First, After
She checked the time.
Checked her phone.
Checked the door.
Checked her reflection.
He’s not late.
He’s not late.
He’s not—
coming?
Stop.
That’s not fair.
Be fair.
You said you'd try.
He wanted sushi.
You picked Italian.
Like the rehearsal night—
the last thing he ate.
It’s not a test.
It’s not betrayal.
It’s just dinner.
Just—
She touched the napkin.
Her ring finger twitched.
Don’t think of rings.
Don’t think of ash.
He said we could wait.
He said stay home.
He said not today.
She said
Hawaii.
No weather warnings.
No second thoughts.
No life vests.
No—
wedding.
The wine list blurred.
Waves on white paper.
She didn’t drink anymore.
She did.
After.
What if he’s kind?
What if he’s dull?
What if he dies too—
and it’s her fault
again?
She practiced hello.
Practiced her laugh.
Practiced surviving.
Didn’t
practice this.
She almost left.
She almost stayed.
She almost
believed.
He’s late.
He’s not late.
He’s not—
Hi.
Sorry—traffic.
She blinked.
Breathed.
Smiled.
It’s okay.
I just got here.
Ideas
K, so this post got me thinking. I'm not planning to attempt this challenge. I'll just throw out ideas in a stream of consciousness, so here goes random ideas for hiding codes and illusions in writing.
First, ambigrams (the words that say something different when looked at upside down) would be a good example of this. Sadly, that would be hard to do on prose but they should be incorperated into books more. They could be used on the covers, spines or for chapter titles.
Secondly, you could make papers that when laid on top of each other, and held up to the light, fill in each other's blanks and create entirely new sentences. That or a code embedded in a story through the chapter headings explaining the end. Or, if writing with an unreliable narrator, the first letter of each chapter, put next to each other in order, could spell out "this book is a lie," or something along those lines. Also, I have always loved that thing some books do where the first letter of each chapter looks like something from in the book. We should bring that back. Or, you could punch holes in a book mark and use it like a black out poem. The bottom of the bookmark could have the book title, edition and page number written on it. When you put the book mark over the right page it would spell out a message. Only thing with that is that it would have to be the size of the page or have a way to indicate how it should be lined up.
The other way I see to interpret this prompt is to think about it as a challenge to describe kinetic art, to give the reader the feeling they they are staring at something both still and moving at the same time.
Yet, I think you could also move the subject of your writing to a unconventional extent and full fill the prompt just as well. For example, contradicting yourself, making your reader second guess every turn in plot. having an unreliable narrator, making the reader feel as if they have to go back to the page where the room was first described so that they can double check that it started out as fantasy and not sci-fi. Be so subtle in your writing, as to have your reader believe that the explanation of the murder is accurate when there is something in the first chapter that makes your conclusion fall apart. The detective is the murderer, but he could never admit it, so the reader has to solve it for him. The less auspiscious readers might just feel a bit confused and discontented, but those who truly invest in the story will have a tale they remember for years to come.
This last idea is my favorite. Anyhow, tag me if any of y'all try any of these out. I'd love to see what happens.
Optical
Topical
Illusions
Reiterate
The
Impression
of
Movements.
It's
The
Expression
Of
A
Moment
Frozen
For
All
Time
As
If
Paused
And
Placed
Aesthetically
On
Display.
Kinetic
Art
Like
A
Heart's
Beat
At
Play
It
Keeps
Moving
Tread
Carving
Grooves
Cutting
Lines
To
Prove
It
Is
Doing
what
it
Is.
Its
Thumbprint
Ensuing
From
It's
Path
Via
Our
Brains
Gray
Cellular
Synapse
When
Viewing
The
Rifts
Delicate
Decay.
To
Make
Legitimate
It's
Moment
Of
Movement
Into
Actuality
Realized.
Reality
Actualized
Longevity
Forming
When
One
Day
Art
Formed
An
Artform
Initially,
And
In
A
Way
At
It's
Forefront
Art
was
A
Movement
Authentically.
Where
Since
Then
It
Has
Been
The
Start
Of
A
Community
Communing
through
The
Time
We
Took
Taking
The
Opportunity
To
Introduce
A
New
Look
To
See
A
Concept
To
Shape
A
Form
Who's
Conception
Is
Purely
Formed
Through
The
Expressive
Elements
Uptake
Only
Finalized
When
Received.
This
Guided
Intent
Gilding
Raw
Outcomes
Of
Active
Passions
Reactive
Outputs
Into
Our
Sinew
An
Income
Stomping
Stamps
Of
Dancing
Dances
Tapped
Deeply
Freely
Upon
Our
Cellular
Center
Stage.
In
These
We’ll
Find
Our
Future.
By
These
kinetic
Firings
Sparking
Thoughts
We
Pray.
We
March
Forward
Tracing
Woven
Ways
And
The
Neural
Wiring
Is
Decided.
Mapping
The
Mental
Potential
Pathways
Of
Our
Thoughts
To
Be
Guided
To
Come,
In
Coming
Days.
Future
Causes
Inspiring
Effects
As
a
basis
From
Which
Is
Sprung
Creation
Enriching
Ways
For
Us
To
Further
Enumerated
Epithets
Fodder
And
Accoutrements
If
The
Expressive
Testament
Is
kept
Wholly
To
The
Moves
These
Meanings.
