Devon: I brought you flowers
Tara: Wow, thanks
She walks to the sink looks out the window to notice the next-door neighbors garden usually bountiful with flowers, ravaged with footprints
Tara: On they smell beautiful they must have been expensive
Devon: Nothings too expensive for you!
Smirking
Tara: Oh, but the stems they are so tough. Could you help me cut through them?
Devon: Of course I can, I’ll come right over
Stomping his way over to the sink
Devon : here let me get that
He tries to pull them out of her hands, she grips them hard
Tara: hold on just a second I think I might have it
The flowers go flying, stems now headless
Devon: oops what a mess
Tara: yes, yes it is isn’t it…. just like Harriet’s garden
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Natural abuse
These are some of my attempts... still not sure that I got it.
Take 1:
Virgin land untouched
Pure green surroundings
Slowly falls apart
Take 2:
A virgin landscape
Tainted, greedy wants and needs
Disposed nothingness
Take 3:
A virgin landscape
Now tainted by greedy hands
Disposed emptiness
Take 4:
Our virgin landscapes
Now tainted by dirty hands
Take 5
Our virgin landscapes
Now tainted by corrupt minds
Emptiness remains
Take 6
Virgin land untouched
Now clear cut devastation
It’s gone forever
Take 7
Virgin land untouched
Everywhere devastation
It’s gone forever
Take 1:
Virgin land untouched
Pure green surroundings
Slowly falls apart
Take 2:
A virgin landscape
Tainted, greedy wants and needs
Disposed nothingness
Take 3:
A virgin landscape
Now tainted by greedy hands
Disposed emptiness
Take 4:
Our virgin landscapes
Now tainted by dirty hands
Take 5
Our virgin landscapes
Now tainted by corrupt minds
Emptiness remains
Take 6
Virgin land untouched
Now clear cut devastation
It’s gone forever
Take 7
Virgin land untouched
Everywhere devastation
It’s gone forever
Unseen?
A young child picks a flower
Hour by hour
Gently placing them in a vase
Stopping to tie her shoelace
She sees something there
A picture, a glare
Reflecting in the glass
A familiar something
Home
Hour by hour
Gently placing them in a vase
Stopping to tie her shoelace
She sees something there
A picture, a glare
Reflecting in the glass
A familiar something
Home
Greatest Gift
Another character I was working on... Dialogue between a mother and her daughter
You know when I was little my favorite past time was helping my mother around the farm. There was so much to do you know and really it was fun. Even as a small child I would help by caring the basket for mom. She would check the hen house first and place them every do delicately in my basket. I remember one time I tripped, basket in hand and nearly sent the basket flying. But, there was mom, right beside me ready to catch me every time I might fall. She really was an amazing woman I wish you would have had the chance to meet her. My only regret is that I never told her how much she really meant to me, how much I appreciated all the things she did for me. Take my regrets and learn from them. You make sure the people around you know that you appreciate them, it’s the greatest gift.
You know when I was little my favorite past time was helping my mother around the farm. There was so much to do you know and really it was fun. Even as a small child I would help by caring the basket for mom. She would check the hen house first and place them every do delicately in my basket. I remember one time I tripped, basket in hand and nearly sent the basket flying. But, there was mom, right beside me ready to catch me every time I might fall. She really was an amazing woman I wish you would have had the chance to meet her. My only regret is that I never told her how much she really meant to me, how much I appreciated all the things she did for me. Take my regrets and learn from them. You make sure the people around you know that you appreciate them, it’s the greatest gift.
Sketchbook ESCAPE
She sits on her bed, legs folded with a sketchbook resting on them. Her comforter is thrown on the floor along with her clothes and schoolbooks. Her room is filled with the smell of dirty clothes, rotten food and stale air. The glare of the ceiling lights reflects off her mirror and on to the wall to create a strange pattern of light. Her cat notices this and attempts to attack the wall. She smirks at spike and throws her a cat toy. She rests against the wall and a pile of pillows comfortably, although the expression on her face would make you think different. Her face is tense, eyebrows scrunched and lips pressed firmly together. Her eyes are focused on pages of her sketchbook. The door is shut tight and locked from the inside. They will have to knock.
