Hey ya,
There were a handful of teachers I had back in school who were just brilliant, and totally affected me & the way I look at the world. One of my favourite teachers was from primary school, a brilliant story teller, she read 'The Hobbit' to us for an hour each day.
After she'd finished reading the book, we were all instant Tolkien fans, but we now had a blank space in the afternoons where she would normally read to us... so she gave us a creative writing exercise to do instead.
We were to write a short story as a class, and each pupil got one paragraph. Our teacher started it off-
...a dwarf sheltering himself from the weather on the side of a grey, windswept mountain, his beard beaded with fine droplets, his furrowed brow burying his tiny dark eyes as they squinted with the sting of the rain...
Then we were off. We wrote this amazing story, one paragraph each, and everyone in the class was as interested in writing it as they were in listening to our teacher read to us.
So what do you reckon- does anyone want to take the second paragraph?
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…searched for the elusive orange glow ...
…searched for the elusive orange glow of Mars in the brooding sky. The canopy of night heaved and shimmered like a swirling morass of treacle, diminishing the dwarf to insignificance. His weary mind slowly drifted from its task and begun to happily dream of the hot days spent playing tag on the sweet grassy knoll, his body flotsam to the currents of time in perpetuity…
Horis Bungrot as he was known to kin, ...
Horis Bungrot as he was known to kin, had perched upon this slate many times, he knew every nook & cranny in the valley.
In the distance, across the glades, the familiar site of ribbons of blue smoke, rising from a small battered cottage. This was the home of Bardo, the village Shaman.
With a sigh Horis rose and once again ...
With a sigh Horis rose and once again ran his thick and callused fingers over the small slip of parchment in his pocket. The task weighed heavily on his already burdened mind, but if his resolution wavered it was not evident as he set off again with a strong and purposeful stride. The sharman was expecting him.
//The sharman was expecting ...
//The sharman was expecting him
Because the Sharman's milk had long since been consumed and he needed more, Horis had been the local milk man for quite some time now and took his job very seriously, he knew that without his milk people would and not get their daily calcium requirements. He also knew that if he did not make haste the milk would soon warm up and become undrinkable.
He quickly mounted his horse, a stunning black stallion. His name was Midnight...No it had nothing to do with the horse being black, Horis had come across the horse late one night in a cornfield where he had been caught in a snare and couldn't free himself.
As he was riding he looked back at his milk bottles they stunning white colour and the bottles glistening in the sun light made him feel warm inside knowing he was helping people.
He was nearing the last house on his run, which was also the furtherest away from the village, when a strange apparition darted across the road, Midnight was instantly spooked and reared up knocking Horis to the ground and then....
not a paragraph i know but whatever...
not a paragraph i know but whatever
…as his leather satchel was torn loose, ...
…as his leather satchel was torn loose, a hail of strewn bottles pettled Horis hard. Dazed, he began to push himself back up from the muddy, milky road, and heard Midnight’s erratic gallop fade into the distance. It was at this moment that he felt the weight of a boot-clad foot squash him back into the road. The dark figure that had been but a flicker in the shadows these last few days was now apon him. The parchment, dwarven scum- give it to me!!!
wooooooowwwwwwww that is awesome....
wooooooowwwwwwww that is awesome.
tired yet not ready to die, trapped yet ...
tired yet not ready to die, trapped yet not completely hopeless he sized up his adversary, or at least as much as much as the cold dark night would allow. A giant of a man wielding a cutlass, scarred down one side of his face from his ample epicanthal folds down to the tip of his chin, weather beaten, rugged, skin with a leathery impasto effect, thick and like a map telling of a hard lived existance . He felt his heart beat so hard for fear it wanted to burst out of his chest . There was no wat out this was not fight or flight , it was fight or die!
As our hero drew his sword he felt the wonderful feeling of adrenalin kicking in, his pupils dilated, his lungs now breathing deep and slow he was ready.
Just then a trumpet sounded. He heard a voice cry "quick inside! The invaders have landed!"
Said his foe "you'll keep little man!" before slipping away into the enfolding night
Horis remained still, catching his ...
Horis remained still, catching his breath & trying to make sence of the last few minutes. He reached inside his soaking jacket & clutched the parchment. It was still safe & dry.
He brushed the remaning mud from his beard & turned toward the noise of the approaching horde.