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He'd never thought the sun was beautiful. Actually, he never thought the sun itself was beautiful. Useful in his abject moods, wonderful in his romantic moods, but never quite beautiful. But to have a sunset, now that was beautiful. The hills of his home, the trees hanging in the mist on the far horizon, and the way everything wove together - the synergy of nature was beautiful. Each of its components was bland, special, but bland in its own sense. Put together, and its chaos became more wonderful than anything. The clouds and the empty sky beckoned him to the west, where he wanted to be free in his favourite place, live the songs and his ideals.
So he thought in one of his pretensious moods. He varied you see. One moment cynical and full of disgust for his fellow humans, and what they did and said and thought. He hated and loved himself when he was like that. He loved the sheer strength of confidence it gave him, but he disliked being so narrow, so closed to anything that might require him to think. Then suddenly he would change, be full of compassion and thought and want everything to be good, living in ideals. Of course he was realistic enough to realise it was all one could do to make that happen for oneself, and not the whole world. Most of the time he lost himself in music and what he saw, thinking ever how to write and find something where he could sit down and be happy, just for being there.
Like all of us, some things nawed at the secret heart of himself. He counted himself lucky for not having to worry about where the next meal was coming from, but he was terrified of these problems. He was alone. Sure he was young, but he wanted nothing more than to be with somebody who wanted him. He smiled and looked out the window of the bus he was traveling home on. He was in one of those romantic idealistic moods. What if there never was somebody? Shut up he said to himself. You are young, you'll find someone. Then he went full circle and hated the very conversation he was having with himself, angry at the very fact it had taken place. He shivered slightly and looked about himself.
The bus had gone down the hill now, and the fleeting image of the hills around his childhood had gone into shadow; the valley started its laboured wind through the hard rock here. The bus flitted under the half shadows of the winters evening. There weren't many people on the bus. What he assumed as a gay couple (always assumptions), a middle aged lipstick-queen as he called them, an odd looking couple of backpackers, and a girl who was filming everything in sight with her rather new camera. She was a bit peculiar too, with her tightly pulled down fur hat. Further down less visible people sat in their abject lives. The bus swayed as it passed a shaper bend, and suddenly the sun shot out again and vanished, leaving a pink horizon and the darkeing trees to watch over the tired bus and its long journey back.
He'd never learnt to kiss. Sounds ridiculous I know, but he never had. When he was younger he'd despised kissing as one of those boyish things, a rebellion against girls and all their yucky trappings. As he grew up people never offered their cheeks, and as he got older, even if they did he just brushed it with his own. He was plain scared of kissing, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. It was something ridiculous, absurd, but he would smile nervously about it to himself. For him it represented all the part of his world he wanted to break down. He wanted sex, girls, a girl, kissing, the closeness of a body. He wanted much, and yet it never seemed to happen. Everybody else, well, they could get on perfectly fine. The bus stopped, the 'gay' couple got off. He stared past them into a dark river, above which trees hung over like tired men waiting for something that would never happen. He closed his eyes and listened to the music playing.
Opening them again, he looked at his watch. Only a few days to go. He was going away then, to see a friend. He realised the odd girl was filming him. He glanced over and she didn't move away. She watched him through the screen before sedately turnig it over the the now deeping valley, the trees above and below the winding road. 'You say you're doing fine, but thats not what it looks like'. The music comforted him, and he often tried to pretend he was better than the words said he was. For the words were always about his life, thats why he loved the music. 'Theres something you need'. To blo*dy right. Grim smile. The friend was a she. He was of course quietly hopeful that they would see each other much more. He would make it happen, she was very nice, and he knew she liked him. He thought much more than he ought to think. The bus carried on up the hill, levelled out and stopped again. Everyone else but him and the camera girl got off, for it was a larger village than the others. Typical he thought. He liked to feel 'safe'. Why wasn't she safe? Assumptions, you pathetic ignorant fool. He glanced back out the window to shut himself up.
The girl was filming again. Filmig him, the windows, the fields passing by, the small stone cottages and the evening stars appearing above his head. She smiled and put the camera away and got up, pressing the stop button for the bus. She got off. He was left on the bus, thinking. The bus wound on.
-----
Start of a story, so not finished. Thoughts? Its a bit aimless at the moment, I feel.
