I halted on the edge of the gorge, and stared down, way down, at the river far below. A sheer cliff. No way could I cross without a bridge, so I looked around for one.
About a hundred yards away I saw a delicate arch spanning the canyon, gleaming white in the setting sun.
As I marched up to it, my heart sank low. Smooth and strong, the bridge was exactly twelve inches wide, with no railing whatsoever.
But I had to cross. Shaking, I stepped onto the slender beam, poised between heaven and earth. My clothes and hair whipped wildly in the wind.


Three man slingshot.

It was a bold scheme, but we believed we could succeed. It was the only way over the ruined walls of the fortress in which we'd been trapped.

The still standing frame of a tebuchet was the only thing still intact. It seemed as though we were meant to escape. The three of us sat in the great moldering sling. The rope was cut and away we went. The sheer vertigo enough to kill a man.

Little man.

The cowboy pushed down the brim of his hat and adjusted his bandanna. He stepped forward, the heels of his boots thumping on the ground.
He knew where he was going. He knew what he had to do.

I pulled another weed from around the flowers, then straightened up from my kneeling position. I was about to stand and go back to the house when I felt something hard press against my back. A pistol.
"Don't move," the cowboy said. "Youw undew awwest."
I turned and assessed my little brother; the huge bandanna tied around his neck, and the broad brimmed hat pulled low over his big blue eyes. His round cheeks were streaked with dirt, and each dusty boot was on the wrong foot.
"Hi, little guy," I said. I scooped him into my arms and kissed him, squishing the toy gun between us.
"Hey," he protested, wiping my kiss away. "Wet me go."
"It's time for your bath, buddy," I informed him. I gave him another squeeze and a tickle, then got up and carried him towards the house.


Vivid paralysis.

(Vivid paralysis? I'm not sure what you mean, Aemi... )

First of all, it can mean whatever you want it to mean. Second of all, I was thinking, "You're paralyzed, but fully aware of everything going on." A hard one, I know. Sorry.

Mmm, okay. I think I can do something with that...


I screamed. It took me a moment to realize that not only could I not hear myself, my mouth hadn't opened either. I tried to jerk upright, tried to open my eyes, tried to move my fingers. Anything.
Feet whispered against stone. Someone was nearby me. "You're certain this will hold him?"
Someone else laughed. It was a grating, repetitive laugh, and I instinctively tried to clench my teeth. "Sure! It won't wear off until tomorrow. We'll be long gone by then."
"We should kill him..."
"If you think you can deal with the powers that will retaliate, be my guest!" Their footsteps and voices faded away.
I screamed again and again, silent screams that echoed only in my mind. Let me go, let me out, let me free.


A dying flower

Good job, Leandra.

The beauty gone.
A little yellow daffodil drooped against the side of the vase. Its once-proud head lay crumpled and faded, and its shriveled stem no longer carried the life giving water. Nothing was beautiful about it anymore. Only a vague sense of sorrow and regret made me leave it in its place on the windowsill.
The beauty gone. Nothing lives for long.
I plucked the limp flower out of the vase and tossed in the garbage can.


Blood-red stone.

It was a surprisingly smooth stone, rounded at the bottom and narrowing a bit toward the top. I rubbed my thumb over it, wondering if it was actually painted. How else could you get a rock of this color?
Dirt was all that came off, making the deep red even more vivid. Reynald had spun me a story about the stones up here being crystallized dragon's blood. I hadn't believed him then. Now? Holding this stone the color of blood, I could almost see it falling from a dragon's dying body.



A weeping willow

The tree danced in the breeze, a swirling and graceful dance, its skirts brushing against the grass. The long, drooping branches followed the shape of the curving wind, and pale green slender leaves whispered in secret song. The wind blew harder, and the willow lifted its head, threw up its arms, billowing and laughing with ethereal, majestic joy.


Tooth freeze.

Eagerly I anticipated the first bit of my triple-dip chocolate ice cream. Slowly my teeth inched towards the luscious cone.. My nose could smell the hot chocolate fudge wafting up towards the sky, and my eyes could see the creamy softness of the dessert.