Her room is overflowing with the sounds of punk/rock, screamo, music turned up to warp nine to drown out the sounds of her house.
She can’t hear them this way.
The windows in her room are small and high on the wall. She feels a chill on her bare arms from the draft sneaking in through the old single-pain windows. The chipping paint around them clashes with the freshly painted walls; a deep purple and white crown molding trim. Her walls are covered here and there with pictures of friends smiling, posing awkwardly and terrorizing the town. There are magazine clippings and short sayings pasted randomly on the walls, ceiling and the back of her door.
“The future belong to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams”
“Live and let live”
“Believe”
She holds on to the sketchbook with one hand. In her other hand she ferociously draws on the thick pages of her book with a black marker. Her long deep brown hair falls into her eyes and on to her page. She stops suddenly, lets out a loud and deep breath of air and drops her marker. She reaches for an old tattered elastic and throws her hair up into a messy pony. Picking up her marker she goes to start again but hesitates. She studies the page and then slowly adds to it in a more relaxed manner. Frustrated, she turns the page and begins again, this time she pauses, listens to the beat of her music, taps her foot and starts in the middle of the page. Realizing she is pushing hard with her marker she places a newspaper between the pages to save the next page from running ink.
A bang on the door startles her. She stops and stares at it not moving. She hears a low muffled sound and replies with a
“Fuck off”
Why couldn’t she be an only child?
The banging continues. The door shakes and rattles with every hit from the outside. Frozen, she stops breathing, hoping the noise will stop. But it continues. The whole door shakes. It’s amazing that it has held up for so long, so many beatings. She reaches for her stereo volume and begins to turn it down. She can hear words now:
“Turn that crap down and listen to me right now”
“I will find my way in there one way or another”
She shudders at this familiar voice, fully knowing where it can lead.
“Ok, Sorry I was in the middle of doing my home work, just a second”
The banging stops and there’s nothing but silence. The creaking from the wooden frame of the house seems to be louder than usual. Spike is under the bed peeking out at the now still door. Still sitting on her bed she clumsily pulls up the mattress and slips her sketchbook in. There it is safe, hidden, it doesn’t exist.
She peels herself from the bed and begins to walk towards the door. Her heart is thumping, her footsteps shaking.
She thinks to her self ‘breath.’
She reaches for the handle stops, and picks up a black hoody and pulls it over her head leaving the hood on. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the doorknob again. Unlocks it,
and is bulldozed by the door swinging open into her face.
Her room is overflowing with the sounds of punk/rock, screamo, music turned up to warp nine to drown out the sounds of her house.
She can’t hear them this way.
The windows in her room are small and high on the wall. She feels a chill on her bare arms from the draft sneaking in through the old single-pain windows. The chipping paint around them clashes with the freshly painted walls; a deep purple and white crown molding trim. Her walls are covered here and there with pictures of friends smiling, posing awkwardly and terrorizing the town. There are magazine clippings and short sayings pasted randomly on the walls, ceiling and the back of her door.
“The future belong to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams”
“Live and let live”
“Believe”
She holds on to the sketchbook with one hand. In her other hand she ferociously draws on the thick pages of her book with a black marker. Her long deep brown hair falls into her eyes and on to her page. She stops suddenly, lets out a loud and deep breath of air and drops her marker. She reaches for an old tattered elastic and throws her hair up into a messy pony. Picking up her marker she goes to start again but hesitates. She studies the page and then slowly adds to it in a more relaxed manner. Frustrated, she turns the page and begins again, this time she pauses, listens to the beat of her music, taps her foot and starts in the middle of the page. Realizing she is pushing hard with her marker she places a newspaper between the pages to save the next page from running ink.
A bang on the door startles her. She stops and stares at it not moving. She hears a low muffled sound and replies with a
“Fuck off”
Why couldn’t she be an only child?
