Write a scene in which two characters want things that are opposed to each other. The characters may or may not reveal (or even know themselves) that they want different things—remember that conflict doesn’t have to be people screaming at each other, or even explicitly disagreeing. Set the scene in a place that requires the characters to perform tasks or interact with outsiders at the same time as the central action of the scene occurs. (That is, don’t just have them order coffee at Starbucks, bring it to their table and then have an uninterrupted conversation.) Think about what the characters want in this moment (both minor and major). Bring 4 copies to Thursday’s class, limit 500 words.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Conflict
Write a scene in which two characters want things that are opposed to each other. The characters may or may not reveal (or even know themselves) that they want different things—remember that conflict doesn’t have to be people screaming at each other, or even explicitly disagreeing. Set the scene in a place that requires the characters to perform tasks or interact with outsiders at the same time as the central action of the scene occurs. (That is, don’t just have them order coffee at Starbucks, bring it to their table and then have an uninterrupted conversation.) Think about what the characters want in this moment (both minor and major). Bring 4 copies to Thursday’s class, limit 500 words.
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A Semblance of Orchids
Ten-thousand heartbeats filled the muggy streets of Dresden. It was 3 A.M. but it wasn’t dark. Bonfires and torches burned at the edges and encompassed the men in a Danteesque circle of fire. Roland stood as motionless as a statue, save for his weary eyelids, which closed for an eternity of ten seconds. He was back in the meadow of his youth, laughing and running through an ocean of red rhellicani orchids rooted in the rich black soil. They stood in such numbers, with parallel stems, and he recalled their loyalty to the earth for they returned each spring. It was beautiful and fleeting.
“Hergekommen!” yelled one officer. He yelled it again while another close by jabbed the butt of his rifle into Roland’s ribs. Roland broke formation and ran a hundred paces to the beckoning officer. As he came closer he could see the orphan girl crying while the Sturmbannführer squeezed the girl’s wrist with a vice-like grip. In his other hand he held a bulky, shape-shifting burlap sack.
Roland stopped six paces from the officer, saluted, and regained his granite posture. The officer released the girl and she dropped into a pool of flesh upon the damp
cobblestone. With a gaze as austere as the dead, the officer pierced Roland’s eyes with his own and with neither looking at their hands the sack was transferred. With a head nod the officer instructed him to open the bag and peer inside. Roland opened it and saw a half dozen anemic kittens climbing and falling over top each other while whimpering for release. The Sturmbannführer didn’t utter a sound but pointed to the bonfire behind them. It was an order not a request.
He thought of the daughter he once had, near the same age as this girl when she left. She too was fond of kittens...and dogs, and horses. “Why must I do this?” his inner being questioned. This pathetic girl and her orphaned existence, she had no parents, no family, and soon the last six friends she had would be gone. And she was so innocent and pure, like his own daughter... except Jewish. He thought of making a break, grabbing the girl by her one unbruised wrist and pulling her up to his body. With sack in tow and full out in a sprint of fleeing escape he wondered how far he would get...five feet?...ten?...to the meadow of orchids?
He walked to the fire, paused, and turned back. The girl was languid and crying and she had no fight left in her. She accepted her fate; maybe she had accepted it days or weeks ago. The pause grew to an unacceptable length. “Brennen Sie sie jetzt!” the officer screamed. Roland looked at him and then back to the girl. His fate felt no different to him than his view of hers. By dawn the masses would march and his loyalty to the Führer would be expended and he knew he would not return. “If she were mine what would I do?” he questioned himself and the utter hopelessness of life.
The hesitation was no longer acceptable and the Sturmbannführer summoned two men to punish the disloyal Roland. As they approached, he knelt, opened the sack and released the creatures. Time stopped. The tears he saw on the girl appeared to dry midstream and her smile, as out of place as the Messiah in the netherworld, numbed him while the bayonet entered his stomach, followed by another. The fires raged on, and the sounds of the men and their war cries deafened, and his eyelids closed once again.
He was with the girl in the cold winter meadow and the parallel stems had fallen, and they trampled upon the red, white, and black of the earth. It was beautiful and fleeting.
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