Slowly, very slowly, I take a bite.
Hot, steaming fudge fills my mouth. Delicious chocolatey sensations explode on my taste buds.
And then: explosions of cold and ice destroy my mouth. The chilling vanilla flavor freezes my teeth; they become little icicles inside a cave.
I drop my cone.



eruheran

Swept away on a tide of adventure, I plunged onward, turning page after page. Knights and ladies, treachery and cowardice, and sacrifice and courage danced through my mind. I cried, I laughed, I cheered. The vile Lord Radishio raised his dagger, about to plunge it into the back of the heroic Sir Asher. Holding my breath, I turned the page...and someone ripped the book out of my hands.
"Danielle," my mother shrieked, "didn't you hear the smoke alarm? The house is on fire!"



A silent dance

That's an amazing one!

A silent dance


Twisted grin

eru

I like that one, bro!

Twisted grin:

hehe, jk.

The man stared down at the little boy, chuckling to himself. His yellow teath punched through his lips, and the corners of his mouth thinned into sharp points. In all other circumstances this would have seemed friendly, but in his eyes there was a mocking stare, one that told the boy there was something he didn't know.

Dirty lollipop

A tired milkman

eru

Daddy turned around on the piano bench. "There's the milkman. Could one of you young ladies go meet him?"
My sisters and I glanced at each other, but no one volunteered, so I got up and opened the door.
The teenage boy climbed out of the dusty Suburban, heaving the strap of a large insulated bag onto his shoulder. He edged through the gate as I came down the porch steps. I took the bag from him, hearing the milk jars clinking inside. "Thank you for dropping it off for us," I said, smiling at him.
He didn't answer, as if speaking would take too much effort.
"Are you tired?"
"Yeah." His brown eyes were dull with weariness.
I gave him a sympathetic smile and thanked him one more time, then he trudged back to the car and I lugged the bag up the steps.

This actually happens at our house every Sunday night; friends of ours give us milk from their cows, and this boy drops it off at our house. He's not always tired, of course.

Looking in a mirror for the first time.

Writers? Do any of you want to take this next description? I can't write one of my own unless one of you steps up. Come on!

I looked into the reflective surface of the broken glass for the first time, my hands shaking from fright and suspense. At first, I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see myself, to know what everyone had been seeing. But then I opened them, letting a gasp escape from me as I looked into the mirror. My long red hair reached just below my shoulders, framing my face nicely. I had light green eyes, like that of a large feline's and rosey red lips and cheeks. After two hundred years, I was still beautiful.

Yeah, I don't know.

An Eagles Flight.

The wind whistled over his feathers. Sunshine played along his white head, reflecting off his beak. He took a deep breath of the clear air. Raising his wings, he let the wind ruffle the feathers for a moment, enjoying the feel. Then with a great thrust of his muscular, powerful wings, he took off. And he was soaring.


Ancient songs.

I turned on the CD player.
Haunting minor notes echoed as if in a great cathedral. Men's voices streamed smoothly, chanting monotone, then flowing high. No instruments accompanied the voices, and the voices needed none. The words flowed unintelligible, yet beautiful in their praise. Ancient, medieval. A Latin chant.

A stubbed pinkie toe.

This reminds me of Sleeping Beauty or something. The "two hundred years" bit seals it off!

Thanks, Philly. I didn't think of Sleeping Beauty...nice connection.

James let out a howl, and a minute later he was clutching his bare foot, hopping on one leg. It was a show worthy of a five year old. I giggled.

A Blue Fish with Wings.

(Aemi, could you post something for the next person to describe? )

Oops. Sorry.

Binding feather.

These are awesome.



A cold flame.

I laughed, letting my fingers swim through the cold, glittering blue flame. It flickered and sparkled, crisp and cool, wrapping itself along my wrist.

"Memory..." a voice called from within the heart of the flame, at the white-cold core. "Memory..."

I stopped, frozen, solid as ice, mesmerized by the voice of the flame. I blinked. Had it really been calling my name in tones as clear as windchimes on a frosty morning?

"Memory..." came the whisper again.

Slowly, I brought the piercing flickers of freezing light to my forehead--and plunged inside.

<><><><><><><><><><>

An ancient parchment splattered with tears

I savored the sweetness, waiting for the end which I knew must come. In the end, I pulled away. And said goodbye.

(Not much description, sorry 'bout that )

A crushed rose.

eru

Crushed Rose makes me thing of the song, "Above All." Part of the words are, "Like a rose, trampled on the ground, You took the fall, and thought of me, above all." (When I was little, only about 8, I'd want to cry in church when we sang it, because I could comprehend the vivid word picture.) I don't know if I am following the rules by not describing an actual rose. . .

