Paris suits you

The evening sun had painted the sky over Paris in a red velvety color.
I was on my way to see "A Midsummer Night's Dream" at the theater near my hotel.
I turned down a narrow, one-way cobblestone street, and soon caught the aroma from the small restaurants. While beforehand, all I could smell was exhaust fumes and gasoline, these scents were soon replaced by the wonderful smells of baked potatoes, duck and garlic from the nearby restaurants.
The smells were an innocent testament to me being far away from home, as where I come from, the scents that fill the air mainly originate from sketchy meals that more often than not come from Kraft Foods cardboard boxes.
My thoughts were suddenly halted as an angry French hostess raised her voice at some poor waitresses. "Girls! Stop what you are doing! Go get knives and forks!", she yelled at them, which caused them all to scurry off in near panic.
I continued on my path and soon reached the theater, where my girlfriend was waiting for me.
"Harvey Milk! Paris suits you!", she said as I approached her.
She soon started blabbering about her day. She had gone to the Louvre, and had gotten a bit too inspired by the Mona Lisa, having tried to copy her both in terms of makeup and hairstyle.
"And I have used hairspray for both my hair and makeup! It really works great as a setting spray for makeup, too!"
I smiled fondly at her. "Well, you do look fabulous, but next time you really should not spray your face with hairspray. Did you get the tickets for the theater?"
"Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O's! I forgot them!", she exclaimed, already preparing to head off.
I smiled to myself. While Lisa is usually a very good travel companion, sometimes, it is almost like she lives on a different planet with how forgetful she is. Saturn, I would say. I have heard it rains diamonds there. It would suit her well.
As she headed off to get the tickets, I looked around for something to waste time on. After a while, I decided to order a cup of coffee at a cafe while waiting for her to come back with them.

Hills Like White Elephants

Dear diary,
It still seems that Jig and I are unable to have a normal conversation without ending up bickering about the smallest of things.

I love her, I really do. Yet sometimes I just find her so frustrating! Sometimes, everything she says and does just bothers me to no end!

The main reason for all these arguments is the child, and I think she seems to understand that as well.

Spain is peaceful in contrast to the rest of the world. which allowed us to sit and talk by the Ebro today. We argued about the unborn child again, of course. Once again, I mentioned the operation, yet I was still unable to figure out exactly how she felt about getting the abortion. I tried to be supportive, and I told her that no matter what she chose, I would always love her. However, I do hope that she has chosen the abortion for her own sake as well as my own. I cannot imagine either of us being prepared for parenthood.

Things would be so much easier if we were not having this child at all...

She has agreed to go through with the operation, though. I just hope it will be able to solve our problems...

Writing game 8

Author function: Writer
Notion: Sorrow

The time has come, albeit too soon. As the clock counts down, the only feeling there is to be felt is a heartbreaking, gut wrenching sorrow. The room is painted a grayish white, and a certain stench of medication and disinfectants is filling the air, as is common for a room like this. It feels too stuffy, nearly suffocating in the small room. When the doctor leaves after administering the first medication, the only noises to be heard are sad sniffles from the people in the room. Our main character has laid his head down and is slowly falling asleep now, surrounded by sorrowful friends, yet not understanding these strange emotions passing through them. He, for one, is content.

He may not have lived long, and he may not always have been treated as well as he may have deserved, but his positive attitude has helped him make it through every day without being brought down by sorrow. He deserved so much more, which may be why this day was particularly sorrowful for everyone else involved.

When the last medication has been administered, at last, he is at peace. And eventually, the sorrow his friends are feeling will pass.


Reflection:
Using the function of writer has been able to give me more wiggle-room as to how I wished to write about the notion, which was what I was looking for in this writing game. If I had made use of the author function of  e.g. the poet, I would definitely have been more constricted in how I was to write the text. The same goes for the author function of the bard or the song writer, where there are certain rules on how to create a lyrical piece. I suppose I could just as easily have chosen the author function of the playwright or even the novelist, as these do come rather close to what I was looking for in the author function of the writer.

Not a good man

There he goes again, showing another unfortunate girl's father around the estate.
He intends to marry this one as well, though I doubt she will last long under his tyranny.
You see, the Duke is not a good man, though this is what he intends for you to think.
But no, he is indeed an awful, despicable man who cannot see past himself and his own wishes.
Not once did he concern himself with my feelings or my well-being.
Not once did he concern himself with my thoughts or my preferences.
No, he was only concerned about himself.
He lured me in by charming my father, convincing him that marrying me off would be a good idea.
It was only once I had been truly caught in the Duke's web that he showed his true nature.
Controlling, demanding, uncaring.
The marriage was official, and no matter how much I wished to, I could not escape.
I tried seeking company elsewhere.
He called it flirting, yet it was nothing like that.
It was merely pleasant company from pleasant people who wished me no harm.
Perhaps I even wished that seeing me with other people might cause a change of heart in him.
These encounters angered the Duke greatly, however, and he certainly did not have a change of heart.
One day, I had had enough of the treatment I had been receiving.
I stood up to him and told him that I deserved better.
Perhaps this was a mistake.
Perhaps I should have stayed silent.
Perhaps if I had stayed my tongue, I would have still been alive today.

I only hope no more young, unfortunate girls fall prey to the Duke's violent ways.

No longer scared

Staring down at the gun, he looked terrified almost, scared of the outcome of the events if he decided not to finish it, yet also terrified of the outcome if he was to go through with it.

Too much to consider. Not enough time.
A decision had to be made. It had to be made now.

A bang is heard. A body falls limp to the floor.

No longer terrified. No longer scared.