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Thread: Write purple prose (one sentence at a time)

  1. #1
    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    Default Write purple prose (one sentence at a time)

    The purple velvety sky hung heavy with stars as it sagged over the outstretched planes of southern Kansas, which were covered in top-heavy fields of corn bowing and swaying in a breeze that brought the scent of slow roasting, heavenly pork from Nadine's diner down by the Interstate.
    So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.

  2. #2
    A Groupie Marsilia's avatar
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    The sleepy stillness of the night was broken by the animal growl of an engine, the grinding of tires across the light dusting of gravel and other debris encroaching on the blacktop.

  3. #3
    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    Plumes of dust like the smoke of hell exploded into the air as the tires rolled off onto the ancient, pitted dirt road that trailed between two fields of roughly the same size yet of infinite difference.

  4. #4
    Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo What Exit?'s avatar
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    What pulled into the brightly lit parking lot was a shining candy apple Mustang with the chrome burnished to as bright as the sun itself with a driver far younger than the classic car.

    Spoiler (mouseover to read):
    For others unsure of purple prose. http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PurpleProse

  5. #5
    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    A wedge of leather lashed to a sole with two centimeter long nails struck the dusty, lonely parking lot and there was the faintest of echoes of that blow off of a battered trash can approximately twenty feet to the owner of that boot's right.

  6. #6
    The Apostabulous Inner Stickler's avatar
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    As the boot owner moved slowly, slinkily, silently to the diner, a scurrilous shadow in the corner of the parking lot directly opposite the beaten and worn trashcan slid over the ash-gray asphalt and made its secretive way to the warm and inviting diner.
    I don't think so, therefore I'm probably not.

  7. #7
    Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo What Exit?'s avatar
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    The rat-like wreck of a man was wearing worn tattered jeans and a greasy dank black hair with small amounts of pewter streaking it.

  8. #8
    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    One broad hand the color of a caffe latte with excessive amounts of the sweet nectar of a female bovine dripped and stirred into it closed around the smooth, steel handle at the door to the establishment.

  9. #9
    Oliphaunt Rube E. Tewesday's avatar
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    As the owner of the hand entered the diner, his well-honed olfactory senses were assaulted by the blend of aromas typical of these roadside shelters from the storm: the mocha java that had been trapped in its carafe for longer than the recommended twenty minutes, the porcine flesh sizzled on the grill under the loving hands of Short Order Pete, the scrofulous keeper of the counter, and the sweet, sweet cologne of Ravishing Ruby, the damosel of the diner.

  10. #10
    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    Dolan was the name that the mother of the man who owned the Mustang had given him and Dolan was he who entered the diner.

  11. #11
    Sophmoric Existentialist
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    She lingered by the restroom door, waiting as Dolan strolled across the room and sat by the counter. She ran her fingers through her raven hair, then over her swelling bosom, down across her thighs. Her nipples objected to being chafed in the tight bra underneath her angora sweater, and she thought of how it would be when Dolan undid her buttons and slid her bra straps down her smooth upper arms and then reached behind to unclasp the 4-hooked bra that a well-endowed girl like her wore . . . Dolan glanced around. He saw her. She saw the muscle jump in his jaw as he turned away. Evidently he hadn't forgotten Witchita. But she knew she could make him forget everything else.
    Sophmoric Existentialist

  12. #12
    Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo What Exit?'s avatar
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    It was then that Sam Snelling snuck stealthily through the idle rear door made of tarnished substandard stainless steel quiet as the rat he resembled.

  13. #13
    Oliphaunt Rube E. Tewesday's avatar
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    Dolan wrestled with the memories of Wichita that returned over and over like some Nietzschean nightmare as he pretended to contemplate the menu and its eternal, existential battle of the all day breakfast against the lunch served until 4:00.

  14. #14
    The Queen Zuul's avatar
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    "What delightsome morsels might you have tonight?" purred the sensuous voice of the nubile Nadine, wrenching him out of an inner turmoil and tossing him into the great white rapids of torment.

