My adlib story
I had the idea of doing an adlib for a story. I had the starting few sentences in mind, then went off the top of my head from there. I wrote in about 3 minutes and I'm sure it shows lol. Let me know what you think:
The three boys wandered through the forest. Bright green trees surrounded them, trees everywhere. Green trees but sometimes they looked blue. Blue like the ocean. But the ocean was far, far away. They boys did not speak to each other. Could not and would not. But they weren't angry. Far from it. Anger did not begin to describe the way they felt. Birds were in the trees. Bright red birds that clashed with the green of the trees. Or was it blue? Who could tell. The cold wind stung their faces. They weren't dressed for the weather. They were not expecting to be in the cold.
The sound of the birds was overwhelming. But they did not sing, they growled. And muttered darkly. Like things possesed. Because they were possesed. They approached the mountain that stood in the middle of the forest. Hard and gray, with it's dark snowcapped peak. That was the only way to go. There was no turning back now. Even if they wanted to, the birds would not let them.
The stone lions stood still at the base of the mountain. One path reaching far far upwards loomed before them. The lions glared at them and followed their every movement with eyes like burning coals. But the lions were statues. How could they stare. But they were staring, and that's all that mattered.
As they climbed, the path got steeper and the wind got colder. One boy started trembling . No food or water will do that. And the cold. So cold!
When he died, the other two buried him next to the path. They showed no emotion. They couldn't even if they had wanted to.
The two boys kept climbing, up and up. As it grew dark, the muttering of the birds began again. But these were different birds, large and black. When they swooped down and attacked the second boy, neither tried to fight them. This was what was supposed to happen. But they didnt harm the third boy. Not a scratch. He buried him along the path, like the first one. He wanted to cry but he couldn't, wouldn't.
The darkness was all consuming. Except for the path which stood out vividily. But could he really see it or was it his imagination. All that mattered is that he could follow it. He must.
The walk seemed miles, seemed eternal. But finally he reached the top. He had been trying to so for so long it seemed. Or was it only a few moments. He couldn't remember. He felt old and tired. Because he was. And at the top was absolutely nothing. As deep down he knew there would be. The boy knelt in the gray snow at the top of the mountain. And he cried.
The three boys wandered through the forest. Bright green trees surrounded them, trees everywhere. Green trees but sometimes they looked blue. Blue like the ocean. But the ocean was far, far away. They boys did not speak to each other. Could not and would not. But they weren't angry. Far from it. Anger did not begin to describe the way they felt. Birds were in the trees. Bright red birds that clashed with the green of the trees. Or was it blue? Who could tell. The cold wind stung their faces. They weren't dressed for the weather. They were not expecting to be in the cold.
The sound of the birds was overwhelming. But they did not sing, they growled. And muttered darkly. Like things possesed. Because they were possesed. They approached the mountain that stood in the middle of the forest. Hard and gray, with it's dark snowcapped peak. That was the only way to go. There was no turning back now. Even if they wanted to, the birds would not let them.
The stone lions stood still at the base of the mountain. One path reaching far far upwards loomed before them. The lions glared at them and followed their every movement with eyes like burning coals. But the lions were statues. How could they stare. But they were staring, and that's all that mattered.
As they climbed, the path got steeper and the wind got colder. One boy started trembling . No food or water will do that. And the cold. So cold!
When he died, the other two buried him next to the path. They showed no emotion. They couldn't even if they had wanted to.
The two boys kept climbing, up and up. As it grew dark, the muttering of the birds began again. But these were different birds, large and black. When they swooped down and attacked the second boy, neither tried to fight them. This was what was supposed to happen. But they didnt harm the third boy. Not a scratch. He buried him along the path, like the first one. He wanted to cry but he couldn't, wouldn't.
The darkness was all consuming. Except for the path which stood out vividily. But could he really see it or was it his imagination. All that mattered is that he could follow it. He must.
The walk seemed miles, seemed eternal. But finally he reached the top. He had been trying to so for so long it seemed. Or was it only a few moments. He couldn't remember. He felt old and tired. Because he was. And at the top was absolutely nothing. As deep down he knew there would be. The boy knelt in the gray snow at the top of the mountain. And he cried.
Labels: short stories, writing
posted by Michael Schaffer at 7:22 AM
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