Escape from Elba
Exiles of the New York Times
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Author Topic: Creative Writing  (Read 27148 times)
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chauncey.g
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« Reply #15 on: May 04, 2007, 08:07:19 AM »

"You can expect major delays on the southbound freeway this morning...", Harold awoke in a foggy stupor and looked around the darkened room as the unfamiliar voice from the clock radio continued to report on the congestion and lane closures of various highways and streets the names of which he did not recognize.

He slowly climbed out of the bed and gingerly reached for the lavender drapes...
« Last Edit: May 06, 2007, 05:15:54 PM by chauncey.g » Logged
incadove0
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« Reply #16 on: May 04, 2007, 09:37:45 PM »

... , knocking over ...
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How many seas must the white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?
Beppo
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« Reply #17 on: May 05, 2007, 09:24:06 AM »

15 year old Glenfiddich ...
« Last Edit: May 05, 2007, 02:10:27 PM by Beppo » Logged
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« Reply #18 on: May 05, 2007, 05:46:39 PM »

..., muttered a prayer ...
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How many seas must the white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?
chauncey.g
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« Reply #19 on: May 06, 2007, 03:58:17 PM »

scrape some fresh spit from the hummingbird feeder.
« Last Edit: May 06, 2007, 03:59:49 PM by chauncey.g » Logged
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« Reply #20 on: May 06, 2007, 04:39:38 PM »

Russel, his old college professor, had died over two years ago, yet Harold could not stop the dreams from coming to him at night.  It was as if his guilt were telling him ...
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You know when, like, you're little, your dad, you think he's Superman. Then when you grow up and realize he's just a regular guy who wears a cape.
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chauncey.g
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« Reply #21 on: May 06, 2007, 05:13:15 PM »

that informing Russell's assistant about the missing artifacts from the Mumbai dig was more than simply a breach of confidence. He has since regretted his naivety, his lack of sophistication, but he trusted her judgement back then.
« Last Edit: May 06, 2007, 08:12:17 PM by chauncey.g » Logged
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« Reply #22 on: May 06, 2007, 08:11:11 PM »

... Sighing, Harold opened the Glenfiddich, saluted and sipped his morning once, imagining the small, still missing statue from that collection - Unrequited Virgin.   For Professor Russell and himself, ...
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How many seas must the white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?
chauncey.g
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« Reply #23 on: May 07, 2007, 08:38:14 AM »

but he stopped short of removing the letter from the envelope and turned back to look at the return address again.

"Oh, God!" he suddenly blurted.

He recalled his last visit to the Red Swan. Professor Russell had sent Harold a cryptic message that led Harold to believe that his mentor-to-be was in dire straits. When he arrived at the hotel he found the door to Russell's room open but it was dark and empty inside. Harold heard a voice behind him...
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Beppo
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« Reply #24 on: May 07, 2007, 12:22:40 PM »

it was Mark Knopfler...
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whiskeypriest
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« Reply #25 on: May 07, 2007, 12:24:39 PM »

it was Mark Knopfler...
Oh god, he thought, I am trulky in dire straights...
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What does it matter?  All is grace.
Beppo
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« Reply #26 on: May 07, 2007, 01:30:42 PM »

Turned out Harold wrongly encrypted Russell's message and had appeared at the Red Swan a week early. Knopfler was quite understanding about the whole thing even offering Harold some free tickets for the band's next performance...
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whiskeypriest
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« Reply #27 on: May 07, 2007, 01:33:12 PM »

...which, due to a lack of anything like any interest in the band in the last, oh, twenty years, was the third slot on Thursday afternoon at the Akron (Ohio) Rib Fest the weekend before Independence Day...
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« Reply #28 on: May 07, 2007, 02:42:40 PM »

Harold departed just as Knopfler was removing the bandana from his head and offering to sign it saying they still paid good money for this kind of stuff...
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Beppo
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« Reply #29 on: May 07, 2007, 03:04:09 PM »

in Mumbai...
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