MatthewFarlow
01-08-2011, 02:41 AM
This is my first time writing in Second Person. It's been something that I have always wanted to do. There is certainly more to come, but I wanted some pointers before I wrote the next portion, so I ended it as a cliff hanger. :eek: Please forgive me!
Red, White, but Blue
by Matthew Farlow
Dust fills your lungs as you scamper along the dirt road. Your feet are only permitted one particular and repeated cadence. You turn your head back quickly and stumble but recover just as soon as you turn your head back around. No one is after you. But you keep the specific cadence repeating, regardless of what your senses detect.
You look down at your dirty, aching feet - With every stride, you are blinded by the chain that binds them. They reflect the hot, white sun into your cool, white eyes. It stings. It is at this time that you turn your neck to look back once more and then slow your pace to a strong march. Eyes forward, you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and it’s stuck it’s so dry. You’re sweating. You’re sweltering. You turn left.
It’s another dirt road, but at least this one offers shade. There is a row of apple trees on the right side and you contemplate picking one to repel your thirst. You know that it would only offer a temporary solution; such a sweet fruit will only make a body thirsty. A smooth scent snakes it’s way to you.
It is a warm, earthy scent that makes you think of horses. It is horses. Horses and the hay they eat. So you follow the smell looking for something that comes with horses. It draws you off of the road, left, away from those apple trees, back into that heat. You push your way through a wall of tall grasses, following your nose to the promising smell. You step in a pile of warm mud, but it doesn’t phase you because you find a sign of what you are looking for – a horse.
The horse is coping with the heat by staying near the waterer. You look at the black reflection in the contents and head over to it. You get on your knees and place your hands on the rim. “Water,” you whisper in a hoarse voice. It’s the first thing you’ve said in the story so far and it is pathetic. You begin to drink.
The beast indicates its nearby presence or perhaps its disappointment in you and your being there with a ‘snort’ in its horse voice. You don’t quit drinking on account of this, as you know you should, until your peripheral vision is disturbed. The animal is quietly drinking from the opposite end of the trough. You pause for a moment and look this horse up and down. It is definitely a stallion you conclude. Definitely.
You look him in the eye and then go back to your drink. He snorts again and you look up. Must be some kind of narcissistic horse. It is in the reflection in his big, black eye that you see the moving dust cloud in the distance. You look behind you through the grasses.
It’s a guard’s car.
Red, White, but Blue
by Matthew Farlow
Dust fills your lungs as you scamper along the dirt road. Your feet are only permitted one particular and repeated cadence. You turn your head back quickly and stumble but recover just as soon as you turn your head back around. No one is after you. But you keep the specific cadence repeating, regardless of what your senses detect.
You look down at your dirty, aching feet - With every stride, you are blinded by the chain that binds them. They reflect the hot, white sun into your cool, white eyes. It stings. It is at this time that you turn your neck to look back once more and then slow your pace to a strong march. Eyes forward, you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and it’s stuck it’s so dry. You’re sweating. You’re sweltering. You turn left.
It’s another dirt road, but at least this one offers shade. There is a row of apple trees on the right side and you contemplate picking one to repel your thirst. You know that it would only offer a temporary solution; such a sweet fruit will only make a body thirsty. A smooth scent snakes it’s way to you.
It is a warm, earthy scent that makes you think of horses. It is horses. Horses and the hay they eat. So you follow the smell looking for something that comes with horses. It draws you off of the road, left, away from those apple trees, back into that heat. You push your way through a wall of tall grasses, following your nose to the promising smell. You step in a pile of warm mud, but it doesn’t phase you because you find a sign of what you are looking for – a horse.
The horse is coping with the heat by staying near the waterer. You look at the black reflection in the contents and head over to it. You get on your knees and place your hands on the rim. “Water,” you whisper in a hoarse voice. It’s the first thing you’ve said in the story so far and it is pathetic. You begin to drink.
The beast indicates its nearby presence or perhaps its disappointment in you and your being there with a ‘snort’ in its horse voice. You don’t quit drinking on account of this, as you know you should, until your peripheral vision is disturbed. The animal is quietly drinking from the opposite end of the trough. You pause for a moment and look this horse up and down. It is definitely a stallion you conclude. Definitely.
You look him in the eye and then go back to your drink. He snorts again and you look up. Must be some kind of narcissistic horse. It is in the reflection in his big, black eye that you see the moving dust cloud in the distance. You look behind you through the grasses.
It’s a guard’s car.