So he thought in one of his pretensious moods. He varied you see. One moment cynical and full of disgust for his fellow humans, and what they did and said and thought. He hated and loved himself when he was like that. He loved the sheer strength of confidence it gave him, but he disliked being so narrow, so closed to anything that might require him to think. Then suddenly he would change, be full of compassion and thought and want everything to be good, living in ideals. Of course he was realistic enough to realise it was all one could do to make that happen for oneself, and not the whole world. Most of the time he lost himself in music and what he saw, thinking ever how to write and find something where he could sit down and be happy, just for being there.
Like all of us, some things nawed at the secret heart of himself. He counted himself lucky for not having to worry about where the next meal was coming from, but he was terrified of these problems. He was alone. Sure he was young, but he wanted nothing more than to be with somebody who wanted him. He smiled and looked out the window of the bus he was traveling home on. He was in one of those romantic idealistic moods. What if there never was somebody? Shut up he said to himself. You are young, you'll find someone. Then he went full circle and hated the very conversation he was having with himself, angry at the very fact it had taken place. He shivered slightly and looked about himself.
The bus had gone down the hill now, and the fleeting image of the hills around his childhood had gone into shadow; the valley started its laboured wind through the hard rock here. The bus flitted under the half shadows of the winters evening. There weren't many people on the bus. What he assumed as a gay couple (always assumptions), a middle aged lipstick-queen as he called them, an odd looking couple of backpackers, and a girl who was filming everything in sight with her rather new camera. She was a bit peculiar too, with her tightly pulled down fur hat. Further down less visible people sat in their abject lives. The bus swayed as it passed a shaper bend, and suddenly the sun shot out again and vanished, leaving a pink horizon and the darkeing trees to watch over the tired bus and its long journey back.
He'd never learnt to kiss. Sounds ridiculous I know, but he never had. When he was younger he'd despised kissing as one of those boyish things, a rebellion against girls and all their yucky trappings. As he grew up people never offered their cheeks, and as he got older, even if they did he just brushed it with his own. He was plain scared of kissing, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. It was something ridiculous, absurd, but he would smile nervously about it to himself. For him it represented all the part of his world he wanted to break down. He wanted sex, girls, a girl, kissing, the closeness of a body. He wanted much, and yet it never seemed to happen. Everybody else, well, they could get on perfectly fine. The bus stopped, the 'gay' couple got off. He stared past them into a dark river, above which trees hung over like tired men waiting for something that would never happen. He closed his eyes and listened to the music playing.
Opening them again, he looked at his watch. Only a few days to go. He was going away then, to see a friend. He realised the odd girl was filming him. He glanced over and she didn't move away. She watched him through the screen before sedately turnig it over the the now deeping valley, the trees above and below the winding road. 'You say you're doing fine, but thats not what it looks like'. The music comforted him, and he often tried to pretend he was better than the words said he was. For the words were always about his life, thats why he loved the music. 'Theres something you need'. To blo*dy right. Grim smile. The friend was a she. He was of course quietly hopeful that they would see each other much more. He would make it happen, she was very nice, and he knew she liked him. He thought much more than he ought to think. The bus carried on up the hill, levelled out and stopped again. Everyone else but him and the camera girl got off, for it was a larger village than the others. Typical he thought. He liked to feel 'safe'. Why wasn't she safe? Assumptions, you pathetic ignorant fool. He glanced back out the window to shut himself up.
The girl was filming again. Filmig him, the windows, the fields passing by, the small stone cottages and the evening stars appearing above his head. She smiled and put the camera away and got up, pressing the stop button for the bus. She got off. He was left on the bus, thinking. The bus wound on.
-----
Start of a story, so not finished. Thoughts? Its a bit aimless at the moment, I feel.
This is all leading to a gratuitous sex scene. I can feel it. *wriggles fingers*
But seriously, it was pleasant enough. A bit aimless, like you say, but it is a good start I think.
But seriously, it was pleasant enough. A bit aimless, like you say, but it is a good start I think.
I think the girl is a spy for the government, who itself is looking for "volunteers" in experiments that no one would notice if they disappeared.
See? Assumptions.
See? Assumptions.
Yup that's the one I'd go with it.
How about;
'The sun had never appealed to him, at least in itself.....' etc etc etc.
'The sun had never appealed to him, at least in itself.....' etc etc etc.
Hmm i see what you mean, I guess it has to be something like he never liked the suns rays infact.. obviously that sounds stupid but I see what you mean.
