Exercise of the Day: And the music played...

[gooberfishbowl.livejournal.com]

Today's EotD:

And the music played...

Write on the topic for five minutes and post the results in a comment, or in eotd.

Comments

[eevee-gurl.livejournal.com]

NaNoWriMo is close, I should start prepping myself.

Zoe smiled at the man beside her. He'd decided to pick her as his victim but little did he know that he would be her victim tonight. She escaped for his boring chit chat and danced like there was no tomorrow. The beat of the music pumped her blood and throbbed in her head. The staccato flashing lights revealed Zoe in slow motion, as if she didn't notice that he was watching her. There he stood, just staring at first, then slowly approaching her as he was infected by the virus too. Dancing along with her, rubbing against her moist skin, he felt something on his back. Before he knew what was happening, he dropped to the ground. Zoe grinned and the music played.

The Music Played On...

[vicariousleigh.livejournal.com]

*waves* new to this community! Thought I'd throw in a little practice....

He sat on the bench, cursing it for the comfort it provided. He didn't want to be comfortable. He didn't want everyone else to be comfortable either. Looking around the room it was clear he was alone in his distress. Beaming faces livened the room. Ladies dabbed their tears with woven handerchiefs while the gentleman smiled appreciatively.

He stood amid the spectators, following the protocol that standard etiquette required. The music resounded from the stained glass windows as the doors swung open to reveal his bride. Only it wasn't his bride. He'd waited too long. He'd been too scared. He'd never said the things he'd intended. And now, amid so much happiness, he was locked in a cell of desperation as the only woman he ever loved waltzed down the aisle to the unending drone of the organ.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to stop her. But, the music played on. She glided down the aisle, past his immobile presence, and drew to a halt before the minister. He was too late.

[billie0.livejournal.com]

And the music played on in the background. She found Van Morrison very conducive to writing fiction. Then she got into downloading Procol Harem and War by Edwin Star. Then of course she had to listen to Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2. Now she was listening to California Dreaming by the Mamas and the Papas. She always had to play that song in the Fall and Winter. It brought back so many memories of when she was a little kid in the 60's. Visiting her grandmother in her huge flat in Glasgow and hanging out the window with Motown and California music blaring in the background. She loved that flat. It had at least 6 bedrooms, some were taken up by boarders from the local university. The bedroom her mother was in was huge. Bigger than her entire apartment was now. The windows were huge, they reached from ceiling to floor. The ceilings were about 8 feet tall, at least they seemed that way to an 11 year old. She would go in that room and play The Monkees on her sisters portable record player, pretending to be Davy. She and her friends were always pretending to be famous singers. And, the music plays on...

[kandake.livejournal.com]

Whole-Note sashayed Middle C in a sweeping circle, pausing impatiently at a Half-rest before tripping playfully, staccato, down the stairs of a descending run. Giddy topnotes swung from the bars of a swaying chord, and a galumphing Bass Line snuck up pendulously behind B Flat, announcing heavily, "Tag - You're It!"

Oboe and Minor Chord seesawed on the metronome, while Melody and Piccolo chased each other excitedly back and forth across the tablature. Timpani hopscotched with Trombone as Viola and Cello started an introspective game of Cat's Cradle in the background.

Pianissimo crept in, shy and new, but she was soon gathered in by a group of welcoming Quarter-Notes eager for a game of Glissando. They spun and swelled and burst into a fevered dance of unfettered harmony, and even the somber Tuba brothers were soon caught up in the moment.

It was a beautiful night at the symphony, and the music played on.

[audeo.livejournal.com]

Sara crumpled into the straightbacked kitchen chair, soapy hands falling limply into her lap. She blinked to clear her suddenly fogged vision and fat tears welled up and rolled slowly down her pale cheeks. Staring at the small black and white television sitting primly on her kitchen counter, mouth agape, she couldn't believe her eyes. And yet.. and yet there it was replaying over and over and over again in front of her watery eyes. The president had been shot.

Not thirty seconds ago Sara had been crooning along with Bobby Vinton, (She wore bluuueeeee velvet..) as she washed that morning's breakfast dishes. It had seemed like a perfect day. The sun was sparkling through the small round suncatcher Joey had made her for mother's day, casting rainbows across the yellow walls, and she had been daydreaming about the date she had planned with her husband Joe for tonight. But with the first popping sound echoing from her television, that had all changed. Everything had changed. Everything. And the music played, "Blueeeee velvet...".

[blythe025.livejournal.com]

Okay, here's my free write:

And the music played, distant and listless. It scratched it's whisperings of srtings, violins, chellos, into the echoing hurt of her soul. She didn't really know why she hated the sound of music so much. She couldn't tell you why she longed for the wonderful dark of the ensory deprevation chamber. All she knew was that the dragging of the bow across the strings made her want to scream.

She tried to think of what it was like in the real world, what it was like beyond the walls of the laboratory. She looked around at the sleek black and white walls around her and could not picture anything other than this. It was true and clean and right to her.

The doctors kept the room as monotone as possible, knowing that the slightest change in color or structure might send her into a state of deep shock and maybe even a comma. Even the docotrs covered themselves in white, with only their heads and necks revealed. Consistancy was inportant. Scedules and rhythms.


After writing all of this, I have to say, that was weird. I didn't expect any of that to come out.

[greencow.livejournal.com]

And the Music Played -- 247 (http://www.girlpoet.com/musicplayed.html).

[nano-curio.livejournal.com]

And the music played... (Word Count: 350)

The bar was short but yet it remained popular. Mostly single men would come to it, almost flocking, like so many unshorn sheep, waiting to wet their throats with solid alcohol. Because nothing else in their lives was solid. Women changed, jobs moved from place to place, and they continued to work. Alcohol was what they needed after a long day, be it after pruning bushes, planting knowledge, or working on stacks of pages of meaningless dribble that no one would read, but would be required in order to process lots of other files that people would never read.

They’d sit there, crowded around, jostling for the attention of the bartender. The bar was shady, letting a few sidelights guide people to and fro. The bathroom was cramped and tiny, barely leaving enough room for one person to enter, and even then, they had to swing the door way back each time, sliding inside until their knees or calves touched the toilet bowl with which no one wanted to really have prolonged contact. It was worth it, though, when you’d had six or seven shots of some awful tequila because you were afraid someone was going to fire you for forgetting a brick, or leaving too much on the top, or not filing according to procedure.

So many troubles weigh on their minds as they seek a way to release. Strip joints just don’t hold the same appeal anymore, with expectations that are dangled in front of them, only to come crashing down as soon as they realise that they’ve spent more of their paycheck than they have - perhaps all of it.

Some days are worse than others. Friday is always busy with wall-to-wall men, disappointed and talkative. They talk to each other when it gets crowded. The bartender makes his way over to the old, out-of-tune piano, letting the soulful rhythm plod through the air until it creeps into the patrons’ brains, shushing them momentarily as their thoughts wander.

And the music plays on, in the gritty bar, where new men frequent as life catches up to them.

Here goes ...

[caytlinbennet.livejournal.com]

Karina sank to the floor completely exhausted. The music had been pounding through her head and singing through her veins for so long that she just couldn't escape it. A ragged breath drawn in as she shot a look toward the stereo system, dark music that teased at her senses just like the voice in her head. So to quiet both of them, she tore one of her slippers off and with a breathless cry threw it at the stereo. Of course it didn't make it and the music played on leaving her feel foolish for thinking something so childish would help. Yet it still gave her some sort of satisfaction. Maybe just maybe she could get through this all with her mind intact.