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Flying Exercise 2
A Peregrine Falcon rose in the air to meet an angry redtail Hawk as birds of prey screamed in death-throes of war. He rushed through barrelling updrafts careening through supercell winds toward the Hawk, altocumulus coalescence sweeping past him like rip currents as he flashed his radiant white wings in challenge. He flew to monumental heights, rocketing off faster and higher sheering the slipstream, higher and higher piercing the olivine stratosphere, windswept hurricane tidal-gusts swirling around in cyclonic furystorms surging to crisp, cool blue skies of oncoming twilight. He then dove down through cloudbursts spinning in hypervolume bulletglide and shot his wings out to ricochet back up on a hot air jet stream, soaring to celestial aphelion. His sharp eyes blazed in the setting sun, shining like a halo over their endless blue battlefield.

The Hawk flashed his giant red wings in reply and shot off like a razorbeam serrating blue sky, jettisoning though cirrostratus rip-haze tearing toward the Falcon, ratcheting air currents sweeping across the zennith. The two prey-birds rushed toward each other and clashed in a bloody tirade of claws and feathers, spinning in a vicious cyclonic windtunnel of whiplash gales. The Falcon bashed the Hawk into a tailspin as they leapt away from each other and flew around for another pass. The Hawk extended his talons and rode the high, he only had one shot.

Then, he hit it, he beat his wings furiously up against a cold whirlwind, atmospheric pressure building to extremes, thin air, hard to breathe, powering through the enormous quiet dawn. Altitude rose like a typhoon jet propulsion maelstrom, piercing the stratosphere to finally reach a prophetic resonance, calm. Then he let go, tucking the tips of his wings in tight and diving back down to reality, slicing turbulence to sheerfractus particles, arch freefall tearing down wind currents like an avalanche. The Falcon whipped around on sonic air rivets and beamed toward him through white flashfire glare that gleaned off his feathers in neolithic patterns of brilliant straylight. The Hawk streamlined through furious gales, gnashed his talons and snapped for the Falcons jugular ripping his throat out. The Falcon spiraled down in a caelum of bloody feathers and revenge-culling screams.

(Tell me if you guys like this version better than my last version, I know this is over the top but I figure go big or go home and I'll let you guys trim it down to your likings).

Last edited by Nicole_Hellene on June 9, 2009, 11:40 am

No no no you're missing the point, it's a BIRD! It doesn't have FEELINGS! It doesn't talk, you ever talked to a BIRD before? If so lemme know what it said and maybe I'll have my BIRD say that.

I KNOW you want feelings, but you aint gettin them (tehe), this is Cinematic Style, completely opposite of introspective writing, I'm describing what's going on outside and its up to YOU to do the hard work of inferring emotions from the characters actions if you really want to. I mean if I say "he put his hand over his face and sighed," what do you think he's feeling? He's obviously sad, but it's more actionesque to describe the action. I'm not into blubbery feelings and I'm more interested in having people see what's going on than feel what the character is "feeling." No feelings. Sry. When you watched the fight scenes in the Matrix, did you really care what was going on in Neo's head or did you just want to see him beat the spit out of Agent Smith?

This is my PROLOGUE, I'm not going to waste precious paragraph space describing what war, when, how, have patience grasshopper you'll find out in the story. Right now, you're watching a movie about two birds beating the heck out of each other, sit back and enjoy the bloodsport. The particulars are on a need-to-know basis and you don't need to know. I'll give you this much though, the birds are hunting birds and the winner is going to land back on his masters arm (human) and then legions of soldiers are going to attack each other. Happy?

I think we're just at a conflict in styles right here, you want to know what's going on in my characters heads while I want to know how they're tearing each other apart. Just please remember they're BIRDS. I'm going for speed, gore, mach 1 adrenaline rush, so relax and enjoy it for what it is...a fight.

Still love you Francis Clapping

Posted on Tuesday, June 9, 2009 at 11:37:08

Francis Meyrick

Ok, I'm kicked.
I see your point. I missed it entirely.
I do tend to do that...

We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
Posted on Tuesday, June 9, 2009 at 16:25:05


Hey did you delete your other review? Don't do that Francis, someone else may have been thinking the same things you were and now my reply doesn't make sense. Don't be afraid of giving me a bad review, I've done it to you a few times and you do it to me. It's all good! Smile

Posted on Wednesday, June 10, 2009 at 06:16:04

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