Newest updated prompts – new bits for each bauble!
Talons scraped the rock, snow breaking away as the hands sought the long engraved sigils. Whisperings and hissings poured over the stones and soaked the air around this quiet place.
He paused, glancing in either direction before approaching the fence. No matter how quick I thought I was, dodging behind the wall at the corner, my heart skipped a beat and I knew his eyes met mine.
Each step made her toes more froze, and each step seemed to make her heart beat louder, and each step was another leap of faith. She didn’t see anyone, not even the person she was expecting to see, and she started to worry her heart would pound out of her chest.
“How did you steal the matches?”
“I traded for a box of cigarettes.”
“How did you get a box – actually, I don’t wanna know.”
“You really don’t. Let’s just get started.”
“You hear that?”
“We all hear that. How could we not hear that?”
“We should head home.”
“What, are you scared?”
“You know what that sound means, we should go.”
“It’s just a stupid legend.”
“Or maybe you’re just stupid. Let’s go.”
“Hang on… There. We can find the arrow tomorrow and see just how much of a legend it is.”
He could see her eyes flash momentarily, and the warmth fade in favor of cold logic. Her decision required logic without feeling, she finally realized, and he knew the logical outcome meant nothing good for himself. It was perhaps a selfish thought, and he considered it for only a full minute, but he allowed himself the vain hope that those emotions were still there, speaking in the guise of logic.
The sharp nails scratched the back of his hand as they shook on their deal. He shivered, giving away the subconscious fear of his partner, and the other hand tightened around his own. “Not to worry, you couldn’t have made a better deal.”
He slammed the paper down on the table, scratched his chin, and consider for a minute. A door closed downstairs. He struck a match and watched with sad eyes as the letter rolled and charred and disappeared into ash in front of him.
“Why are they all here?”
“Why shouldn’t they be?”
“But why not in the garden?”
“Perhaps they found a sweeter nectar on the walls.”
She slid into the statue’s arms as a joke, pretending to play the aged silent flute. It was a joke. She didn’t set out to cause any real damage or offense; and she certainly didn’t expect the flute-player himself to be offended.
“There’s something so dramatic about yellow roses.” He squatted beside the flower and took a quick picture. “A survivor, despite everything man might build on its ground.”
The back of the bottle had a small label with a nearly illegible scribbled date. “It’s just some white stuff.” She angled the bottle, up in front of the light, and, with a loud gasp, she nearly dropped it. “There’s… There’s something inside!”
Shallow breaths echoed in the silence; he wasn’t gasping anymore, or even struggling. Reality felt limp and unfocused, and he hardly registered the sound of footsteps before he was turned over, a blurry dark mass standing over him.
“We’re the ones staring at the ceiling, at the walls, out the windows, at anything that isn’t reminding us how crappy life can be, at anything that lets us freely think.”
“You’re kind of dark, aren’t you?”
“So, you don’t sleep?”
“I do. Sometimes. Eventually.”
“I’m glad we’re sharing a room.”
“I like the way your mind works.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Let’s be dreamers for a little longer.”
She shuffled deeper into the shadows, her bright blue eyes bouncing around, watching carefully for any movement. A nearby box fell with a thud. Her breath caught, her eyes flashed, and she shivered a little. A cat appeared around the side of the box and, with another flash, was reduced to a scorch mark on the tile floor.
It wasn’t just a flash of lightning, but something sustained. She pushed through a couple more bushes above the dunes, watching the light flicker over the water – and into a small boat. She laughed a loud “ha!” and hurried to turn on her camera before the light disappeared.
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NEW updated prompts this week! New bits for each bauble means new word prompts! Check the new ideas out below:
“You think you should be heading this mission?”
“Goddamn right I do. Do you have any idea…”
“I do, actually. Just in case you’re having a senior moment, I’ll remind you of some of your record’s highlights: misfired bomb in a civilian city, entire squadron still MIA five years later, and two diplomats killed under your watch.”
His face squished up, turning red slightly as he ground his teeth.
“Now, how about we get through this mission alive? And, then, you can complain about my age.”
She unnerved him; he could feel her eyes boring into his soul, examining him, judging him, even if her expression softened. He watched her relax, a small smile dancing on her lips. To her, he was beautiful, his soul alight with a unique fire.
