell where he’s hit!’ The briefing orders on this night’s operation had stated, ‘Target recovery for interrogation only!’ This meant that all, ‘second parties’ were to be treated with extreme prejudice.

In order to complete an assignment like this, the watcher knew that he had to steel himself not to think about such vulgar ordinary concepts as: humanity, morality, or sentiment. He knew the ground rules, only too well, and understood the merciless necessities of his work. Over the years, the numerous assignments, and many different countries, that same demand not to fail - nor to show, either, hesitation or mercy - had been repeatedly drilled into his head.

The long and the short of it was that this kid was presently living the last moments of his life. The micro-speaker suddenly whispered; ‘Standby!’ A third voice came on-line; ‘I have two – No!’ ‘Make that four – on the trail.’ Suddenly there they were: four darkly clad male(?) figures, crested the top of the hill where they stopped to wait before coming down into the arroyo. The watcher’s hands flexed over the black plastic stock of the long barreled rifle resting across his thighs. It was a beautiful piece of precision workmanship – Made in Switzerland and not the kind of weapon that your average coyote hunter would use.

A rock rolled in the creek bed; the kid must have stumbled – No! The boy was smart; he had deliberately thrown the rock in order to make noise! The watcher smiled to himself and, curiously, suddenly felt better about what was soon going to take place. ‘Not so dumb, after all, huh!’, he thought. Three short coyote yelps rose up from the creek bed. It was only apparent to the untrained ear that these sounds were mimicked – emitted from a human throat.

The four figures waiting just below the top of the hill, suddenly, began to come forward. On they came, walking single-file, winding down into the arroyo. The two taller figures in the middle were carrying backpacks that gave an appearance of being unusually heavy. The man in front carried a long arm, casually, in his left-hand. The one at the rear was similarly armed – cradling his weapon at port arms across his chest. He seemed a little more alert than the other three. He must have been acting as a rear guard. ‘Yeah!’ ‘Rear guard.’, the watcher thought. He smirked to himself, more mentally than physically, because years of experience had taught him that the last visible figure might, also, be looking behind himself for that straggler who was, in fact, the actual rear guard. The watcher knew that once the action began, it would be this authentic last man whom you really had to worry about.

Expertise like this was what usually caused the watcher to be senior man on these ops. He knew what could go wrong because he’d already been FUBAR and on more than one previous trip. As Ricardo liked to say; ‘Survival breeds survivors!’


(To Be Continued.)
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Old 12-27-2004, 20:55   #14
mhambi
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Location: Phlegethon
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Haven't really shared any writing with anyone for a loooong time. But I saw this exercise and it instantly brought back something I'd written over 10 years ago. I thought I'd give it a go. So here it is for your critiquing, rewritten to meet the 100-word requirement. (Originally written as kind of a prose/poetry thing- going more for mood here)

Quote:
Sitting at the bus stop listening as two ladies talk about beans, birthday cake and being 35. I think about a girl, a perfect one. I fret about my own imagined inadequacies - convinced I’ll never be loved. When I see her, my confidence flees. I hear her voice and lose my mind.

The talking has ceased, replaced by the quiet humming of a lonely tune. The noises of the city blend around me, a symphony of sadness. She loves someone else. The smile she brought now like the siren in the cold night, heading towards some distant tragedy… vanishing.
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Old 12-29-2004, 22:27   #15
Grey Wolf
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Location: SW Michigan
Posts: 1,530
Title:

Every action has a reaction. December 31st of every year...

Story:

Crack.

Dude, get me one?

What?

Grab me one while your up.

Haven’t you had enough?

No mother, I haven’t.

How are you going to get home?

I have only had a few.

You shouldn’t drive. They’ll put you in jail all weekend and impound your ride.

You can stay here.

Shut up the ball’s dropping.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Do you understand the verdict as it was read?

Huh?

Do you understand the verdict as read by the jury?

Yes sir.

Do you have anything to say?

I would like to express my deepest condolences to the family.

Why is that?

Huh?

Are you sorry for what you did or what happened from it?

I’m...

------------

I just threw this together. I have been on a writing kick for few days, but have not really written anything for fun in a very long time.

I am open to criticism, but be gentle!! Not, Let me know what I can do to improve.

Later

Stay safe
Grey Wolf
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