Oooh, a bandwagon... Did I miss it yet?
May. 11th, 2002 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cherryFirst off, let me apologize for my posts the other day. I try not to bitch too much, but sometimes you just reach a breaking point, you know? I'm not going to bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I've been under a lot more stress than I've been posting about lately.
So, sorry about that.
::Runs after the 'First Lines' Bandwagon and attempts to hop on::
Between life and death, truth and beauty, who we are and who we need to be, there lie the karma downs.
--The Karma Downs, X-Men (In Progress)
She’s stopped thinking that it will be different. She knows what the rest will hold for her.
And she can’t believe that she was ever naive enough to think otherwise
--Again, This Time, X-Men
For some reason, finishing his first week of classes without anything getting blown up gave Sam a great deal of hope for the future.
--The Karma Downs P3, X-Men (In Progress)
Controlled falling was the closest that she was ever going to get to flying. It was something that she’d gotten damn good at, too.
It didn’t mean she was going to blasely ignore a group of teenagers practicing it, however.
--The Years Between (The Beginning is the End is the Beginning) X-Files/X-Men/GenX
Somewhere, hair falls from shoulders to drip to the cement and faded dust. Once upon a time, it was died; stripped of colour and covered over.
Somewhere, it’s long and silver and flowing. Here, now, it’s shock white, crashes around in tiny braids.
Somewhere, there’s a room where the pillars and some of the walls have fallen, and the wires left hanging randomly from the ceiling after the fire storms have long since been cleaned up. There’s a desolate place, where the only light comes from the fading sun through the hole in the outside wall, and where there’s a sound like clinking glass as someone rocks, head to knees, head to knees.
Somewhere.
--Points of Interest, X-Men
The damn speech is tying me in knots until I want to twist the paper to match the mess that my mind has become.
Maybe it’s the pen. This isn’t my favourite pen. Hell, it isn’t even one of my pens. I bummed it off of Toby on Airforce One.
That’s got to be it. It’s Toby’s pen, so it’s infused with Toby-ness. It’s stubbornly refusing to write what I want it to write, because it has ideas of its own, and, of course, they must be better than mine. It’s the one making me work when I should be relaxing a bit.
I’m writing a speech in a *bar*, for God’s sake.
-- Dressing the Smallest Wounds, West Wing
I don’t understand what it is about death that makes people want to go stand in the rain. I’ve always found that just because I’m miserable on the inside, it doesn’t mean that I need to make myself physically miserable.
--Principles, West Wing
They say the shutters on the town windows shuddered in the gusts, that the thunder rent the sky, spilling torrents of rain down, drowning the lady’s snap dragons and chrysanthemums. The smell of beaten herbs would hang heavy in the air for a week and a day, but then it was lost in the deluge.
They say that the air itself shook, and the wind screamed its loss and its anger deep into the night. Its voices would leave nightmares with the children who heard it.
There were a few who’d stayed down by the beach. Maybe they loved their homes to dear to leave them, even then, and maybe they just didn’t have anywhere else to flee to.
They say that the sea tossed me, scraggled and beaten, up onto the sand, among the kelp and driftwood and discarded seashells. That the violence in the waves lessened as I lay there, holding onto life by a thread as thin as fishing line, and that it did not rise up to take me again, merely broke and surged about my feet, tasting my heels.
So they say.
I do not remember.
--Ways of Living, Original. (In progress.)
Hermione Granger was not someone who was easily confused.
However, waking on the grass in Muggle clothing with a bird chirping beside her head threw her for one.
--Risogimento, Harry Potter (Stalled, Dead, Unfinished, Probably for good)
They say the road leads on and on.
And as the ground sweeps past your feet, you never know where it will take you.
We’ve travelled this road, all roads, a thousand times over, and I know one thing for certain. When you hold true your course, the earth leads you back round again to where you’ve started.
This is not of your doing, nor of mine. The fates lead us where they may, and all we can do is our best.
--Between Here and Where We Started, Lord of the Rings
---Actually, if I want to be honest, I kind of like this piece. It’s just a vinaigrette, but some of the language and phrasing I’m really rather fond of.
