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Sep. 1st, 2005 07:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seiberwingI'm going to be gone starting Friday afternoon, returning about Sunday afternoon or so. Which means Demolisher and E-Starscream and a bunch of other infestations residents will also be taking a break. Sorry. (But, Amasa, I've got something neat for Dem and Dee to do when we get back, if you're interested.)
I can leave you with a little one-page thing I wrote for my Creative Writing assignment on scene description. Is a bit out of my head, a bit from experience, and my car makes a guest appearence as well.
Life by the Highway
The old Filler-up gas station was the oldest of its brethren in that part of town. It had been there before the Cascade, before the Mike station, and before that flamboyant cad Zoomzoom that was now sending the maiden fuel pumps into dainty swoons and making the ice boxes mutter about his possible ties to terrorist oil wells in the barbarian north.
The Filler-up had been the site of three fender-benders, twenty-eight cases of pumping without paying, one hold-up, and a sprained ankle caused by tripping over an air hose. It would later go on to witness countless more fender-benders, several failed hold-ups, and a particularly grisly torture session followed by a murder, but for now it was simply blazingly hot.
Not hot enough to fry an egg, oh no, it was hot enough to evaporate both the egg and the sidewalk it was cooking on. Everyone with sense was either inside or in the water. The lone creature minding the counter was doing the former and longing for the latter. He absently mashed a cigarette into the ashtray next to a container of fake roses and stared out the plate glass door, wishing that something, anything would break the monotony, even if it involved large amounts of explosions or illicit activity.
The green Grand Am sitting out front had a dent in the front bumper, as if some abusive Dodge Ram husband had slapped her across the face and she had retreated to the safety of the parking lot to make up some excuse about running into a garage door to tell her higher-class friends. The dirt and avian excrement strewn over her body added to her image as a poor misbegotten woman, but the proud purple and black flag clamped tightly to the top of her driver’s side window showed that she was by no means ready to surrender.
Behind the gas station stood a small clump of stunted yellow bushes that cleverly disguised the imminent drop-off into the ruins of a half-finished building. If anyone knew what it would have been, they never mentioned it. Few people even bothered to note its existence with the exception of the children who came there to play at being explorers and the anonymous sinners who dumped old pieces of plastic and used diapers down into the cinderblock depths.
Several crawling things made their way in and out of the garbage, eating what they could and leaving the rest for other crawling things with less discerning appetites. Their crustacean claws tore into old cantaloupes and soaked the gooey innards in digestive fluids, then sucked them down like milkshakes before moving on to more dubious substances.
Unlike the crotchety oldster inside, they enjoyed the heat. It made dead food softer and live food easier to find, as even the smallest of their mammalian prey were impacted by the wrath of the sun and forced into their death-trap burrows.
Up above, the cars were rushing by and giving little thought to what lay below or beyond the small shops and fueling stations that lined the highway, thinking only of petty personal matters like clothes-shopping or their upcoming colonoscopies. A few eyed their gas gauges with slight concern, but opted to wait until they got somewhere a bit more populated, a bit more urban, somehow imagining that heat was lessened in the presence of technology.
And off in the distance, beyond the highway and the wilting trees, a diaper was eaten.
I can leave you with a little one-page thing I wrote for my Creative Writing assignment on scene description. Is a bit out of my head, a bit from experience, and my car makes a guest appearence as well.
Life by the Highway
The old Filler-up gas station was the oldest of its brethren in that part of town. It had been there before the Cascade, before the Mike station, and before that flamboyant cad Zoomzoom that was now sending the maiden fuel pumps into dainty swoons and making the ice boxes mutter about his possible ties to terrorist oil wells in the barbarian north.
The Filler-up had been the site of three fender-benders, twenty-eight cases of pumping without paying, one hold-up, and a sprained ankle caused by tripping over an air hose. It would later go on to witness countless more fender-benders, several failed hold-ups, and a particularly grisly torture session followed by a murder, but for now it was simply blazingly hot.
Not hot enough to fry an egg, oh no, it was hot enough to evaporate both the egg and the sidewalk it was cooking on. Everyone with sense was either inside or in the water. The lone creature minding the counter was doing the former and longing for the latter. He absently mashed a cigarette into the ashtray next to a container of fake roses and stared out the plate glass door, wishing that something, anything would break the monotony, even if it involved large amounts of explosions or illicit activity.
The green Grand Am sitting out front had a dent in the front bumper, as if some abusive Dodge Ram husband had slapped her across the face and she had retreated to the safety of the parking lot to make up some excuse about running into a garage door to tell her higher-class friends. The dirt and avian excrement strewn over her body added to her image as a poor misbegotten woman, but the proud purple and black flag clamped tightly to the top of her driver’s side window showed that she was by no means ready to surrender.
Behind the gas station stood a small clump of stunted yellow bushes that cleverly disguised the imminent drop-off into the ruins of a half-finished building. If anyone knew what it would have been, they never mentioned it. Few people even bothered to note its existence with the exception of the children who came there to play at being explorers and the anonymous sinners who dumped old pieces of plastic and used diapers down into the cinderblock depths.
Several crawling things made their way in and out of the garbage, eating what they could and leaving the rest for other crawling things with less discerning appetites. Their crustacean claws tore into old cantaloupes and soaked the gooey innards in digestive fluids, then sucked them down like milkshakes before moving on to more dubious substances.
Unlike the crotchety oldster inside, they enjoyed the heat. It made dead food softer and live food easier to find, as even the smallest of their mammalian prey were impacted by the wrath of the sun and forced into their death-trap burrows.
Up above, the cars were rushing by and giving little thought to what lay below or beyond the small shops and fueling stations that lined the highway, thinking only of petty personal matters like clothes-shopping or their upcoming colonoscopies. A few eyed their gas gauges with slight concern, but opted to wait until they got somewhere a bit more populated, a bit more urban, somehow imagining that heat was lessened in the presence of technology.
And off in the distance, beyond the highway and the wilting trees, a diaper was eaten.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-09-02 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-02 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-02 08:59 pm (UTC)And off in the distance, beyond the highway and the wilting trees, a diaper was eaten.
Then I started to giggle. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2005-09-04 10:13 pm (UTC)