Thursday, 27 September 2012

Creativity Excerise 1

A word of note:
The creativity exercises are designed to improve ones ability to write. I don't do them to often, but I'm stuck for ideas at the moment.
How it works:
-I use wikipedia's random article to generate a random object, place (non-geographical) and other (an element which must be included in the story)
-I write a short story using these elements
-Story element and object must be a MAJOR part of the storyline. They can not just be mentioned once


Story Elements:
-Location (non-geographical): Speech House Oaks (A nature reserve in Gloucester)
-Object: Casio DW-5600C (a watch)
-Other: Tribal House Music (Subtype of house music using tribal elements. Think electronic with natural themes)

            And still the beat went on. I danced, surrounded by others like me, lit by the glow of the fire. I moved and swayed and pushed against the bodies around me as we all leapt as one. The crush of bodies was such that a person could barely move and yet we danced all the harder because of it. The stench of sweat, of the human animal, filled the night air, beating back the smells of nature with its heat and energy. People, there eyes crazy and glittering in the firelight, lost in the momentum and beat, slick with sweat and sliding off of one another. People touched me and then were lost as the beat would accelerate and the crowd would scream and leap and swirl. People would stop and grab one another, grind, push there sweat upon one another as the beat slowed and for a moment reminded us of what we are.

            And still the beat went on. Under the trees of Speech House Oaks, lost in the forests of Gloucester, frightening away the creatures who called this world there home. For we had made it our home, with the stamp of our feet and the bringing of fire and the noise of speakers rumbling out through the forest. I glanced up at the DJ, his eyes like emeralds, his shirtless body soaked in sweat, feathers swinging from his hair, as he played the beat. He changed the sounds of the new world, made them seem old, reminded us of the forests and a time when once this was how the world was. A new place, a place without streetlights and disco ball’s and cellphones. He reminded us of a raw world, an old world, a world where all we were was animals. I glanced at my watch. 11:30.

            And still the beat went on. The beat grew faster, and in its frenzy we were reminded of the hunt and in it’s stillness we were reminded of the night. The beat pulled us in, made us what we once were, lit fires in our hearts and heads and made us want to cry to the moon or conquer the sun. A girl grabbed me, her pulse racing so fast you could see the veins throb, the sweat running soaking through her clothing. She pressed up against me, for a moment her heat overpowering, her smell all I could think of. And then she was gone, as the beat took her from me and for a moment I paused, before being swept away again. And as I paused I checked my watch. 12:30

            And still the beat went on. And the music grew more animalistic, and it seemed that the trees themselves leaned in to hear better. The scent of blood grew in the air, faint at first but rising now, accenting the stench of sweat. People shrieked as the danced, screamed and cursed and ground and leapt. The fire leapt higher, its flames battling against the night and we screamed for it, reminded of times when all that kept us safe from the night were those flames. Sweat rolled down my face, stinging me eyes and soaking my shirt. Many other had torn there shirts off, and there bodies glistened, slick with sweat as the danced. I tore mine off as well and threw it on the fire. I glanced down at my watch. Sweat had covered it, making it hard to read. 1 something.

            And still the beat went on. The bodies pressed together, screaming in ecstasy and agony. The smell of blood and sweat, the smell of the human animal, screamed through us with the beat. The music pulled and tugged and we responded. Men, covered in sweat and glistening in the flames and girls giddy with energy, spinning and grinding and struggling in the press. I felt my watch slip off my hand. I paid it no head. Not even when I stepped on it, not even when it cracked as another leapt on it, not even when it shattered and exploded and the tiny numbers blinked one final time.

            And still the beat went on.

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