Description: Mkay. A couple days ago I had something of a... writers flare, if you will. Basically for a split second I felt like writing, you know. For a while now I've lost what I thought I once had on writing, and all I've been able to come up with have been lyrics Anyway, the duration of this flare only allowed for these two paragraphs, that could well be the beginning of a short story, should I ever care to get into it, which I doubt.
Reading over it I sort of see a combination of myself and Holden Claufield <sp?> Which is something I've wanted to do ever since I read CITR but had always failed to. Im not saying its perfect here, but I like how it turned out.
Also, this is the first thing ever I write in first person pov.
There y'all go.
Stargazing from a cage -------------------------------------------
Moonlight in Somnrea had never been the brightest. Tall buildings, clouds brown and unnatural, and night-time air traffic didnít cloud the sky as much as the disturbances here on the surface did. In all honesty I didnít mind the planes
much; the lights even had a sort of altered effect that resembled natural lights, like a cluster of stars moving together. It wasnít the most soothing thing, but it wasnít so bad. And the brown clouds sometimes gave an alien tint to the night, lighting the sky a dusty red. So it all really becomes rather different from a typical night, and thatís always a good thing.
But thereís always the stuff down below. The things weíve done that donít illuminate the sky in a positive way. The magic that invades a body through its eyes is pushed aside and replaced easily by theÖ dullness and chaotic silence of passing cars, ringing phones, and men shouting from their windows to their spouses. Neon lights, brighter than stars but that darkened the night with desynchronized activity. When one stands out in the middle of a dessert, or a meadow, and looks around and up or down, all one can see is an escape; a mansion, an apartment building, a hill house, a country house, a hut, a wooden fence alone in a meadow, theyíre all the same bars. All made with the same steel.