The banging continues. The door shakes and rattles with every hit from the outside. Frozen, she stops breathing, hoping the noise will stop. But it continues. The whole door shakes. It’s amazing that it has held up for so long, so many beatings. She reaches for her stereo volume and begins to turn it down. She can hear words now:
“Turn that crap down and listen to me right now”
“I will find my way in there one way or another”
She shudders at this familiar voice, fully knowing where it can lead.
“Ok, Sorry I was in the middle of doing my home work, just a second”
The banging stops and there’s nothing but silence. The creaking from the wooden frame of the house seems to be louder than usual. Spike is under the bed peeking out at the now still door. Still sitting on her bed she clumsily pulls up the mattress and slips her sketchbook in. There it is safe, hidden, it doesn’t exist.
She peels herself from the bed and begins to walk towards the door. Her heart is thumping, her footsteps shaking.
She thinks to her self ‘breath.’
She reaches for the handle stops, and picks up a black hoody and pulls it over her head leaving the hood on. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the doorknob again. Unlocks it,
and is bulldozed by the door swinging open into her face.
Character Sketches
Here are some character sketches I wrote a while back...
Oblivious to the world:
She sits on the bus listening to her ipod cranked up loud; the passengers around her can hear her music. She pays no attention to them. Keeps a beat with her foot and stares out the window. She is young and unaware of her surroundings. Her jeans are tattered around her right knee. She wears a band t-shirt and black converse shoes. Her backpack forces her to sit on the edge of her seat as she anxiously awaits her stop. She pulls the string abruptly, gets up and walks off the bus.
Unconscious actions:
About 5 9’ this older man walks with heavy footsteps. He has a huge gut but doesn’t seem to be affected by it. The sun is making him uncomfortable, he stares at it as if he were going to curse at the sun, he is sweating. The sweat drips down his face, along his ears and at the back of his neck. He walks through the crowd not moving out of the way for anyone. The sweat begins to bother him so he pulls up his shirt, reveals his big belly to all the people around him and begins to wipe his face. He takes his time and reaches for the back of his neck. The crosswalk turns to walk as he puts down his shirt and makes his way across to the other side.
A shadow of innocence:
She is nervous as other dogs come to greet her. Staying close to her dad, making sure he is in reach at all times. She is small and wearing a purple sun dress. She smiles at her dog and goes to pet it but backs away once another dog notices her.
She carefully places her foot in the water to reach a stick and throws it for her dog. Her brown hair gets caught in the breeze and blows into her face. She pushes it out of the way and looks for her sister. Slowly and cautiously she moves towards her sister. It seems as though her worries disappear as she begins to play around the water with her. She laughs and follows her sister like a shadow.
And they’re OFF:
He sees this is his chance to cross, he hobbles along with a bag hanging from one hand and a cane firmly griped in the other. His movements are awkward and almost look painful until you notice the smile on his face. Seeing as the light is still red he continues to hobble across the street, his expression turns to one of concentration. He focuses on the ground and watches his step. Ever few steps he looks up to see how much time he has left to cross. The hand is now flashing. He picks up his pace, moves a little quicker and makes it to the other side just as the light turns green and the cars accelerate. He slows his pace, relaxes his grip on his cane and continues his walk.
Contradicting behavior
He sits in the driver seat with a glare in his eye. Parked on the side of the road he waits. His music is on, he listens to the radio. He has a faded black baseball hat on his head and a white t-shirt with some printing on it. He picks up his phone and appears to be frustrated at the person on the other end. His hand begins taping on the rolled down window ledge. He throws the phone on the seat beside him as his taping hand increases speed. Faster and faster. He looks over to the passenger seat to see a girl running towards him. His hand slows and then stops. He unlocks the door and smiles as the girl jumps in beside him. He kisses her, shifts into drive and pulls into traffic.
Oblivious to the world:
She sits on the bus listening to her ipod cranked up loud; the passengers around her can hear her music. She pays no attention to them. Keeps a beat with her foot and stares out the window. She is young and unaware of her surroundings. Her jeans are tattered around her right knee. She wears a band t-shirt and black converse shoes. Her backpack forces her to sit on the edge of her seat as she anxiously awaits her stop. She pulls the string abruptly, gets up and walks off the bus.