  15. #15
    Sophmoric Existentialist
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    She watched as Dolan leaned nearer to Nadine. Her fingers curled into claws. Nadine!!!! What could that little cat do for Dolan, except to serve him lobster rolls and cheap beer? What could Nadine do about the subpoena? What could Nadine do about Mad Bob Schaffley?

    She wondered if the Luger was loaded.
    Sophmoric Existentialist

  16. #16
    Sophmoric Existentialist
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    Meanwhile, in another town, a orrential rainstorm was causing massive flooding. Elderly women huddled helplessly on their roofs, watching as their kittycats were swept away in the rushing waters. It was dark, dark, dark. The stygian blackness covered everything. A foul scent, as if from Hell itself, filled the air. Screams could be heard when there was a momentary pause in the downpour. Twisted shapes lurked in the shrubberies. Little children lay terrified in the darkness and their parents, filled with the fear of death, turned to each other in sexual frenzies, as if to ward off the coming horror. Dogs barked and howled. Above the town, near the hanging tree, teenagers partied, puking Mike's Hard Lemonade into the torrents below.

    This has nothing to do with our story. But weather reports are always interesting.
    Sophmoric Existentialist

  17. #17
    Oliphaunt Rube E. Tewesday's avatar
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    "He'll have a cup of coffee as black as your heart, and three eggs over as easy as you are" snarled Sam Snelling, sitting down next to Dolan without even as much courtesy as the Emperor of Byzantium might have exercised to the lousiest leper begging by the Hippodrome.

  18. #18
    Sophmoric Existentialist
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    Yay, Rube!!!!
    Sophmoric Existentialist

  19. #19
    Sophmoric Existentialist
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    She liked hard men. The kind of man who wore brass knuckles on an iron fist, to quote the famous River. She prowled slowly to the counter and slithered onto the stool beside Dolan. She gave Nadine the killer stare, and laughed when Nadine's eyes fell and the girl moved away, stumbling over the uneven rubber mat and spilling hot java down her pink apron. Sam Snelling leered at her, but Dolan merely glanced at her, and that glance rendered her hot and loose, his eyes were like his hands on her willing flesh and she shivered a little and insensibly shifted herself nearer. Nearer enough to feel his body heat, and almost near enough to feel his gun.
    Sophmoric Existentialist

  20. #20
    I'm the Cute one! =^.^= anyrose's avatar
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    nevermind
    Last edited by anyrose; 10 Jul 2010 at 10:17 AM. Reason: didn't realize that there was some semblence of continuity

  21. #21
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    "Whadya want, ya snappin' slice a'bacon?" Dolan growled vibratously through his teeth as his eyes sank into the black, dark pool of his coffee that rippled and shook with every breath of his that brushed against the surface like the gentle caresses of a savoring lover.

  22. #22
    like Gandalf in a way Nrblex's avatar
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    The luxuriant black silk that framed her orbital sockets fluttered like the wings of an ecstatic insect that had just found a large supply of the sugar rich enticement of flowers. "You." The word came out in a hush, a breath, a whisper, a heave, a gasp. Maybe even a moan.

  23. #23
    Sophmoric Existentialist
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    Or a whimper.

    But she wasn't the type to whimper. She tossed her head, and the heavy mane of her red hair shimmered hotly in the brutal, cold fluourescent lights behind the counter. "You," she said again. "But not until . . ."

    The words hung heavy as a cow carcass in the slaughterhouse, heavy as crude oil from the Alberta Tar Sands, heavy as a bull elephant going down to the water during the monsoon.

    Dolan raised one eyebrow. Then the other. Then he let the first one fall.

    She blinked. "Hey," she hissed. "Cut that out, Dolan. Yer makin' me dizzy. Dizzy as a girl after her first glass of champagne. Dizzy as a drunken giraffe on ice. Dizzy as a kid getting out of the bumper car joint."

    "Jeezus," Dolan growled. "Lay off with the metaphors, willya?"
    Sophmoric Existentialist

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