“You done messed up.”
“Like real messed up. Like grounded until you’re forty.”
He laughed as the picture snapped, and Sean couldn’t help smiling with him. “Dude, I never felt so pretty. Imma wear flowers everyday now.”
“How do we know this is the right house?”
“I saw them go in.”
“I don’t know, looks too nice.”
“Too nice for what?”
“Their ugly faces.”
“You’re not a princess, you’re a bitch, and there’s a major difference.”
Sofia looked up from her mirror, with a soft condescending smile: “No one ever said a princess couldn’t be a bitch, honey.”
“Why do you wear a mask? It scares people.”
“They deserve to be scared.”
Sweet nothings in her ear and the smell of coffee as he kissed her cheek. He was warmth and she wanted to bask in his light forever.
Stay tuned for more!
An excerpt from the full review:
Older women are a rare protagonist, and not just in animation; strong and capable grandmothers even more so. But Triplets of Belleville is its own kind of rare film. Following Madame Souza’s quest to find her grandson Champion, a bicyclist kidnapped by the French Mafia, Sylvain Chomet’s debut feature film has quiet simplicity that may seem unusual to most American audiences.
Beginning with a black-and-white television program featuring the Triplets of Belleville and several caricatured but real-life stars of the time, we meet Madame Souza and her young grandson Champion. After the unspecified death of his parents, young Champion lives with Madame Souza, who tries to find the quiet young boy’s interests, eventually even getting him a dog, Bruno, but to no avail. That is, until she finds a scrapbook all about bicycling; the young boy gets a tricycle and the grown man has a bicycling regime leading him to the Tour du France. Oui oui! But the French Mafia lie in wait. Sacre bleu! Champion and two other cyclists are kidnapped from the race, and Madame Souza does her best to follow their trail – to the bustling metropolis of Belleville…
Read more on Rotoscopers.com!
A blurb about the new series I’m directing for Rotoscopers.com:
Studios like Disney and DreamWorks get a lot of attention (and deservedly so, for the most part), but there is a whole world of animation outside of the main American studio system. With this series, we aim to introduce dozens of wonderful films that easily deserve a place next to classics like The Lion King or Toy Story.
Starting this Friday, we’ll be featuring a different independent animated film every weekend. Tune in and watch with us as we review and discuss independent animation, from Akira to Balto to 9 and even to the Barbie movies…
Read more on Rotoscopers.com!
Longtime MSM Pinterest followers will know that not all the prompts on Bits & Baubles or Bits and Baubles, Part 2, have a written blurb with them – not yet, anyway. I’m working through every one of the over 800 blurbs and regularly updating some with their own written blurbs.
Here are the most recent updates:
She stepped past the curtains, leaving her purse and coat backstage, and discovering an ingrained world on the old stage. When she looked back, there was nothing, nothing but more of the world she stepped into.
He contorted any and each way he could, the rock face scraping unforgivingly against his back and chest. He was cold, he was hungry, but he was determined not to get stuck.
“Maybe it’s because I’m so sweet.” Their soft wings fluttered over her face and gentle hand.
“Do lots of people say you’re sweet?”
She shook her head: “I just know I am.”
He didn’t trust the words. Too many people repeated them and believed them; his gut told him something was wrong. He would repeat them, but only while he tried to find out what they really meant.
She leaned out the door, checking that the coast was clear before stepping out at all. It was a risk, she knew, but she couldn’t go through with what her advisors wanted until she’d spoken to… The leaves crunches under her feet, her ears hypersensitive to the noise, and her heart pounding out of her chest as she hurried further away.
I wanted to scream and throw things and run out of the room. But I laughed instead. I couldn’t help it. Suddenly I could breathe enough to laugh, even though I was shaking, shaking with fear that it wasn’t true. He was dead. I was free. Could it really be?
“We know our fight.”
“All you’ve done is go out and kill people; that’s not our fight, that’s murder.”
She stepped tentatively into the water, its deep blue rippling around her ankles. Her skin shimmered as the water settled again. She thought to swim, but at that moment she dared not shatter the peace.
“I think you’re an ass.”
“Never mind, he’s fine.”
“Wow. So mature. And here I am trying to help you.”
“Yeah? Well, you can shove your help right up your…”
“Alright, alright, I’m going.”
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