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Possible dialogue between Nigel and Chanda (WIP).
14 years ago
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for a comprehensive list of all of my significant writings, WIPs, and conceptual works posted as submissions and in journals.
(journal link) The flair of my writing, displayed for thoughtful browsing
for a comprehensive list of all of my significant writings, WIPs, and conceptual works posted as submissions and in journals.(journal link) The flair of my writing, displayed for thoughtful browsing
She enjoys portraying herself as a half-aware and dimwitted beast, drunken in the stupor of her own bodily composure.This is what I do in my spare time.
Sometimes I think of what might look nice in screenplay (lol).
(I want to make a story where Chanda is teaching Nigel to defend himself).
Chanda: Do you value your life?
Nigel: ...Huh?
Chanda: Do you want to live?
Nigel: Of...of course... Yes I do!
Chanda: Then run from me, because if you don't...
...I'm going to kill you...Nigel: !!!
Chanda: Practice your maneuvers like I showed you...
{After very many signs and indications that there is no one who will save Nigel from the impending doom Chanda seems ready to give him}
Chanda: So, all things considered, what kind of punishment do you think She would prefer to administer to all Her children?
Nigel: Help...help me. Mom, God, someone...anyone! Help me!!!
Chanda: *as she slowly advanced upon him* In the end, there is nothing that will save you. All Her enemies lie dead, strewn across the ground. All of those whom you love are damned to a Devil's Hell.
Nigel: God...
Chanda: You are cornered, and there is nowhere to run. Then does She hover over the rivers of blood to descend upon you. Do you know what happens next?
Nigel: Anyone...
Chanda: She RAINS down from the heavens, searing all in Her advance. And once She has made Her way to you, She tears the very fabric of reality in twain, just to tell you...
[narration conveying Nigel's horrified anguish and assured feelings of hopelessness before Chanda, where his eyes stay transfixed upon hers]
Nigel: Mother...
[narration that conveys how Chanda has ceased trying to kill Nigel, holding him close with closed eyes. He tries with all his might to escape her grasp, but to no avail. She just sits there - in her monsterous half-feral form - holding him close, saying nothing. Eventually, Nigel stops struggling, but is still quivering in terror. He calls his mother, only to be embraced tighter, his movement restricted as the rain falls on them both]
Nigel: Mama...? *she did not respond* Can we go home? Your fur is stinky...
[narration conveying how she never moves from where she's lying down with him (unfinished notes)
But the smallest exertion of hers could send a man flying; him, and possibly others as well, shattering much of the pride of many an unknowledgeable foe within mere seconds.(link) Something Massive (Unfinished)
(link) The Fetishism of My Works, Displayed For Easy Finding.
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