Well, okay, they weren't just first lines, but they were the opening scenes...
So, sorry about that.
::Runs after the 'First Lines' Bandwagon and attempts to hop on::
Between life and death, truth and beauty, who we are and who we need to be, there lie the karma downs.
--The Karma Downs, X-Men (In Progress)
She’s stopped thinking that it will be different. She knows what the rest will hold for her.
And she can’t believe that she was ever naive enough to think otherwise
--Again, This Time, X-Men
For some reason, finishing his first week of classes without anything getting blown up gave Sam a great deal of hope for the future.
--The Karma Downs P3, X-Men (In Progress)
Controlled falling was the closest that she was ever going to get to flying. It was something that she’d gotten damn good at, too.
It didn’t mean she was going to blasely ignore a group of teenagers practicing it, however.
--The Years Between (The Beginning is the End is the Beginning) X-Files/X-Men/GenX
Somewhere, hair falls from shoulders to drip to the cement and faded dust. Once upon a time, it was died; stripped of colour and covered over.
Somewhere, it’s long and silver and flowing. Here, now, it’s shock white, crashes around in tiny braids.
Somewhere, there’s a room where the pillars and some of the walls have fallen, and the wires left hanging randomly from the ceiling after the fire storms have long since been cleaned up. There’s a desolate place, where the only light comes from the fading sun through the hole in the outside wall, and where there’s a sound like clinking glass as someone rocks, head to knees, head to knees.
Somewhere.
--Points of Interest, X-Men
The damn speech is tying me in knots until I want to twist the paper to match the mess that my mind has become.
Maybe it’s the pen. This isn’t my favourite pen. Hell, it isn’t even one of my pens. I bummed it off of Toby on Airforce One.
That’s got to be it. It’s Toby’s pen, so it’s infused with Toby-ness. It’s stubbornly refusing to write what I want it to write, because it has ideas of its own, and, of course, they must be better than mine. It’s the one making me work when I should be relaxing a bit.
I’m writing a speech in a *bar*, for God’s sake.
-- Dressing the Smallest Wounds, West Wing
I don’t understand what it is about death that makes people want to go stand in the rain. I’ve always found that just because I’m miserable on the inside, it doesn’t mean that I need to make myself physically miserable.
--Principles, West Wing
They say the shutters on the town windows shuddered in the gusts, that the thunder rent the sky, spilling torrents of rain down, drowning the lady’s snap dragons and chrysanthemums. The smell of beaten herbs would hang heavy in the air for a week and a day, but then it was lost in the deluge.
They say that the air itself shook, and the wind screamed its loss and its anger deep into the night. Its voices would leave nightmares with the children who heard it.
There were a few who’d stayed down by the beach. Maybe they loved their homes to dear to leave them, even then, and maybe they just didn’t have anywhere else to flee to.
They say that the sea tossed me, scraggled and beaten, up onto the sand, among the kelp and driftwood and discarded seashells. That the violence in the waves lessened as I lay there, holding onto life by a thread as thin as fishing line, and that it did not rise up to take me again, merely broke and surged about my feet, tasting my heels.
So they say.
I do not remember.
--Ways of Living, Original. (In progress.)
Hermione Granger was not someone who was easily confused.
However, waking on the grass in Muggle clothing with a bird chirping beside her head threw her for one.
--Risogimento, Harry Potter (Stalled, Dead, Unfinished, Probably for good)
They say the road leads on and on.
And as the ground sweeps past your feet, you never know where it will take you.
We’ve travelled this road, all roads, a thousand times over, and I know one thing for certain. When you hold true your course, the earth leads you back round again to where you’ve started.
This is not of your doing, nor of mine. The fates lead us where they may, and all we can do is our best.
--Between Here and Where We Started, Lord of the Rings
---Actually, if I want to be honest, I kind of like this piece. It’s just a vinaigrette, but some of the language and phrasing I’m really rather fond of.
Well, okay, they weren't just first lines, but they were the opening scenes...