Unconscious actions:
About 5 9’ this older man walks with heavy footsteps. He has a huge gut but doesn’t seem to be affected by it. The sun is making him uncomfortable, he stares at it as if he were going to curse at the sun, he is sweating. The sweat drips down his face, along his ears and at the back of his neck. He walks through the crowd not moving out of the way for anyone. The sweat begins to bother him so he pulls up his shirt, reveals his big belly to all the people around him and begins to wipe his face. He takes his time and reaches for the back of his neck. The crosswalk turns to walk as he puts down his shirt and makes his way across to the other side.
A shadow of innocence:
She is nervous as other dogs come to greet her. Staying close to her dad, making sure he is in reach at all times. She is small and wearing a purple sun dress. She smiles at her dog and goes to pet it but backs away once another dog notices her.
She carefully places her foot in the water to reach a stick and throws it for her dog. Her brown hair gets caught in the breeze and blows into her face. She pushes it out of the way and looks for her sister. Slowly and cautiously she moves towards her sister. It seems as though her worries disappear as she begins to play around the water with her. She laughs and follows her sister like a shadow.
And they’re OFF:
He sees this is his chance to cross, he hobbles along with a bag hanging from one hand and a cane firmly griped in the other. His movements are awkward and almost look painful until you notice the smile on his face. Seeing as the light is still red he continues to hobble across the street, his expression turns to one of concentration. He focuses on the ground and watches his step. Ever few steps he looks up to see how much time he has left to cross. The hand is now flashing. He picks up his pace, moves a little quicker and makes it to the other side just as the light turns green and the cars accelerate. He slows his pace, relaxes his grip on his cane and continues his walk.
Contradicting behavior
He sits in the driver seat with a glare in his eye. Parked on the side of the road he waits. His music is on, he listens to the radio. He has a faded black baseball hat on his head and a white t-shirt with some printing on it. He picks up his phone and appears to be frustrated at the person on the other end. His hand begins taping on the rolled down window ledge. He throws the phone on the seat beside him as his taping hand increases speed. Faster and faster. He looks over to the passenger seat to see a girl running towards him. His hand slows and then stops. He unlocks the door and smiles as the girl jumps in beside him. He kisses her, shifts into drive and pulls into traffic.
I love Oranges
Mom’s going to have a baby again! That means I get to be a big sister twice. This time is going to be better because I am a big girl and I can do a lot of things. Last time I was only 3 so I didn’t know much about babies; that’s when my brother Brock was born. Now he’s two and I am five, I look after him. Right now mom can’t do too many fun things. That’s because the baby inside her is too heavy. So I go to school to do fun things with my friends. I think mom sleeps when I am in school. I walk to school with my mom, my brother (in a stroller) and my neighbor Ryan. Ryan is my best friend.
When we get to school mom reminds me that she will come and get me for lunch. I would rather stay home and take care of Brock today. But, mom reassures me “Sweetheart, it’s only for the morning.” Only the morning I think to myself… That is a really long time. It’s like half a day! I look around and see all the other children playing. Maybe I’ll play for a bit and then go home with mom. I tell mom “you stay here I’ll be back and then we can go.” After a few minutes I look up and see mom and Brock, Bye I wave to them and continue playing.
Now I am sitting on the floor in the circle area waiting for my teacher to get something from her desk. I look around and can’t find Ryan… oh, there he is sitting with some boys, I wonder why. I motion to him I am over here but he stays with the boys, oh well. There is quiet chatter all around me until the teacher calls our attention “Bonjour.” She smiles at us politely and waits until the chatter stops. She is gently holding a piece of chalk in one hand and wiping the board clean with the other. She pauses and then says something I don’t understand “Qu'est-ce que c’est ton favori couleur?” Then while slowly walking back and forth in front of us she says, “What is your favorite colour?” I remember mom telling me that I was going to learn French; this must be what she meant. The teacher pauses again. I sit up on my feet to get a better look when I am promptly reminded to sit with my legs crossed. I quickly adjust my body not understanding why and look up at the teacher who is standing by the chalkboard ready to write. She repeats the strange words and then asks, “Put your hand up when you are ready to tell me your favorite colour.”
