![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
original_laviI have an idea. I love icons. I have lots of them. I also don't feel ready yet to let go of anything around me I can cling madly to, stand up, and write something totally original that came to me out of nowhere. Not that I completely have to, I know, but the point is I have an idea for an in-between stage to help me. Because one of my favorite writing excercises is also to use a single, simple picture and make a story out of it.
SO. Clearly, where this is going is that I can use my icons to help me write little story-things. (Obviously, I can only consult my random folders, and not my book subfolder. The movie one might be okay, though.) That way, I could have...nearly 1,400 story-things.
It's a cool idea. Let's see how it goes.
Icon one.
...Omg, that was fun. LET'S DO ANOTHER.
Icon two.
...I DIDN'T KNOW I COULD DO THIS.
SO. Clearly, where this is going is that I can use my icons to help me write little story-things. (Obviously, I can only consult my random folders, and not my book subfolder. The movie one might be okay, though.) That way, I could have...nearly 1,400 story-things.
It's a cool idea. Let's see how it goes.
Icon one.
It had been the luckiest chance, of the most perfect and precise timing. He had glanced up idly from his newspaper, as one does after finishing a section and wanting a moment to digest its contents before becoming distracted by another - and on the corner of the block the bright glint of dark blonde hair caught his eye.
He never saw her face, it was cut off by the angle and brick building and distance - just the glimpse of a high white cheekbone and the pretty, bright hair shining like a metal in the sun. He was only able to focus on her for two, three seconds before she disappeared around the corner.
Still holding the newspaper, he looked around him again, suddenly absorbing all these black-haired people around him, chatting and living in their language, and all the public signs and papers around him were covered in columns of those letters that had always looked to him like interlocking fours, even after he had learned to read most of them, when he let his mind wander like now.
He had been living in Tokyo for two years now, and he had come to like, enjoy the city, relax in it. But now, with no reason (he thought), he felt overcome by a wave of feeling that his home was thousands of miles away, where that bright blonde hair wasn't such a rarity.
He never saw her face, it was cut off by the angle and brick building and distance - just the glimpse of a high white cheekbone and the pretty, bright hair shining like a metal in the sun. He was only able to focus on her for two, three seconds before she disappeared around the corner.
Still holding the newspaper, he looked around him again, suddenly absorbing all these black-haired people around him, chatting and living in their language, and all the public signs and papers around him were covered in columns of those letters that had always looked to him like interlocking fours, even after he had learned to read most of them, when he let his mind wander like now.
He had been living in Tokyo for two years now, and he had come to like, enjoy the city, relax in it. But now, with no reason (he thought), he felt overcome by a wave of feeling that his home was thousands of miles away, where that bright blonde hair wasn't such a rarity.
...Omg, that was fun. LET'S DO ANOTHER.
Icon two.
Ball of the foot, heel, toes - ball of the foot, heel, toes - down the cold metal beam, she could feel the grime of it on her feet as she delicately, dramatically lifted her feet one after another (she could imagine them peeling up from back to front) as though she were on a gymnastic balancing beam in front of a whole crowd of eager, breathless people. Down the dirty beam, further and further, around and through the circular bumps that would mar her steps.
Left or right, left or right, a few inches either way, it did not matter. Down at the end was a lamp post, she would have to decide before then. Step, step. It did not matter which way. Off the beam, the dirty beam with its nails, her bare feet (dirty too now) lifting, tilting off it so simply, so quietly in her imagination. The weight of her body would pull them off. The beam and her feet would part company, as intimate as they were now, kissing and pressing so closely with each step -
She was gazing down at the beam, hardly noticing the dark pavement so far below with its whizzing cars flying in both directions, when she saw it - in the grime and dirt, the mark of another foot. Toes. Bigger, wider than hers, not as pretty. They wouldn't have been pretty, probably hairy with cracked ugly nails she didn't like to think about, those ugly feet had stood here, on this beam, and had done before her what she was going to do now -
She was frozen in her half-step, her back foot only lifted to the ball of her foot, when at last she slowly, gingerly, bent her knees, squatting until she could grab hold of the dirty beam with her hands, and then lifted her feet off the beam to hang on either side as she straddled the beam in her thin skirt, and waited unhappily for the firefighters to come.
Left or right, left or right, a few inches either way, it did not matter. Down at the end was a lamp post, she would have to decide before then. Step, step. It did not matter which way. Off the beam, the dirty beam with its nails, her bare feet (dirty too now) lifting, tilting off it so simply, so quietly in her imagination. The weight of her body would pull them off. The beam and her feet would part company, as intimate as they were now, kissing and pressing so closely with each step -
She was gazing down at the beam, hardly noticing the dark pavement so far below with its whizzing cars flying in both directions, when she saw it - in the grime and dirt, the mark of another foot. Toes. Bigger, wider than hers, not as pretty. They wouldn't have been pretty, probably hairy with cracked ugly nails she didn't like to think about, those ugly feet had stood here, on this beam, and had done before her what she was going to do now -
She was frozen in her half-step, her back foot only lifted to the ball of her foot, when at last she slowly, gingerly, bent her knees, squatting until she could grab hold of the dirty beam with her hands, and then lifted her feet off the beam to hang on either side as she straddled the beam in her thin skirt, and waited unhappily for the firefighters to come.
...I DIDN'T KNOW I COULD DO THIS.
