Solitude
A Strange Little Writing Experiment/Challenge
Where did they come from?
A dusty wind blows beneath the early morning sun. A lonely stretch of road cutting through the rocky desert. An almost empty bus, which has been going moving non-stop since last night with a strange, seemingly baseless feeling of urgency.
It's hot, bright, and dry.
The driver is about forty years old, fat, with bushy eyebrows and tired eyes. He looks like he could really use a good shave and a shower, yet his blue driver's uniform is impeccably neat and tidy.
His best friend is a dog.
A bustling city street, the sun has almost set, the sky is painted orange and purple. Waiting by the crosswalk is a dark skinned, dark eyed man with in a nice but cheap suit holding a suitcase and speaking on his cellphone nervously, almost angrily. The traffic light is red, and the cars are blurring by in a hurry.
He will die in nineteen minuets and fifty-nine seconds.
On a bench on the roof of a very tall, residential city building, there sits a little old lady in an ugly yellow-green dress (it has been her favorite color for the last twenty years). She's wrinkly and hunch backed, and is wearing very thick reading glasses. She's currently engrossed in a boring novel about love and betrayal.
She is currently the third most powerful person in the world.
Almost midnight. The park is cold and empty, the evergreen trees looking far more ominous in the silent darkness than they do during the daylight. Lying on the grass is a teenaged girl, her short hair half dyed blue, her nose pierced. She is wearing tiny earphones and gazing into the empty night sky. Her breath is clearly visible.
She has never been so happy before.
Where are they going?
...................
There are many colors of solitude.
...................
Please tell me more about them.
A Strange Little Writing Experiment/Challenge
Where did they come from?
A dusty wind blows beneath the early morning sun. A lonely stretch of road cutting through the rocky desert. An almost empty bus, which has been going moving non-stop since last night with a strange, seemingly baseless feeling of urgency.
It's hot, bright, and dry.
The driver is about forty years old, fat, with bushy eyebrows and tired eyes. He looks like he could really use a good shave and a shower, yet his blue driver's uniform is impeccably neat and tidy.
His best friend is a dog.
A bustling city street, the sun has almost set, the sky is painted orange and purple. Waiting by the crosswalk is a dark skinned, dark eyed man with in a nice but cheap suit holding a suitcase and speaking on his cellphone nervously, almost angrily. The traffic light is red, and the cars are blurring by in a hurry.
He will die in nineteen minuets and fifty-nine seconds.
On a bench on the roof of a very tall, residential city building, there sits a little old lady in an ugly yellow-green dress (it has been her favorite color for the last twenty years). She's wrinkly and hunch backed, and is wearing very thick reading glasses. She's currently engrossed in a boring novel about love and betrayal.
She is currently the third most powerful person in the world.
Almost midnight. The park is cold and empty, the evergreen trees looking far more ominous in the silent darkness than they do during the daylight. Lying on the grass is a teenaged girl, her short hair half dyed blue, her nose pierced. She is wearing tiny earphones and gazing into the empty night sky. Her breath is clearly visible.
She has never been so happy before.
Where are they going?
...................
There are many colors of solitude.
...................
Please tell me more about them.
