Friday, August 10, 2012

Timed Writing: 8/10/2012

Time: 15 minutes
Prompt: "They were angry because of the ill treatment they had received"
Source: The Call of the Wild by Jack London

The Honorable Council of Extrapolatory Trajectorians was Vayart's great frustration.

He had attended six of their open meetings, had presented his case twice, in great detail, and had paid separate visits to all of the council's most distinguished and influential senior members. He had practically begged.

Individually, many of the "Extrajects," as they preferred not to be called, had lent Vayart a sympathetic ear—even acted supportive of his expansionist cause. As a body however, they had remained fixed in their position. Unwavering. Resolute. Stupid.

"Gods, I'm sick of these people," Vayart said to nobody in particular—to the louvered walls of his study, to the lamilace floor panels, to Pledi, who was reclining behind Vayart's desk, with a bored pout marring her ever-enticing features.

"It must be council day again, my love," said Pledi. She stood and approached Vayart. "You smell like you've been mingling with the Extrajects again."

"And you smell like you." Vayart kissed her on the lips and moved past toward the desk. Pledi was one of the two females participating in Vayart's current quaternary domest, and what she lacked in respect for her spouses' personal workspaces, she more than compensated for with her terrifying capacity to dissect political conspiracies. Vayart had, on more than one occasion, considered proposing a dissolution of the domest so that he could court Pledi as a dedicated business partner instead.

"They refuse to understand," said Vayart. "They just don't..." He turned his back on Pledi so as to hide the flush of frustration and the tears of rage that came as he recalled the day's failed attempts to win powerful converts. Pledi wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rested her hands on his chest, and pressed into his back.

"Can you blame them?" she said. "They're angry."

It was true. The Extrajects were angry, and at least the most senior among them were justly offended. They were angry because of the ill treatment they had received at the hands of the previous ruling party, the Pragrevs. Pragmatist Revisionaries. Now that they had established dominance once again, the Extrajects, the party historically known for liberal thought and exploratory schemes had collapsed into itself—involuted. They would hear no new ideas generated from outside the council. That one-time organ of intellectual fecundity had withered to a sterile prune— from fear and from lack of contact with novel inspirations and currently relevant stimulation.

[about my timed writing exercises]

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