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A Quick Fix Prose Bite
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A Quick Fix Prose Bite |
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Nagemx Junior Member
since 2000-01-20
Posts 14 |
Silent Night I was inspired to write this after a sleet storm ended and the trees were coated in ice. The little snowshoe’s tongue fluttered out, darting across the surface of the icicle. Crouched in the protection of the flourishing holly bush, the rabbit drank of the abundant icicles. His fur sparkled with the clinging sleet, clumping patches of the warm hair. He lapped more fervently at the water-stem, his hot breath melting more ice and freezing on his whiskers. When his nose twitched, the frozen droplets danced and twinkled like stars in the sky. The water taste sharpened, tangified, but not unpleasant. Faster and faster his tongue flew, his little throat aching for his thirst to be quelled. Suddenly, there was no more ice before his tongue, but neither was it branch. He tried to smell it, but his nose was too cold, so again his tongue came out. Not soft, not hard, not smooth, not bumpy, perhaps teeth could tell more. The rabbit worked more and more away, likening the texture to an apple, or perhaps a carrot, but with a taste far more satisfying. *** “Have you seen Carrie anywhere?” “I thought she went jogging.” “That was 3 hours ago.” “I hope she’s okay. This sleet just sorta came up.” “I’m sure she’s fine.” Aeryn chewed on the back of her pen and sighed, gazing wistfully out the window. The day was so bright and beautiful that it was almost obscene. Her mind wandered, flying over the buzz of the class, higher and higher. She soared, out the window, beyond, escaping the confines of her body, flying past the world, planes of reality blurring by, passing time, winning some unknown, unspoken race... |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Hmm.. I like it! The imagery is good and I could almost see that little bunny lapping at the ice and then nibbling on the finger(!). Enjoyed  P.S. Carnivorous bunnies? What's the world coming too! A writer's soul is on paper etched. In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons |
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