Harper Kingsley blog

March 26, 2017 0 comments

Prompt: 085. forgot to set the parking brake

1. The car was already rolling by the time he realized he hadn’t set the parking brake. Then it was moving too fast for him to stop.

A. The car was already rolling by the time he realized he hadn’t set the parking brake. Then it was moving too fast for him to stop it.

All he could do was step out of the way and watch as it slammed into a tree with a horrifying crack of splitting wood and the shatter of tail lights.

He stood there, ashen-faced, as the door of the picturesque house slammed open and the owner came running out. “My tree! What happened? What did you do?!?”

2. The Chief yelled himself hoarse when he discovered that someone forgot to set the parking brake on the rig.

A. The Chief yelled himself hoarse when he discovered that someone forgot to set the parking brake on the rig. Alden was fired and Orlando was going to have his wages garnished. It was a disaster for them all though, as they were going to be one truck short for upcoming holiday deliveries.

They would either end up working extra shifts or some orders would have to be canceled. Either way, the likeliness of there being bonuses this year were going down.

3. The bed frame had scraped a furrow into the hardwood floor. She’d forgotten to set the parking brake when she’d set up the bed.

A. The bed frame had scraped a furrow into the hardwood floor. She’d forgotten to set the parking brake when she’d set up the bed and his jumping on the mattress had caused the frame to shift around.

She stared at the large marks dug into the floor. They were obvious to see and there wasn’t a chance the landlord would miss them. He would probably insist that she pay to have the flooring in the entire apartment replaced.

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March 25, 2017 0 comments

I’ve found a love for the Bronte sisters

I’ve found a love in myself for the Bronte sisters.

I’m a bit interested in what was going on between Charlotte and Anne, that’s for sure.

Seriously, read their Wikipedia entries. They’re a novel of their own.

Like their birth order, start with Charlotte first. She seems to have been a genuine character, and not wholly in a good way.

“A Death Scene” by Emily Bronte:

1. ‘O Day! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining!
O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining;

2. ‘He cannot leave thee now,
While fresh west winds are blowing,
And all around his youthful brow
Thy cheerful light is glowing!

3. ‘Edward, awake, awake-
The golden evening gleams
Warm and bright on Arden’s lake-
Arouse thee from thy dreams!

4. ‘Beside thee, on my knee,
My dearest friend! I pray
That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
Wouldst yet one hour delay:

5. ‘I hear its billows roar-
I see them foaming high;
But no glimpse of a further shore
Has blest my straining eye.

6. ‘Believe not what they urge
Of Eden isles beyond;
Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,
To thy own native land.

7. ‘It is not death, but pain
That struggles in thy breast-
Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;
I cannot let thee rest!’

8. One long look, that sore reproved me
For the woe I could not bear-
One mute look of suffering moved me
To repent my useless prayer:

9. And, with sudden check, the heaving
Of distraction passed away;
Not a sign of further grieving
Stirred my soul that awful day.

10. Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;
Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:
Summer dews fell softly, wetting
Glen, and glade, and silent trees.

11. Then his eyes began to weary,
Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;
And their orbs grew strangely dreary,
Clouded, even as they would weep.

12. But they wept not, but they changed not,
Never moved, and never closed;
Troubled still, and still they ranged not-
Wandered not, nor yet reposed!

13. So I knew that he was dying-
Stooped, and raised his languid head;
Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,
So I knew that he was dead.

I’m suddenly struck by the beauty of these women. Caught up in the moments of their words, and the way they might have been.

I don’t want to read their biographies. I don’t want to wrap myself tight in the stifling truth.

I want to take the short Wikipedia accounts, and churn them into butter in my head. And I will swipe their passions across the biscuits of my own baking … and it will be lovely.

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March 25, 2017 0 comments

Prompt: 084. invitation

1. The invitation was waiting in the mailbox.

A. The invitation was waiting in the mailbox. It was a deceptively innocent white greeting card envelope with the addresses written on the front in a flowing black script that took her memories straight back in time to Before.

“What’s wrong?” His hand came to rest on her shoulder as he peered at the invitation she held. “You got some bad mail?”

“The worst,” she said hoarsely. Her throat felt tight and dry. “It’s an invitation. It’s time for the Reunion. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

2. They’d told him he had an open invitation to drop by, but he made sure to call first.

A. They’d told him he had an open invitation to drop by, but he made sure to call first. He didn’t want to show up and find out they hadn’t really meant it. Or worse, he didn’t want to show up and find them mid-coitus, their faces passion flushed as they tried to pretend he hadn’t interrupted them.

