Grab Bag Writing Challenge - March 2019
- blur - chameleon - contrast - fashion - glass - hue - mirror - mosaic - pattern - piece - repeat - saturation - shade - tint - vivid -
by Cody Lewis
Mark Dimbleby grabbed the Quaffle and passed it to the navy blue blur twenty yards ahead of him. His teammate, Lincoln Knox, caught it in stride and cut to the inside to dodge a Bludger. Mirroring Knox’s movements on the other side of the pitch was their third Chaser, Quinn Andrews, who joined him in flying a corkscrew pattern as they tossed the Quaffle back and forth. Upon reaching the scoring area, Knox drew back and fired the Quaffle towards the left goalpost.
“Incredible save by the Catapults’ Keeper! One of the only things going right for them today, wouldn’t you say, Ludo?” boomed the voice of Oliver O’Toole.
“Too right you are, Oliver! That and those stunning uniforms! Height of fashion, those Catapults, although I do prefer a slightly different hue of green. Not to, as the youngsters say nowadays, throw shade. See what I did there, Oliver?” Ludo Bagman flashed his co-commentator a grin. When it was not returned, he continued, “But yes, brilliant save by Chameleon! He just got a piece of it, but it was enough to deflect the Quaffle out of the way!”
“I believe you mean Champollion,” Oliver retorted. “Jacques Champollion. He’s French. But don’t blink now, as Dimbleby has recovered the Quaffle for United and... he scores! This is starting to look like a repeat of the thrashing United gave the Catapults earlier this season.”
Far below the action, the crowd was a mosaic of light green, vivid scarlet, and navy specks. The contrast was an eyesore, but a welcome one, as fans of both teams came together to celebrate Dimbleby’s final visit to Caerphilly.
“It’s a shame Dimbleby’s retiring at the end of this season,” said Oliver. “But he just turned forty-one, and with the oversaturation of great talent in the Chaser market, it’s probably the best time for him to put the ol’ broomstick away.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t play back in my day! He wouldn’t have made it to forty-one against those Beaters. Ah, those were the days.”
“We do look at the past with rose-tinted glasses, don’t we?”
Mark Dimbleby grabbed the Quaffle and passed it to the navy blue blur twenty yards ahead of him. His teammate, Lincoln Knox, caught it in stride and cut to the inside to dodge a Bludger. Mirroring Knox’s movements on the other side of the pitch was their third Chaser, Quinn Andrews, who joined him in flying a corkscrew pattern as they tossed the Quaffle back and forth. Upon reaching the scoring area, Knox drew back and fired the Quaffle towards the left goalpost.
“Incredible save by the Catapults’ Keeper! One of the only things going right for them today, wouldn’t you say, Ludo?” boomed the voice of Oliver O’Toole.
“Too right you are, Oliver! That and those stunning uniforms! Height of fashion, those Catapults, although I do prefer a slightly different hue of green. Not to, as the youngsters say nowadays, throw shade. See what I did there, Oliver?” Ludo Bagman flashed his co-commentator a grin. When it was not returned, he continued, “But yes, brilliant save by Chameleon! He just got a piece of it, but it was enough to deflect the Quaffle out of the way!”
“I believe you mean Champollion,” Oliver retorted. “Jacques Champollion. He’s French. But don’t blink now, as Dimbleby has recovered the Quaffle for United and... he scores! This is starting to look like a repeat of the thrashing United gave the Catapults earlier this season.”
Far below the action, the crowd was a mosaic of light green, vivid scarlet, and navy specks. The contrast was an eyesore, but a welcome one, as fans of both teams came together to celebrate Dimbleby’s final visit to Caerphilly.
“It’s a shame Dimbleby’s retiring at the end of this season,” said Oliver. “But he just turned forty-one, and with the oversaturation of great talent in the Chaser market, it’s probably the best time for him to put the ol’ broomstick away.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t play back in my day! He wouldn’t have made it to forty-one against those Beaters. Ah, those were the days.”
