EXERCISE Random Word Inspiration 12

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by Kitti, Aug 5, 2016.

  1. Thoughts can be fickle things. Sometimes all it takes are a few words to spark an idea and those same words can have a different effect on everyone.


    What do these words inspire in you?
    Write whatever comes to mind, be it poem or prose. It doesn't even have to include the words if you don't feel like it!



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  2. Brush ; The soft stroke of a fine brush gently caressed the canvas as a flurry of colors painted a picture of creativity. As the painter finished his masterpiece, he gazed at his work of art - A planet hung in front of him, fauna growing up out of the land and birds flying over the vast waters. This painter had created life - the Earth his portrait and his brush a tool of creation.
  3. His words, loud and blusterous, caused her to cringe, lowering her eyes to the ground. How she wished she wasn't there. He always had that affect on her, making her feel smaller than she was, worthless even. She could try all she wanted, but she would never amount to what he wanted her to be. Perhaps one day she would stand up to him, tell him exactly what she thought.

    Today however wasn't that day.
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  4. He blustered, trying to act tough, but a warm smile disarmed him. Their hands brushed gently, before clasping tight, the two men walking close side by side. A fist clenched in the shadows. Perhaps she had miscalculated.

    (Not sure what this was. >.<)
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  5. With keen, black eyes Edgar looked over the edge. It was a long way into the rocks and sea water below. A strong wind roared up the hill, sweeping through the grass, until it hit Edgar from behind. Had he not braced himself, then he would of surely toppled over the edge. Once the battle against the blustering winds was over, Edgar sat down with his legs over the edge. The cliff sides were dangerous and prone to breaking apart. But he didn't care. He had enough lives to waste on a cliff side.

    Edgar tried to force memories from his previous lives. Most notably, he was looking for glimpses of a painting. A painting carefully forged with expensive paint, dexterous brush strokes, and a white canvas. A painting which had then become a blueprint. That life, and its belongings, and most of its memories had all been lost in a fire. From the few glimpses he could manage, Edgar had made it. The blueprint was accurate, he was sure of that, but he did doubt the accuracy of his memory of the blueprint. What if he miscalculated it?

    No time to doubt. He had no need of doubt. If it went wrong then he would start over, at the beginning. And begin again. There were no mistakes for Edgar. He stood, quite carefully despite his lack of fear. Then began undoing the long runs of zips down his legs, body, and underarms. Thin sheets of silk came pouring out on both sides. Had the wind came roaring through again then he would of surely been swept away in a flurry. But the winds had calmed.

    "Here goes."

    He jumped off the edge. The air rushed past him, drowning out the sound of colossal waves and singing seagulls. He was alive! Edgar spread his arms and legs out wide. The silk extended and suddenly the air hit him like an invisible block of granite. The delicate fabric caught the passing air and his descent slowed. Edgar was amazed at his creation. His wingsuit. Riding the air, he bent one arm down and his entire body began curving. Until he was facing the cliff side. A consdirable ways above was the precipice from which he had leaped, unflinching and defiant in the face of mother nature, to one of the greatest adventures of his most recent life. Then he crashed into the rock wall.


    Allan awoke. Wiping tired and groggy eyes, he was opened them to find he was still in his apartment. What a strange dream he had. In the dream his name was Edgar and he was the undying man. The flying man. The immortal of many lives from his comics. But those comics had come from somewhere. Every drawing, every sketch, everything had been poured out of his imagination. Being an amateur comic book artist did not pay well but he created a most fantastical world! A world where he took many names and faces. And lead many lives. And had many impossible adventures. But every adventure had come from within. Hitting him, not like a wave of inspiration but like a recovered memory. Maybe... Was he Edgar?
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