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Jan. 29th, 2007 12:58 pmJust throwing up my writing excercise for class. It must set a scene that includes, midnight, kitchen and stress. I suck :(.
Midnight chimes on the grandfather clock in the hall. The musical notes singe the air with their incongruous announcement of a new day born in the dark. Moonlight lays a cold hand over the kitchen’s tiled surfaces and gleams with a certain tension from the stainless steel of the appliances. Hard-edged snowflakes scritch against the frosted panes of the kitchen’s single window. A man sits in the single chair of the kitchen table. His head is buried in his arms, and around him scattered like snowfall, are multitudes of papers.
His back is slouched in a strained S and every time the wind knocks against the house, he raises a puffy face and forlornly looks out into the night. But the wind never proves a good enough distraction and the black type of the papers seems to howl louder. He lets out a slow, unsteady sigh and grabs a pen. His hand strays over a tablet upon which a column of numbers is stacked. The pen hovers as the man seems to be coming to some conclusion. As the hour of midnight slips away into the dark, the man once again sighs and buries his head in his arms.
Midnight chimes on the grandfather clock in the hall. The musical notes singe the air with their incongruous announcement of a new day born in the dark. Moonlight lays a cold hand over the kitchen’s tiled surfaces and gleams with a certain tension from the stainless steel of the appliances. Hard-edged snowflakes scritch against the frosted panes of the kitchen’s single window. A man sits in the single chair of the kitchen table. His head is buried in his arms, and around him scattered like snowfall, are multitudes of papers.
His back is slouched in a strained S and every time the wind knocks against the house, he raises a puffy face and forlornly looks out into the night. But the wind never proves a good enough distraction and the black type of the papers seems to howl louder. He lets out a slow, unsteady sigh and grabs a pen. His hand strays over a tablet upon which a column of numbers is stacked. The pen hovers as the man seems to be coming to some conclusion. As the hour of midnight slips away into the dark, the man once again sighs and buries his head in his arms.