Anyways I'm going to post a new big of Coursework myself see if'n I can't get some feedback.
Anyways I'm going to post a new big of Coursework myself see if'n I can't get some feedback.
Hmm. I was thinking that. I couldn't think about how to move it around.
Its quite a hard and ambiguous idea to think about, for me anyway.
Its quite a hard and ambiguous idea to think about, for me anyway.
Cyclone wrote:
> He'd never thought the sun was beautiful. Actually, he never thought
> the sun itself was beautiful.
I don't really get this? Probably just me but a little confusing. Apart from that it's pretty darn good
> He'd never thought the sun was beautiful. Actually, he never thought
> the sun itself was beautiful.
I don't really get this? Probably just me but a little confusing. Apart from that it's pretty darn good
He'd never thought the sun was beautiful. Actually, he never thought the sun itself was beautiful. Useful in his abject moods, wonderful in his romantic moods, but never quite beautiful. But to have a sunset, now that was beautiful. The hills of his home, the trees hanging in the mist on the far horizon, and the way everything wove together - the synergy of nature was beautiful. Each of its components was bland, special, but bland in its own sense. Put together, and its chaos became more wonderful than anything. The clouds and the empty sky beckoned him to the west, where he wanted to be free in his favourite place, live the songs and his ideals.
So he thought in one of his pretensious moods. He varied you see. One moment cynical and full of disgust for his fellow humans, and what they did and said and thought. He hated and loved himself when he was like that. He loved the sheer strength of confidence it gave him, but he disliked being so narrow, so closed to anything that might require him to think. Then suddenly he would change, be full of compassion and thought and want everything to be good, living in ideals. Of course he was realistic enough to realise it was all one could do to make that happen for oneself, and not the whole world. Most of the time he lost himself in music and what he saw, thinking ever how to write and find something where he could sit down and be happy, just for being there.
Like all of us, some things nawed at the secret heart of himself. He counted himself lucky for not having to worry about where the next meal was coming from, but he was terrified of these problems. He was alone. Sure he was young, but he wanted nothing more than to be with somebody who wanted him. He smiled and looked out the window of the bus he was traveling home on. He was in one of those romantic idealistic moods. What if there never was somebody? Shut up he said to himself. You are young, you'll find someone. Then he went full circle and hated the very conversation he was having with himself, angry at the very fact it had taken place. He shivered slightly and looked about himself.
The bus had gone down the hill now, and the fleeting image of the hills around his childhood had gone into shadow; the valley started its laboured wind through the hard rock here. The bus flitted under the half shadows of the winters evening. There weren't many people on the bus. What he assumed as a gay couple (always assumptions), a middle aged lipstick-queen as he called them, an odd looking couple of backpackers, and a girl who was filming everything in sight with her rather new camera. She was a bit peculiar too, with her tightly pulled down fur hat. Further down less visible people sat in their abject lives. The bus swayed as it passed a shaper bend, and suddenly the sun shot out again and vanished, leaving a pink horizon and the darkeing trees to watch over the tired bus and its long journey back.
He'd never learnt to kiss. Sounds ridiculous I know, but he never had. When he was younger he'd despised kissing as one of those boyish things, a rebellion against girls and all their yucky trappings. As he grew up people never offered their cheeks, and as he got older, even if they did he just brushed it with his own. He was plain scared of kissing, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. It was something ridiculous, absurd, but he would smile nervously about it to himself. For him it represented all the part of his world he wanted to break down. He wanted sex, girls, a girl, kissing, the closeness of a body. He wanted much, and yet it never seemed to happen. Everybody else, well, they could get on perfectly fine. The bus stopped, the 'gay' couple got off. He stared past them into a dark river, above which trees hung over like tired men waiting for something that would never happen. He closed his eyes and listened to the music playing.
Opening them again, he looked at his watch. Only a few days to go. He was going away then, to see a friend. He realised the odd girl was filming him. He glanced over and she didn't move away. She watched him through the screen before sedately turnig it over the the now deeping valley, the trees above and below the winding road. 'You say you're doing fine, but thats not what it looks like'. The music comforted him, and he often tried to pretend he was better than the words said he was. For the words were always about his life, thats why he loved the music. 'Theres something you need'. To blo*dy right. Grim smile. The friend was a she. He was of course quietly hopeful that they would see each other much more. He would make it happen, she was very nice, and he knew she liked him. He thought much more than he ought to think. The bus carried on up the hill, levelled out and stopped again. Everyone else but him and the camera girl got off, for it was a larger village than the others. Typical he thought. He liked to feel 'safe'. Why wasn't she safe? Assumptions, you pathetic ignorant fool. He glanced back out the window to shut himself up.
