Creative Writing

It was as though the silver plane clipped the sun. Its wing went off, and it spiralled down, lazily it seemed, until it hit the water. The plane broke open. Miraculously, there were survivers. They were near a shore . .

. . . struggling to fight the heavy tides they slowly made it to shore. Gasping for air the other survivors sat there on the beach while Eirik pulled out his (2+) Bloodaxe from his jacket to fight off the gigant . . .

The plane you describe, Edgar, was an old, old plane. Maybe something like a DC-3. It's wings, sometimes, looked like they were flapping. One wondered sometimes how the wings stayed on.
Tonight they didn't.
Am I correct in assuming, Edgar, that there were no stewardesses on board? Just a few passengers and this crusty old pilot flying them from somewere to somewhere.
Where did the flight originate? Where was it going? Who was on board?

check

At the flight's beginning, the pilot had introduced himself as Captain Dave Paul. The co-pilot, Jerry Soddlemire, secretly thought him drunk, but kept silent, enduring the uncertainty of a journey under the command of one he deemed as not trustworthy. It was a rough flight, from the beginning. The passengers huddled silently, as the old craft rocked, buffeted by strong tail winds.

Rocky Wayne alone seemed unfazed by the ordeal. He sat on his seat as though poised to leap into action, though in fact there was naught he could do, except sit along with the rest of the passengers, and endure. His broad chest and wide shoulders made him seem a giant among these lesser specimens. He had a hard chin and cold grey eyes; a nose, strong, hawklike. He had hands that could choke a rhino.

They had been enroute (sorry, got to leave off. Carry on, please)

(I never had a cool name like Rocky Wayne. But, when johnboy was a lad, I did have occasion to be on rickety DC-3's, for no apparent reason, in strange places. True story). The things you learn on A2K.

I flew in a Globemaster cargo plane, once. Lumbered through the sky like an old truck on a gravel road.

Fear not, Coolwhip. Eventually we will get to Eirik and his bloodaxe.

As an aside, Coolwhip, there was an A2Ker named CavFancier. He played around on the writing threads as well as many, many others. Once, in the course of this communal writing effort, he commented on the fact that, while his writing alway contained action, mine didn't. My writing, to quote Holden Caulfield, was always "descriptive as hell."
We agreed to trade roles. He would write something descriptive, which he did well, and I would write "action." in 200 words.
I agonized over that for a week before coming up with something that was exactly 200 words long and contained not a single adjective.

Anyway, Coolwhip: who is Eirik? Why does he spell his name like that? Why is he on this plane? And he has a bloodaxe in his pants?

I apologize to coolwhip. I somehow missed that post.

They had been enroute to an archaeological dig that had turned up something more than your average crumbled old artifacts.

Rocky exchanged looks with Eric as the plane shuddered, then began its ascent to the water below.

. . . struggling to fight the heavy tides they slowly made it to shore. Gasping for air the other survivors sat there on the beach while Eirik pulled out his (2+) Bloodaxe from his jacket to fight off the gigant . . .

- coolwhip

Mention is made of other survivors, or other passengers, on this plane, this DC-3, heading into some kind of jungle or something.
We need to have someone one like Millicent Everson along. She, Miss Milly as she is known to her students, has taught Anthropology to students at Dartmouth forever. What her students don't know is that, despite her age (60+something) and her height (5'4"), Miss Milly can probably out-drink any of these guys mentioned above. And once she gets on a roll, she can probably out cuss them, too.
Always, when she does these excursions, she is accompanied by a grad student assistant. Always a male student.
On this trip it is Bernard Simmel. That is the name on his passport. And Bernard lived with that name, a name he thought was really geeky, until he got to college. Then he became "Bern." That made all the difference in the world for him.

Anyway, those are two of the characters I am putting on this plane. Any others?

"What passengers are we?" asks Miss Prunella Jones-Barrington, clutching her case with glass slides and cardboard slide holders to her side.

Tell us about her, osso.

Prunella, so called by her husband in jest, after the plant named prunella, was on the flight with anticipation of learning more about the real world out there, beyond her laboratory. The world not so constrained by societal mores, and more about the pulse of the flora and fauna she'd read ever so much about.

Pruney was anxious as the plane flopped about, ever so anxious.







With good reason...

I should perhaps explain that Prunella Jones-Barrington is in fact the sister of the duchess of Puddingtame and married to the simple Mister Fulsom Teacherswat Barrington, whom she tends to avoid.