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psalm_onethirtyoneWaen hating on my music again. Meh.
Les Miserables freewrite fiction.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eponinenkind may be interested. :)
Keyword: Phrases
Time: Ten minutes.
A very long time ago, in the world of man, there lived a boy who was beautiful. He was a tall, slender boy, with beautiful hair and beautiful eyes. He was clever at talking and clever at making people listen, and when he spoke to passersby--perhaps because of his beauty; perhaps because of the way the elegant phrases were worked--they stopped, frozen, and obeyed him.
He was a very dangerous boy, as well. He had danger in his beautiful eyes, and a strange sense of shivering fear filled the men who looked at him too long. He dressed beautifully, but in a way, it let people know there was something wrong. He always walked armed. He was careful that way.
He had many companions, who called him by name and believed in him. Some of them believed in him because they were afraid of him; some because they were in love with him; some because they knew he was better than they were and so they looked up to him. They saw him stepping through the streets, beautiful and tall and clever and dangerous--and they knew that they were lucky to be counted among his companions.
He also had many enemies. It was impossible to keep track of them all, for there were more enemies of this beautiful boy than there are autumn leaves. He was too dangerous and too beautiful. He made promises to his friends and to certain people that no one could disregard. They were, in the eyes of many, evil promises. They were bad things to offer to anyone, and they would cause disturbance and unrest. Therefore, many people hated him and would have been glad to see him die.
But, in the end, he did not seem to see them. He stepped through the streets, looking about him at the destitute with his beautiful eyes. He smiled and others smiled back. He came to a barricade in the streets, lifted his clever hands, and became rich. He made life out of blood and death.
That was the way he lived. That was the way he had lived for many years, this beautiful boy called Montparnasse.
Les Miserables freewrite fiction.
eponinenkind may be interested. :)Keyword: Phrases
Time: Ten minutes.
A very long time ago, in the world of man, there lived a boy who was beautiful. He was a tall, slender boy, with beautiful hair and beautiful eyes. He was clever at talking and clever at making people listen, and when he spoke to passersby--perhaps because of his beauty; perhaps because of the way the elegant phrases were worked--they stopped, frozen, and obeyed him.
He was a very dangerous boy, as well. He had danger in his beautiful eyes, and a strange sense of shivering fear filled the men who looked at him too long. He dressed beautifully, but in a way, it let people know there was something wrong. He always walked armed. He was careful that way.
He had many companions, who called him by name and believed in him. Some of them believed in him because they were afraid of him; some because they were in love with him; some because they knew he was better than they were and so they looked up to him. They saw him stepping through the streets, beautiful and tall and clever and dangerous--and they knew that they were lucky to be counted among his companions.
He also had many enemies. It was impossible to keep track of them all, for there were more enemies of this beautiful boy than there are autumn leaves. He was too dangerous and too beautiful. He made promises to his friends and to certain people that no one could disregard. They were, in the eyes of many, evil promises. They were bad things to offer to anyone, and they would cause disturbance and unrest. Therefore, many people hated him and would have been glad to see him die.
But, in the end, he did not seem to see them. He stepped through the streets, looking about him at the destitute with his beautiful eyes. He smiled and others smiled back. He came to a barricade in the streets, lifted his clever hands, and became rich. He made life out of blood and death.
That was the way he lived. That was the way he had lived for many years, this beautiful boy called Montparnasse.
