Testing The Waters

So I've talked about a few different writing strategies now, so I thought that maybe, although I'm not supposed to make this a blog about my writing, I thought I'd try posting a bit of my creative writing to just show that I can pray what I preach. Plus maybe I thought it'd give you some inspiration to do a quick write too, a writing exercise that's nice for all writers to try once in awhile.

The idea is just to think of a quick prompt, something simple; the devil walking down the street, A rose in a field of daisies, a boy looking for his dog in the woods. Quick, easy stuff that allows you too let you're imagination roam and confidence soar as you write with out worrying about critique or judgement. For my little quick write, I think I'll use the first example; the devil walking down the street, just because I prefer darker writing.

The crowds of Chicago were brutal, always moving, always pulsating, never stopping for anyone. It was the blood that powered the city, giving it life. As I walked with the group to my daily nine to five, all I could think is that if we're the blood, then this man is the virus. 

It was so perplexing to me, the contradicting normality of him. A plain black vest over a red button up, slick black pants, a cocked fedora on his head. Even his walk was normal. He kept his hands in his pockets and slouched ever so slightly, his pace not slow or fast, but a medium speed that kept him in stride with the rest of Chicago's veins and arteries. Because of this he always stayed in my sight, a set distance away.

This man was the Moses to Chicago's sea of people, splitting the crowd effortlessly with his presence. His aura was like a magnet, pushing away everyone more and more the closer they get. Especially those who dare to look at him. I could see, very discretely, people look under the brim of his hat as they pass by Him. The subtle horror that invaded their expression spoke volumes as they avoided their eyes and sped up to walk past him. What could be wrong with his face? Was he disfigured? A monster? Or did he just have a cruel pair of eyes or a terrible scowl?

I was so entranced by my imagination and the wonders of what was hidden under his brim that I was taken aback when I found myself in an tight alleyway. Still in front of me stood the man, his back to me, facing a solid brick wall.

I stared in a mix of terror of curiosity. Time seemed to stand still as I waited for him to move, speak, twitch, anything to end this moment of stillness and silence.

It was suddenly so different, the way he moved. It was like liquid, the way he turned around. Smooth and effortless, graceful like a dancer with even such a basic movement. As he faced me I realized he was closer then I had realized, a mere five feet. I could see the sly smile that sat under the rim of his hat. Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up to meet my gaze.

I was sucked in by his bottomless, black hole eyes.

"Been following me, have you"?