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cimorenea few favorite passages, one for each genre:
for lord of the rings, from promise: It was a long day, far from silent, for he listened to the whispering of the wind and the forest, yet filled with silence, for he was without any companion. The hours bled together under sun and shade, in mossy dell and beside sparkling stream. It was what he imagined dreams must be like for mortals. ...If he became mortal, would he dream?
for lotr rps, from burn: Embers had still glowed under the burnt logs, until Orli had tossed the bucket over them. Then steam had billowed in place of smoke with an angry hiss. When the steam had dissipated completely the logs had still been wet. The fire had looked desolate, slimed with silver water over its withered bones. And then the sun had threaded determined fingers through the tops of the trees and flung itself over the horizon, and long rays had sluiced down through pine needles, turning them from gray to green. They'd fallen one after the other onto the ground, spreading out in the dirt and freezing freckles of dust in their midst. The water on the logs had been lying in wait for the light, and they'd met with a still moment of pleased completion, silver catching fire with day and making the circle of ground glow amber and gold and pink again.
for nsync, from camping: Still, there was something seductive about it--like the essence of summer, all rolled up in one broad golden and blue stroll, worn wooden planks on the bridge that burned the palms of your hands almost, the shimmering of distance between them and a line of green trees turning yellow, as if the chlorophyll were being steamed out of them, and the sky lying over it all, rigid and straight and leaden with sunlight. Everywhere you looked it hurt your eyes even through the sunglasses, and flies buzzed over the lake, and a lot of the grass was those tall dull-colored weeds that made you sneeze. Sneezing was all just a part of it, though. The breeze whispered by shyly and barely stirred the grass, like it knew it shouldn't disturb the terrible perfection of heat and glare.
for star trek, from what i am to you: My friend, when we pressed our hands together across the pane of plexi and I thought I would never see you again, there was nothing at all in my universe but you and that barrier, preventing the warm breath of your thoughts from touching my mind in farewell. I would never lose myself in grief at a time like that; it's a good thing you died in a crisis, or I might have retreated so far into myself as never to return. How can I tell you that we were not lovers, so baldly, when it is nothing like as simple as that? There is so much more that we were.
for she-ra (or femme, i suppose,) from identity: You want her to want you so much her mouth is open and her breath rushes in and out in fast disbelieving pants, and when you come to her, you want her to smile as though the smile might tremble and break off her face, and you don't want to lose the image of it even in your dreams. Why, when you have what you want, do you persist in longing as though you want what you cannot have?
for lord of the rings, from promise: It was a long day, far from silent, for he listened to the whispering of the wind and the forest, yet filled with silence, for he was without any companion. The hours bled together under sun and shade, in mossy dell and beside sparkling stream. It was what he imagined dreams must be like for mortals. ...If he became mortal, would he dream?
for lotr rps, from burn: Embers had still glowed under the burnt logs, until Orli had tossed the bucket over them. Then steam had billowed in place of smoke with an angry hiss. When the steam had dissipated completely the logs had still been wet. The fire had looked desolate, slimed with silver water over its withered bones. And then the sun had threaded determined fingers through the tops of the trees and flung itself over the horizon, and long rays had sluiced down through pine needles, turning them from gray to green. They'd fallen one after the other onto the ground, spreading out in the dirt and freezing freckles of dust in their midst. The water on the logs had been lying in wait for the light, and they'd met with a still moment of pleased completion, silver catching fire with day and making the circle of ground glow amber and gold and pink again.
for nsync, from camping: Still, there was something seductive about it--like the essence of summer, all rolled up in one broad golden and blue stroll, worn wooden planks on the bridge that burned the palms of your hands almost, the shimmering of distance between them and a line of green trees turning yellow, as if the chlorophyll were being steamed out of them, and the sky lying over it all, rigid and straight and leaden with sunlight. Everywhere you looked it hurt your eyes even through the sunglasses, and flies buzzed over the lake, and a lot of the grass was those tall dull-colored weeds that made you sneeze. Sneezing was all just a part of it, though. The breeze whispered by shyly and barely stirred the grass, like it knew it shouldn't disturb the terrible perfection of heat and glare.
for star trek, from what i am to you: My friend, when we pressed our hands together across the pane of plexi and I thought I would never see you again, there was nothing at all in my universe but you and that barrier, preventing the warm breath of your thoughts from touching my mind in farewell. I would never lose myself in grief at a time like that; it's a good thing you died in a crisis, or I might have retreated so far into myself as never to return. How can I tell you that we were not lovers, so baldly, when it is nothing like as simple as that? There is so much more that we were.
for she-ra (or femme, i suppose,) from identity: You want her to want you so much her mouth is open and her breath rushes in and out in fast disbelieving pants, and when you come to her, you want her to smile as though the smile might tremble and break off her face, and you don't want to lose the image of it even in your dreams. Why, when you have what you want, do you persist in longing as though you want what you cannot have?
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Date: 9 May 2002 11:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 10 May 2002 05:06 am (UTC)..yes, why indeed? such a question! -- you could conceivably write volumes..