Freewriting - 002
Jan. 16th, 2019 02:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coyoteclaw11Rating: G
Words: 315
Prompt: Magic is the norm. Some excel at it, some are only okay, and others are against it completely, despite being able to use it. Your main character is the latter. (via)
Note: I'm actually writing these on paper first because I'm just more comfortable writing that way? But quickly hand-writing things leads to some really funky stuff, such as...
...it took me over 5 minutes to realize that's supposed to be "hums"
He hides his grimace in his coffee cup as he watches as another patron flicks her wrist to send her coffee whirling into what is likely a perfect blend of coffee, cream, and sugar. She even goes as far as to levitate her cup to her mouth.
He turns his gaze away and directs his sneer to the table lest he get caught watching and land himself in another petty fight.
He doesn’t hate her personally, at least he tries not to take his feelings out on the people around him. For them, for everyone, magic is just a normal part of life. It’s like breathing and walking but to him, it’s something awful. Not just when he uses it (though that always sends a particularly lurching, unpleasant feeling through him), but even when in the presence of others using it. It feels as if something’s soured the air, and the air around him just feels unsettled… off.
He’s tried to explain it to others before, tried to convey the feeling of wrongness when the air hums with spells, but everyone always looks at him like he’s lost a screw or is being particularly difficult. Some even turn a pitying, condescending look upon him and go “not very good at it, huh?” as if his discomfort is caused by simple jealousy and nothing more.
He sighs and abandons his spot in the cafe, dumping his cup into the floating can as he leaves. Outside is no better. A kid runs past him, shooting out a wand to spell his friend’s (victim’s?) hair a vivid pink. Down the street, a girl draws her fingers through the air, tracing complex shapes that draw themselves onto the building before her. People laugh and smile and basically go about their lives as if the air isn't sickeningly full of wrongness.
He ignores the lurch of nausea threatening his lunch.
Words: 315
Prompt: Magic is the norm. Some excel at it, some are only okay, and others are against it completely, despite being able to use it. Your main character is the latter. (via)
Note: I'm actually writing these on paper first because I'm just more comfortable writing that way? But quickly hand-writing things leads to some really funky stuff, such as...
...it took me over 5 minutes to realize that's supposed to be "hums"
He hides his grimace in his coffee cup as he watches as another patron flicks her wrist to send her coffee whirling into what is likely a perfect blend of coffee, cream, and sugar. She even goes as far as to levitate her cup to her mouth.
He turns his gaze away and directs his sneer to the table lest he get caught watching and land himself in another petty fight.
He doesn’t hate her personally, at least he tries not to take his feelings out on the people around him. For them, for everyone, magic is just a normal part of life. It’s like breathing and walking but to him, it’s something awful. Not just when he uses it (though that always sends a particularly lurching, unpleasant feeling through him), but even when in the presence of others using it. It feels as if something’s soured the air, and the air around him just feels unsettled… off.
He’s tried to explain it to others before, tried to convey the feeling of wrongness when the air hums with spells, but everyone always looks at him like he’s lost a screw or is being particularly difficult. Some even turn a pitying, condescending look upon him and go “not very good at it, huh?” as if his discomfort is caused by simple jealousy and nothing more.
He sighs and abandons his spot in the cafe, dumping his cup into the floating can as he leaves. Outside is no better. A kid runs past him, shooting out a wand to spell his friend’s (victim’s?) hair a vivid pink. Down the street, a girl draws her fingers through the air, tracing complex shapes that draw themselves onto the building before her. People laugh and smile and basically go about their lives as if the air isn't sickeningly full of wrongness.
He ignores the lurch of nausea threatening his lunch.