Make
A
Kind
Of
An
Etiquette
To
The
Kind
Kinetic
workings
Of
Time
That
Is
Spent
And
That
We
Take.
True
Progression
Of
The
Mind.
Art
Moves
And
Art
Makes.
Cyclically
Perpetuating
Mundane
Progeny
The
Day
By
Day
Yet
When
Looked
At
Close
Its
Pulchritudinously
Ornate.
Where
Art
Is,
There
Exists
Expression
Expanding
Through
time
In
space
Where
Direction
Was
A
Decision
A
Choice.
Within
That
Moment
Where
We
Find
That
Voice
Grace
Is
That
That
Speaks
Silently,
Though
Inarguably
Perceived.
The
Narrative
Of
What's
Paced
Gets
Received
Art
The
Culmination
Of
What
Was
Used
To
Be
Part
Forming
Part
Of
The
Input
To
Calculate
The
Data
Computed
Art
Is
This
Sum
SSTThe e
Some
Thing
to
equate
To
The
Impression
We're
Left
With
That
Part
Left
Is
What
Matters
It's
Art
What
Art
Uses
To
Move
Us
Moved
By
What
It
Meant.
Made
To
The
True
Us
The
Symbiotic
Nature
of
Kinetic
Art
Contextualized
In
Text
An
Art
Formed
By
Phrases
Scrawled
In
Lengths
I
Write
If
In
These
Pages
I'm
Right
Read
Me
Through
The
Ages
Give
Me
The
Life
It's
Musings.
The
Moving
Parts
Are
Part
Of
Us
Bright
Is
Our
Collective
Kinetic
Spark
What a sight.
Stop!
When I write “stop,”
all four letters are uniform,
a nondescript word on a page.
Nothing to tell the reader
to halt, much less pause
while perusing the sentence
that holds my verb.
But when she writes “stop,”
her letters jump off the page.
They pulsate and stretch
and scream at the reader
to put on the brakes
and ponder the context
of the surrounding words.
Her “stop” is laden with trauma:
perhaps from her own life,
or an empathy beyond words.
I only wish that my “stop”
had an ounce or two
of her vibrant writing
that makes words alive.
Dreamy Escape
Cold calls i await
Text messages make mundane
Days brisk.
Assassin tongue
Hurling curling shurikens,
Light cuts swell blood blue,
Slight lashes trail you…
Starlit eyes flashing
Glassy gloom,
Barks In
Walls d i m
Hips
slim,
Twirling, guiding her,
Contemplating each step.
Silk lies, dress sways,
Mind plays
Forgotten reticence
Pacing truth
Luring your
elements.
Adoptive premonition.
Staring at the painting.
Fascinated by the bird in flight.
Soaring over the vacant building.
Suddenly theres a flash of light from the window.
I rush over and look out the window,I’m in awe there’s a large bird in near distance it flying over an an abandoned building.
I move on to another painting close to another window.
I see in the art a one armed man playing a harmonica.
Its titled Mono Blues.
I go to the window,I look out the window towards the street.
And there’s a one armed man playing.
I decide to go to another window and take a look,and then go back to another painting and compare.
I take a look out the window,and I cant believe my eyes.
I see the abandoned building there’s the bird soaring but the one armed harmonica player is riding on the back of the bird.
I hurry back to the painting.
I take a look at it it’s all white and fuzzy titled Imagination.
Hey,What’s going on here?!
What do you mean?
I explain what’s happening to the security guard.
He says sir,it’s all in your mind!
Then his walkie talkie screams.Emergency in the basement and he runs off.
I decide to leave the gallery,and get some air.
As Im walking by another painting I notice a man on the ground with a weapon held to his head.
Its titled Sir it’s all in your mind.
I glance at another painting,now there’s two men on the ground wrestling.
And its titled Help Me!
The basement!!
I run down the stairs.
I hear screaming.
I follow the voices into a dark room.
I turn on the lights.
Theres no one in here.
The room is filled with paintings,and there’s a tape playing.
I turn of the tape player and the screaming stops.
Theres five paintings I recognize.
The rest are blank.
I run back up the stairs,tripping,hitting my head.
I get up dazed and confused.
My memory of everything that just happened in the gallery is gone.
I go home to my family.
As I’m resting in my chair.
I hear my wife and seven year old adoptive daughter come in the house.
Daddy Daddy!
She holds out a drawing!
Do you like it Daddy?
Its a picture of you!
See Daddy,You’re lying down on the ground!
Why am I on the ground sweetie?
Cause you fell Daddy!
Are you okay Daddy?
Daddy?!!
Yeah,Daddy had a weird dream.
What’s it called sweetie.
Daddy FELL.She starts to laughFOR IT!!!
move with the waves
the water grabs my hands
and pulls me underneath it's large body
my lungs fill with salt and copper
it anchors around me
yanks me further in
is it falling if i am surrounded?
is it dying if i am held?
i must be simply floating down
until the waves spat me onto
the sand
i am no longer swaying in the sea. it no longer yearns for me
Diamond
Round and round
As the diamond slows down
From a complete spin in the air
Hovering above a minted box
For all of the world to stare
Slowly lowered downward
To a silk cushioned spot
Glistening like a fireplace
Cold obsession not hot
Holding on to a necklace that sparkles on it's own
Lying behind a crystal glass
Is the only way to be shown