Christ, the spotless lamb, the perfect rose. I stood there watching him dying, my heart aching, tearing; dying too. Why him? He had never done anything but teach and heal, and now he was hanging, bloody and bruised on a Roman cross. Like a criminal. Crushed, defeated, that perfect rose. . . . . The sky grew dark. . . . And I wept.

The first time flying. (Anything, dragon, butterfly, in a plane; whatever comes to mind.)

I was waiting for something like, "I ate the last of the icecream in one gulp".



I laid the bruised flower down by the fresh grave. Arranging the crushed petals of the white rose, I contemplated on how both the life of the rose and the life of the buried reflected each other. Crushed by hardships they could not avoid nor foresee, they both bloomed with such hope and life, to end in such sorrow. And I... helpless to do anything to protect them.

Edit: Use Elmirza's words.

The first time flying is filled with excitement. Once up in the air you flap your wings and glide over the tree tops filled with Awe of the beauty.




Summer heat

I stepped out of the airport, looking out at a brightly lit parking lot and squinting at the 3 am sky above. As I stepped forward out of the cool caress of the air conditioners, I was blasted in the face by a wave of sticky, sweaty, tropical, muggy night air. A mosquito buzzed somewhere near my ear.

"Welcome to the land of eternal summer," I muttered, my voice hoarse from 31 hours of travel.

Snap! A broken thread.

Angry clouds piled up, thick and heavy, blocking out sun. Their fluffy white tops were hidden as the clouds crowded closer.
Westward, the patch of sky exploded into gold and orange, gilding the edges of the hulking shapes and turning the centers black. The sun slid behind the clouds towards the horizon, and, as it passed, its light bored holes in the dark puffy walls. A beam of gold shot through, shining like a spotlight on green pasture at the edge of sight.


A waking dream

Every single day the tree has put forth its energy into producing branches and fruit... and now, the race is finished, the war is over. Every branch, every moment the tree has endured, is finished. The life. . . the beauty, the beautiful tears. . . are shed.

Black and white happiness

A hand reaching. . . reaching out to touch the now dry arms. The man was lying there, frozen in the truth. The girl bent down, whispering, "Please. Please." He resists, coiling at the touch on the arm. "No!" He yells. "No!" And the music fades.

A strong barrier

I shouldn't do this... but I can't resist the idea I had.

The expert fisherman started setting up his gear in the jungles of the Amazon. He started thinking of how he would be the first to catch this rare species of fish. Few had ever seen it and the rumor was that it only ate one type of fish. The fisherman took the lid off his bucket of bait and peeked his head in. A second later a loud cry of surprise and pain echoed through the jungle: "The Piranhas were supposed to be dead!!!!!"

That's great, Aemi - I really liked that one!

We really must start this up again.
Please, somebody? Describe First swim?

* shrugs * * has extra time so decides to describe *



Tears on a rose.

Lush and red, its petals looked as scarlet velvet; soft and regal. So delicate they seemed - a mere touch could rip the fragile softness. Yet its stem was an offensive thing, sporting sharp spikes against the unsuspecting who touched it, serving as a harsh contrast to the flower itself. Though inappropriate, she could not help but notice these things as she stared downward in an attempt to hide her tears. However, this avoidance only turned her attention back to the awful scene. The tiny grave lay in her immediate vision, just before her feet. She could not help but think of the equally little body that was buried six feet beneath it. Once more, her eyes felt the burning of tears and her throat felt the choke of a sob. She bit her lip, squeaking in her sadness. No longer could she stop the tears, and like heavy raindrops, they fell from her eyes and onto the scarlet flower she held between careful fingers. With a shaking hand, she gently place the rose against the small headstone. Deep, red petals stained with the sad glint of tears contrasted against the dull gray of the stone. She took one last look at the heartbreak before her, then she turned around and walked back to her home, leaving the past happiness behind her.


Purple eyes.

Dark, but soft, they stare ahead. Their color is deep and rich, and they seem like a storm cloud waiting to pour out all to be said. They try to hide the worry within, but this they are unable to do. So they continue to stare ahead into the world in wonder.

Drops of dew.