Okay, time for Snippets from Whisperings of the Pen! Here we go!
A few moment later he was running free, across the quiet streets of Rome, keeping close to the alleyways. He had spooked one of the horse and then slipped out the back, while Aeneas was busy calming the frightened horse. The wind tickled his cheeks, ruffling through his hair. It murmured and giggled, as if happy he had escaped. If not for his back, and the fact that he would be caught, he would have jumped and shouted for joy. He was free!
But joy is a fickle thing. It comes and goes as quickly as a cool breeze does on a hot summer day. Paul soon grew tired, and his strength ebbed. He finally reached the outskirts of the city without being caught, and sank down in a hollow tree trunk to rest. ~Loving Your Enemies.
(Yes, Paul Story has a name now! I'm that pleased with it, so does anyone have any suggestions as a better title?)
Soon she heard her father come clumping up the stairs, singing quietly to himself. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she stepped forward to help him to the cot.
He kicked her in the shin, shoving her hands away as he collapsed onto the cot, which creaked and groaned with his weight.
Rubbing her leg, and covered him with the blanket and curled up in her own blanket on the floor. “Goodnight, pa,” she whispered softly into the darkness. There was a pause. “Goodnight, Miranda, I love you,” she whispered to herself, pretending he was answering her. ~West by Train.
Mr. Pitcher slid his gaze over the students. He was very good at it, and did it often to see people squirm. The students did just that, wiggling and shifting in their seats, and casting their eyes to the floor. Mr Pitch almost inquired what was so interesting down there on the floor. Almost, but not quite. He stopped himself just in time. To say that would be to appear humorous, and Mr. Pitcher was not a humorous man, nor did he want to appear to be one.
His gaze slid over to the redheaded girl--Rachel, wasn’t it? He never could keep girl’s names straight. She might be a good student, but she seemed to have a tendency to stare off into space, and then jump up and wave her hand to answer a question at the last minute. It was most annoying. ~The Lost World.
“Pardon, monsieur, but would you mind telling me why people look so happy, and some look as if they’re celebrating? In these times....” she trailed off, as the man turned to her curiously.
“You mean you have not heard the news, mademoiselle?”
Jeanne shook her head, shifting her packages on her hip. “Non, I have not, what has happened?”
The man grinned. “Why, just yesterday, they beheaded that hog Louis!”
Jeanne blinked. “You mean the king?”
The man barked out a laugh. “He’s a king no more, mademoiselle! Unless he’s king of the headless!” He gave another course laugh, and walked off the down the street, repeating his joke to himself and chuckling. ~Francoise and Jeanne Story.
For the rest of the day, Paul lay there in his cell, deep in the bowels of the great colosseum. Above him, the stands rocked with cheers and boos as gladiators fought one another to the death, men were thrown to the lions, and wild beasts tore each other apart. The spectators did not feel sick, as one would imagine, at the sight of such killings, no indeed, they relished it, they yelled thirstily for more, more!
Down in his cell, Paul listened to the shouts and cries and shuddered. How long would it be before it was his turn to face the horrors of the stadium? Not long, he guessed. ~Loving Your Enemies
After feeding his cat, he had gotten halfway to the school, before he realized that he had neglected to feed himself, except for a piece of burnt toast. But it too late to go back, so he stopped at one of his worst enemies, the McDonalds, for an egg mcmuffin. And the treacherous thing had gotten grease on his pants. So, all in all, it had been a very bad morning for Mr. Pitcher, and now he faced the class with a scowl worse than the day before. He could see the class squirming under his gaze, and felt a little better. It was always nice to feel powerful. His scowl deepened when the redheaded girl--what did she say her name was? Randy?-- came dashing into class at the last minute. He saw her shrink in her seat, and smiled in his head. Mr. Pitcher almost never smiled with his mouth, only in his head, where no one could see. ~The Lost World.
Rita whirled around in her seat, fuming. That-that showoff! She took a deep breath, but this time it didn't help. Feeling her face get red with anger, she bit her lip and stared at a crack in the ceiling. Her neck prickled, she could sense him looking at her. She tried to ignore the feeling, but she was dying of curiosity to see if she was right or not.
She sneaked a look. She was right, he was looking at her, or rather smirking at her. She spun back around to face the front and didn’t look back again. ~The Lost World.
About fifteen minutes later, though, she was hurrying back up the street to her boarding house, with a job on the Titanic. Giddy with excitement, she slipped three times on the stairs, but finally made it to her room.
The ship was to set sail in three week’s time, but she would be expected on the ship a week before setting sail, to get to know it and her duties, and to know where she would sleep. Now, all she was to do was wait until it was time to board ship. ~ A Night of Terror.