[stylist] Hood exercise

[Brad Dunse]

All too real these days.  Nice writing. I'm not a girlie girl but 
assumed the cherry stuff was lip gunk  *big smile*. I was tossed a 
bit by the switch to the retiring copper but Jaws was rattling on a 
bit fast. I do agree though it is a bit different audibly than with 
visual queues.

Brad



Brad



On 1/5/2011  08:14 PM Bridgit Pollpeter said...
>Here is an attempt at the exercise I prompted.
>
>
>
>Bridgit
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>
>Kimberly sat tapping her finger nails on the side of her laptop.  Her
>stomach grumbled while she tried to concentrate on the hand-out Mr.
>Hansen had distributed to the class.  Papers rustled on nearby desk, and
>pens scratched across fellow students papers.  The clock on the wall
>tick-tocked as she struggled to keep her eyes opened.  Flipping the top
>of her Braille watch up, she checked the time .  She kept popping her
>eyes open and jamming them shut in an attempt to wake herself up.
>
>
>
>"Miss Michaels, are you okay?"
>
>
>
>Kimberly blinked in Mr. Hansen's direction.  Blushing, she played with
>the ear bud cord dangling from her laptop.  "No, sorry."
>
>
>
>Mr. Hansen chuckled.  "This is what happens when they assign classes
>before lunch."
>
>
>
>Kimberly smiled and returned to the assignment.  Placing her ear bud in
>her ear again, she tried to pay attention to the droning electronic
>voice of JAW's.
>
>
>
>Voices punctured the silence shouting in the distance.  Kimberly tilted
>her head trying to make sounds out.  A metallic bang bellowed through
>the empty halls.  She froze, fingers paused above her keyboard.  A
>buzzing surrounded the room as classmates whispered together.  She heard
>the click of the door as it opened.  The muffled shouting formed into
>words.
>
>
>
>"Get back in your rooms!" a disembodied voice yelled.
>
>
>
>The door slammed shut as people rushed down the hall.  The phone by Mr.
>Hansen's desk rang.  His voice quavered as he answered the call.
>
>
>
>Students abandoned the whispering.  Zippers clinked on bookbags, books
>and papers swooshed off of desks.  Keys clacked furiously as students
>sent text messages.  Kimberly, trying to catch her breath, gripped her
>white cane.
>
>
>
>"Kids, we need to stay put-someone in the school is firing shots."
>
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>
>The tension that had been bubbling on the surface now erupted filling
>the room with commotion.  Kimberly clutched the sides of her desk.  She
>tasted vanilla and cherries as she licked her lips.
>
>
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>"Calm down-we need to stay calm," Mr. Hansen shouted.
>
>
>
>Kimberly slid down in her chair.  Closing her eyes, she slipped the hood
>of her sweat shirt over her head.  Shrouded by her oversized hoodie, a
>tear trailed down her cheek while she steadied her breathing.
>
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>Sam eyed the chocolate layered cake tempting him from the corner of his
>desk.  He shuffled numerous reports stacked in front of him.  Checking
>paper reports to electronic ones, he looked up when a knock rapped on
>his door.
>
>
>
>"Hey, Detective Holms-great party.  Ready to retire?"
>
>
>
>"After forty years, I guess it's about time I concentrated on other
>things.  Maybe I'll do some traveling."
>
>
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>"Headed out, just poppin' in to say good-bye."
>
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>"Hey Stanton, want some cake?"  Sam pushed the cake forward.
>
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>Stanton smiled.  "Already had two pieces-thanks though."
>
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>Sam grunted.  "Sheri has me on a diet."
>
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>"Good luck with that."  Stanton laughed as he walked down the hall.
>
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>Sam rubbed his eyes as he turned back to his reports.  Ready to leave,
>He stood and stretched as the phone rang.
>
>
>
>"Holmes."  His face hardened as he sat back down.  After a minute, he
>sat the phone back in its cradle.  Walking to the door, he shouted out,
>"We have a code red!"
>
>
>
>He slumped back in his chair.  Leaning forward, he held his head in his
>hands.  He turned his eyes up as an officer entered.
>
>
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>"Code red, sir?"
>
>
>
>Sam sighed.  "A shooting happened out at Southwest high school.  They
>think a student was the shooter."
>
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>
>"I'll send the APB out, sir."
>
>
>
>"When will these hoodlums learn?"  Sam picked up the phone to call his
>wife.  His last day of work would be a full day.
>
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Brad Dunse

Work is for people who aren't songwriters.--Anonymous

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