Sometimes he looked at them together, the two people he loved the best in the world, and he hated them. For being happy. For having each other. For not realizing how they were killing him a bit at a time.

3. The whole afternoon was spent soothing her upset child. It seemed the entire class had received a birthday invitation–except her kid.

A. The whole afternoon was spent soothing her upset child. It seemed the entire class had received a birthday invitation—except her kid. She wasn’t sure who she should be angry at: the spoiled birthday brat or the brat’s parents.

All she knew was that she was angry and had to hide it. Because her kid was counting on her to be an example of a better person—a role she already struggled to perform.

Being nice was always something she had to put extra work into. Given her druthers, she was sour like wine left to vinegar; traces of sweetness and kindness spoiled by bad storage and time.

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March 24, 2017 2 comments

Excerpt: “Overwatch”-segment; Drawing; Whatever

Title: Overwatch
Author: Harper Kingsley
Universe: Kanon-verse (alternate universe version of Heroes & Villains)

EXCERPT –

Here I am, he thought. One day older. One day closer.

He squeezed his eyes closed. Drew a deep breath in through his nose. Then he pressed the button that raised the top portion of the hospital bed to an upright position. He clenched his teeth against the pain, feeling the lines around his nose and eyes pull tight.

If he lived, he would carry reminders of this experience forever.

Finally the pain shifted, released. He could breathe. The tears weren’t threatening to squeeze their way past his eyelids.

He took a few moments to regain his composure. Then he shifted the fingers of his left hand onto the call button. Concentrated. And pressed.

Thirty seconds later a nurse appeared. “Good morning, Blue Ice. Are you ready for your pain medications now?”

Warrick thought about saying No. Thought about pretending to be strong for one more minute and continuing to suffer through this agony that had become his life. Then he thought about cool relief from the nerve pain caused by his continuous brain seizures.

“Sir?” the nurse asked. “Is that a Yes or a No on the pain medication at this time? I need a verbal reply, as per your instructions.”

Sometimes Warrick cursed his past-self. That self-assured fool that had never truly believed he could be brought so low. Who never would have imagined a time when all he’d want was for someone else to make the hard choices, because he hurt too much to even care.

“Y-y-yessss,” he hissed out through his teeth.

Then there was sweet relief at the hands of his beautiful caretaker. He didn’t know her name, but he loved her with all the fervor of someone finally released from the grasp of wretched misery.

He drifted for some timeless state of being.

A few precious moments completely free from pain.

Time was pressing in on itself. Soon these moments wouldn’t exist. He would count his blessings in seconds, not minutes. Then milliseconds. Then no relief at all. Pain would become his world.

And then he would die.

I hate this, he thought for the millionth time. Why won’t someone come save me for once?

The door slammed open hard enough to take a gouge out of the wall. Caspian didn’t pause in his entrance, coming right to the side of the bed, his grin a fierce baring of teeth. His eyes were like blue fire.

Warrick’s breath caught. He was all aquiver. He felt a desperate hope blooming in his chest.

“I found it. I found it!” Caspian reached his hand toward Warrick’s face, then ever-so-gently, careful of his friend’s propensity for pain, brushed his finger along the arch of Warrick’s cheek. “As long as you hold on, you miserable fuck, you’re going to be out of this hospital bed in a month, walking around. But you’ve gotta hold on, you hear me War? Can you hold on?”

Warrick drew in a shuddering breath. He formed the words slowly, carefully, wanting himself to be clearly heard. “Y-es. Ho-lding onn iss hw-wha-at I do b-es-t.”

/END EXCERPT

crossposted at Kimichee.com

I’ve been drawing a bit, which has really helped my imagination come up with storylines and characters.

I got a copy of “Drawing and Painting Beautiful Faces with Jane Davenport” and I’ve been trying to make the people I draw look more attractive and less lopsided. I really like this book. I’ve been carrying it around with me, and I’ve been drawing with colored pencil so I can’t erase anything, and my people’s lips are beginning to look like lips.

About the Warrick thing up there ^ ^ –– Things are a bit different in the Kanon-verse, and not just where “Pulse of the City” is concerned. It’s why things are so different in “Tuesday Night.”