Tuesday, November 3, 2009
suicide rates go up
another plausible screenplay:
Wynston was a loner, but his head was full of a vast array of knowledge. He had long gray hair that hung off his head like a coat thrown over a chair. He was a product of the hippie culture of the 1960s. This 64 year old man was taking his van down the Oregon coast, on a trip he made regularily to visit his friend in Eugene. Before the altitude hike through the Cascade mountain region, Wynston stopped to check under the hood of his van at a gas station. At the gas station was a school bus full of high school cheerleaders dressed in camoflauged mini-skirts stopping to buy some licorice on their way to a competition. Also at the gas station was a lone cyclist who had a mysterious air about him that Wynston noticed as he filled his tires. He was on the road before Wynston could get a second look at him. About an hour later Wynston took to the road, climbing the pavement up through the Cascades listening to a song about a woman named cocaine when he saw the lone cyclist making a turn down a dirt road with a sign beside it that said "viewpoint." Wynston smiled and drove on, when moments later a gunshot echoed through the trees. Wynston turned to the direction of the viewpoint where dark silhouetted birds flew overtop of a bright full moon.
Wynston was a loner, but his head was full of a vast array of knowledge. He had long gray hair that hung off his head like a coat thrown over a chair. He was a product of the hippie culture of the 1960s. This 64 year old man was taking his van down the Oregon coast, on a trip he made regularily to visit his friend in Eugene. Before the altitude hike through the Cascade mountain region, Wynston stopped to check under the hood of his van at a gas station. At the gas station was a school bus full of high school cheerleaders dressed in camoflauged mini-skirts stopping to buy some licorice on their way to a competition. Also at the gas station was a lone cyclist who had a mysterious air about him that Wynston noticed as he filled his tires. He was on the road before Wynston could get a second look at him. About an hour later Wynston took to the road, climbing the pavement up through the Cascades listening to a song about a woman named cocaine when he saw the lone cyclist making a turn down a dirt road with a sign beside it that said "viewpoint." Wynston smiled and drove on, when moments later a gunshot echoed through the trees. Wynston turned to the direction of the viewpoint where dark silhouetted birds flew overtop of a bright full moon.
sunday bus ride.
a round man with magnifying glasses in front of his eyes got on the bus with a petite blond french woman. he was describing to her what SUV's where. sports utility vehicle he would repeat over, and over, like the needle of time was caught on a speck of dust. he showed her what ford SUV's looked like, the sports utility vehicle.
a woman and her daughter, both dressed compltely in black got on the bus. the daughter also had glass in front of her eyes that magnified a blatantly evil presence within her. she loomed at us as her mother grabbed her hand and proceeded to massage it as they took their seat at an angle in which they could watch us. the mother took out a little pocket size bible and started to read it as the daughter stared right through us demonically. her legs disappeared, then her torso, the only thing left was two dark brown eyes that were tearing me apart.
a woman and her daughter, both dressed compltely in black got on the bus. the daughter also had glass in front of her eyes that magnified a blatantly evil presence within her. she loomed at us as her mother grabbed her hand and proceeded to massage it as they took their seat at an angle in which they could watch us. the mother took out a little pocket size bible and started to read it as the daughter stared right through us demonically. her legs disappeared, then her torso, the only thing left was two dark brown eyes that were tearing me apart.
Monday, November 2, 2009
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