Just in a writing mood.
Posted: November 17th, 2009, 11:48 am
Can't sleep, in a writing mood: This is just a mini scene to practice different Chars. I really had fun writing the Bio for Metal wings, Michelle's Aunts. Plus I know a lot of stuff can seem dark, I usually get in these writing spurts when I'm in a dark place in my life... So, I kinda am now, but lets see if I can reach into those happier moments...
***
Alfred is in the kitchen, He has the radio on, as it blares old 1940s swing tunes. He's doing a little jive. Mrs. Manning comes into the room, she leans against the door frame watching him. He shakes and jimmy his hips. She's quite impressed.
"Why, Mr. Alfred, if I didn't know any better I swear you were still a young man of thirty."
Alfred turns to look and smile at her. And purposely thrusts his hips into her direction, "Why, Madame Manning, would care to join me for a quick jive?"
Mrs. Manning Just giggles as if she's a young school girl, "Why Mr. Alfred, I'm a elderly woman with a poor heart, you can't tease me like that!"
Alfred winks to her, "Why Madame, I never dream of just teasing a woman, I always commit fully to what I guarantee."
***
Vince sits at his desk, another fight, another night. Tossing and turning. Restless. He stares at a picture of them, happier times. I drop of water stains the frame, he wipes the frame, in confusion. He touches his face and realizes it came from him. Just looking at her smile, sheds a tear. He grips it tighter remember his promise to her. Downstairs he hears giggling and 1940s swing music, he gets up and gently shuts his door. He stares at his computer. He plugs in his earphone and starts up his playlist, Listening to Flyleaf and Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.
He sighs to himself, wondering what it is exactly he is doing with his life. He looks around his room, looking at all his comic and anime figures. At the stuff penguin she gave him for Christmas. He thinks about his father. The type of man he was...
***
He was having a good time, just messing around. He wasn’t serious. He never had much in the silliness department. Everyone took him way to seriously. He just wanted to cut loose and relax, be himself. Its was just a silly dare. They weren’t taking it to seriously. It was all fun. His father had walk right up to him and scolded him, like he was a child. He wasn’t upset or hurt at the fact he was scolded in front of everyone, luckily she was inside with her friend. That would have made it worse on him. No it was what he said. It was how he said it, his tone. Though his father was much older now, age beating down on his physical strength, they both would laugh and joke about his age and strength, but whenever his father would yell at him like that, he was afraid, afraid of his father, like that scared five year old that would get scolded by him. His father could be a man of eighty, and he would still fear him.
At twenty-three, he was a man himself. Why would hearing his father tone, his anger in that way still cause the pain, the fear, and the tears of that scared five year old. He decided to walk it off. Maybe some distance would do him good. He couldn’t go far, it was a celebration. A festival to remember their past fallen comrades, the brave mighty men that laid down their lives for the normal people. Men he admired. Inspired to be one day. A foolish dream he now has accepted will never be granted. Others walked by, noticing his obvious attempt to distance himself from the festivity. Asking him if everything was alright. He would just nod, looking down. Not even being able to put on a front. How sad, he thinks to himself.
***
Alfred is in the kitchen, He has the radio on, as it blares old 1940s swing tunes. He's doing a little jive. Mrs. Manning comes into the room, she leans against the door frame watching him. He shakes and jimmy his hips. She's quite impressed.
"Why, Mr. Alfred, if I didn't know any better I swear you were still a young man of thirty."
Alfred turns to look and smile at her. And purposely thrusts his hips into her direction, "Why, Madame Manning, would care to join me for a quick jive?"
Mrs. Manning Just giggles as if she's a young school girl, "Why Mr. Alfred, I'm a elderly woman with a poor heart, you can't tease me like that!"
Alfred winks to her, "Why Madame, I never dream of just teasing a woman, I always commit fully to what I guarantee."
***
Vince sits at his desk, another fight, another night. Tossing and turning. Restless. He stares at a picture of them, happier times. I drop of water stains the frame, he wipes the frame, in confusion. He touches his face and realizes it came from him. Just looking at her smile, sheds a tear. He grips it tighter remember his promise to her. Downstairs he hears giggling and 1940s swing music, he gets up and gently shuts his door. He stares at his computer. He plugs in his earphone and starts up his playlist, Listening to Flyleaf and Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.
He sighs to himself, wondering what it is exactly he is doing with his life. He looks around his room, looking at all his comic and anime figures. At the stuff penguin she gave him for Christmas. He thinks about his father. The type of man he was...
***
He was having a good time, just messing around. He wasn’t serious. He never had much in the silliness department. Everyone took him way to seriously. He just wanted to cut loose and relax, be himself. Its was just a silly dare. They weren’t taking it to seriously. It was all fun. His father had walk right up to him and scolded him, like he was a child. He wasn’t upset or hurt at the fact he was scolded in front of everyone, luckily she was inside with her friend. That would have made it worse on him. No it was what he said. It was how he said it, his tone. Though his father was much older now, age beating down on his physical strength, they both would laugh and joke about his age and strength, but whenever his father would yell at him like that, he was afraid, afraid of his father, like that scared five year old that would get scolded by him. His father could be a man of eighty, and he would still fear him.
At twenty-three, he was a man himself. Why would hearing his father tone, his anger in that way still cause the pain, the fear, and the tears of that scared five year old. He decided to walk it off. Maybe some distance would do him good. He couldn’t go far, it was a celebration. A festival to remember their past fallen comrades, the brave mighty men that laid down their lives for the normal people. Men he admired. Inspired to be one day. A foolish dream he now has accepted will never be granted. Others walked by, noticing his obvious attempt to distance himself from the festivity. Asking him if everything was alright. He would just nod, looking down. Not even being able to put on a front. How sad, he thinks to himself.