The girl was filming again. Filmig him, the windows, the fields passing by, the small stone cottages and the evening stars appearing above his head. She smiled and put the camera away and got up, pressing the stop button for the bus. She got off. He was left on the bus, thinking. The bus wound on.
-----
Start of a story, so not finished. Thoughts? Its a bit aimless at the moment, I feel.
So he thought in one of his pretensious moods. He varied you see. One moment cynical and full of disgust for his fellow humans, and what they did and said and thought. He hated and loved himself when he was like that. He loved the sheer strength of confidence it gave him, but he disliked being so narrow, so closed to anything that might require him to think. Then suddenly he would change, be full of compassion and thought and want everything to be good, living in ideals. Of course he was realistic enough to realise it was all one could do to make that happen for oneself, and not the whole world. Most of the time he lost himself in music and what he saw, thinking ever how to write and find something where he could sit down and be happy, just for being there.
Like all of us, some things nawed at the secret heart of himself. He counted himself lucky for not having to worry about where the next meal was coming from, but he was terrified of these problems. He was alone. Sure he was young, but he wanted nothing more than to be with somebody who wanted him. He smiled and looked out the window of the bus he was traveling home on. He was in one of those romantic idealistic moods. What if there never was somebody? Shut up he said to himself. You are young, you'll find someone. Then he went full circle and hated the very conversation he was having with himself, angry at the very fact it had taken place. He shivered slightly and looked about himself.
The bus had gone down the hill now, and the fleeting image of the hills around his childhood had gone into shadow; the valley started its laboured wind through the hard rock here. The bus flitted under the half shadows of the winters evening. There weren't many people on the bus. What he assumed as a gay couple (always assumptions), a middle aged lipstick-queen as he called them, an odd looking couple of backpackers, and a girl who was filming everything in sight with her rather new camera. She was a bit peculiar too, with her tightly pulled down fur hat. Further down less visible people sat in their abject lives. The bus swayed as it passed a shaper bend, and suddenly the sun shot out again and vanished, leaving a pink horizon and the darkeing trees to watch over the tired bus and its long journey back.
He'd never learnt to kiss. Sounds ridiculous I know, but he never had. When he was younger he'd despised kissing as one of those boyish things, a rebellion against girls and all their yucky trappings. As he grew up people never offered their cheeks, and as he got older, even if they did he just brushed it with his own. He was plain scared of kissing, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how. It was something ridiculous, absurd, but he would smile nervously about it to himself. For him it represented all the part of his world he wanted to break down. He wanted sex, girls, a girl, kissing, the closeness of a body. He wanted much, and yet it never seemed to happen. Everybody else, well, they could get on perfectly fine. The bus stopped, the 'gay' couple got off. He stared past them into a dark river, above which trees hung over like tired men waiting for something that would never happen. He closed his eyes and listened to the music playing.
Opening them again, he looked at his watch. Only a few days to go. He was going away then, to see a friend. He realised the odd girl was filming him. He glanced over and she didn't move away. She watched him through the screen before sedately turnig it over the the now deeping valley, the trees above and below the winding road. 'You say you're doing fine, but thats not what it looks like'. The music comforted him, and he often tried to pretend he was better than the words said he was. For the words were always about his life, thats why he loved the music. 'Theres something you need'. To blo*dy right. Grim smile. The friend was a she. He was of course quietly hopeful that they would see each other much more. He would make it happen, she was very nice, and he knew she liked him. He thought much more than he ought to think. The bus carried on up the hill, levelled out and stopped again. Everyone else but him and the camera girl got off, for it was a larger village than the others. Typical he thought. He liked to feel 'safe'. Why wasn't she safe? Assumptions, you pathetic ignorant fool. He glanced back out the window to shut himself up.
The girl was filming again. Filmig him, the windows, the fields passing by, the small stone cottages and the evening stars appearing above his head. She smiled and put the camera away and got up, pressing the stop button for the bus. She got off. He was left on the bus, thinking. The bus wound on.
-----
Start of a story, so not finished. Thoughts? Its a bit aimless at the moment, I feel.