This time I look around at my class and see the other kids’ hands fly up into the air automatically. I think to my self… What is my favorite colour? Well I can’t just choose one! What do I do? Everyone else has an answer, quick what is mine? How did they do that so quickly? I like green, blue, and purple, and pink because all the other girls like pink so I must too.
My hand is in the air even though I am still thinking about the question. Pick me first, I think to myself. I reach as high as I can, remembering not to sit up on my feet, even though I am sure if I did the teacher would pick me. Darn, she picked a boy, no fair. The boys seem to like blue but the teacher keeps saying “En Francais, Bleu,” ok so blue is bleu. Got it. Bleu, bleu bleu. My hand is still up, I want the teacher to pick me even though I don’t know what to say. The teacher must not see me so I decide to wave my hand back and forth to make sure she does. Finally she does “Chrysta Qu'est-ce que cest ta favori couleur?” Oh no, what is my favorite colour? I panic; “PINK” the teacher replies “rose”. Now I don’t get it, I said pink not a rose. But why did I say pink? I like purple more than pink! Too late, she wrote my answer next to my name on the board, and then calmly picks another student. Katherine says “orange”, the teacher says “orange.” Now I wish I said that, I didn’t think of that colour. Orange is a really nice colour, especially the fruit, I love oranges!
When we get to school mom reminds me that she will come and get me for lunch. I would rather stay home and take care of Brock today. But, mom reassures me “Sweetheart, it’s only for the morning.” Only the morning I think to myself… That is a really long time. It’s like half a day! I look around and see all the other children playing. Maybe I’ll play for a bit and then go home with mom. I tell mom “you stay here I’ll be back and then we can go.” After a few minutes I look up and see mom and Brock, Bye I wave to them and continue playing.
Now I am sitting on the floor in the circle area waiting for my teacher to get something from her desk. I look around and can’t find Ryan… oh, there he is sitting with some boys, I wonder why. I motion to him I am over here but he stays with the boys, oh well. There is quiet chatter all around me until the teacher calls our attention “Bonjour.” She smiles at us politely and waits until the chatter stops. She is gently holding a piece of chalk in one hand and wiping the board clean with the other. She pauses and then says something I don’t understand “Qu'est-ce que c’est ton favori couleur?” Then while slowly walking back and forth in front of us she says, “What is your favorite colour?” I remember mom telling me that I was going to learn French; this must be what she meant. The teacher pauses again. I sit up on my feet to get a better look when I am promptly reminded to sit with my legs crossed. I quickly adjust my body not understanding why and look up at the teacher who is standing by the chalkboard ready to write. She repeats the strange words and then asks, “Put your hand up when you are ready to tell me your favorite colour.”
This time I look around at my class and see the other kids’ hands fly up into the air automatically. I think to my self… What is my favorite colour? Well I can’t just choose one! What do I do? Everyone else has an answer, quick what is mine? How did they do that so quickly? I like green, blue, and purple, and pink because all the other girls like pink so I must too.
My hand is in the air even though I am still thinking about the question. Pick me first, I think to myself. I reach as high as I can, remembering not to sit up on my feet, even though I am sure if I did the teacher would pick me. Darn, she picked a boy, no fair. The boys seem to like blue but the teacher keeps saying “En Francais, Bleu,” ok so blue is bleu. Got it. Bleu, bleu bleu. My hand is still up, I want the teacher to pick me even though I don’t know what to say. The teacher must not see me so I decide to wave my hand back and forth to make sure she does. Finally she does “Chrysta Qu'est-ce que cest ta favori couleur?” Oh no, what is my favorite colour? I panic; “PINK” the teacher replies “rose”. Now I don’t get it, I said pink not a rose. But why did I say pink? I like purple more than pink! Too late, she wrote my answer next to my name on the board, and then calmly picks another student. Katherine says “orange”, the teacher says “orange.” Now I wish I said that, I didn’t think of that colour. Orange is a really nice colour, especially the fruit, I love oranges!
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