“We do look at the past with rose-tinted glasses, don’t we?”
by Maxim Trevelyan
"I don’t like this," Gary mumbled as he hesitantly took a paint brush between his fingers. Beside him, Maxim was vibrating with excitement next to him, so much so that some loose strands of his hair were rather blurry, his fingers slowly inching towards the paints in between them.
"Come on, Gary," Maxim stilled his shaking so that he could punch his friend on the shoulder. "It’s the easiest task. Paint something for Muggle Studies," he waved his hands. "I still vividly remember fingerpainting in kindergarten," Maxim smiled. "Although, there was more painting on each other than on the canvas," he thoughtfully looked at Gary.
"Don’t you dare," Gary threatened and after the professor gave them the green light, the boy started to put some paint on the palette. He wondered whether he could paint something from memory, or go with one of the objects, like the bowl of fruit, the mirror, or the vase. As a precaution, he also put on some gloves and safety glasses.
Maxim gave an offended look, his mirthful blue eyes contrasting with the emotion expressed on his face. He proceeded to dump an assortment of colors on his palette with some white for tinting. During the next ten minutes, Maxim started painting on the canvas, seemingly without a clear pattern.
"It looks like someone ate a chameleon and threw it back up on a piece of parchment," Gary pointed out, looking at Maxim’s work.
"Oh, hun, you’re just jealous that I’m finally better than you at something," Maxim grinned, lifting his safety glasses up on the top of his head. He gave Gary a pointed look. "It’s abstract," Maxim explained. "Like, the latest fashion in art."
"Still looks like it makes no sense," Gary mumbled and looked back at his creation where a mosaic of colors formed repeated circles on the paper.
"That’s the point!" Maxim exclaimed and mixed black with colors on his palette to get a few different shades. He flicked his paintbrush a few times at the canvas. "Modern Pollock, I am."
Gary was obviously struggling with the assignment, so Maxim waved his paintbrush at him. "Try a different hue," he pointed at the pear in the bowl of fruit. "Make it purple, or more saturated or something; don’t conform to the rules."
"I can’t believe I’m listening to your spiel about rule-breaking now," Gary murmured and added some weird blobs around the bowl.
"Even a broken clock is correct twice a day," Maxim winked and returned back to his work.
"I don’t like this," Gary mumbled as he hesitantly took a paint brush between his fingers. Beside him, Maxim was vibrating with excitement next to him, so much so that some loose strands of his hair were rather blurry, his fingers slowly inching towards the paints in between them.
"Come on, Gary," Maxim stilled his shaking so that he could punch his friend on the shoulder. "It’s the easiest task. Paint something for Muggle Studies," he waved his hands. "I still vividly remember fingerpainting in kindergarten," Maxim smiled. "Although, there was more painting on each other than on the canvas," he thoughtfully looked at Gary.
"Don’t you dare," Gary threatened and after the professor gave them the green light, the boy started to put some paint on the palette. He wondered whether he could paint something from memory, or go with one of the objects, like the bowl of fruit, the mirror, or the vase. As a precaution, he also put on some gloves and safety glasses.
Maxim gave an offended look, his mirthful blue eyes contrasting with the emotion expressed on his face. He proceeded to dump an assortment of colors on his palette with some white for tinting. During the next ten minutes, Maxim started painting on the canvas, seemingly without a clear pattern.
"It looks like someone ate a chameleon and threw it back up on a piece of parchment," Gary pointed out, looking at Maxim’s work.
"Oh, hun, you’re just jealous that I’m finally better than you at something," Maxim grinned, lifting his safety glasses up on the top of his head. He gave Gary a pointed look. "It’s abstract," Maxim explained. "Like, the latest fashion in art."
"Still looks like it makes no sense," Gary mumbled and looked back at his creation where a mosaic of colors formed repeated circles on the paper.
"That’s the point!" Maxim exclaimed and mixed black with colors on his palette to get a few different shades. He flicked his paintbrush a few times at the canvas. "Modern Pollock, I am."
Gary was obviously struggling with the assignment, so Maxim waved his paintbrush at him. "Try a different hue," he pointed at the pear in the bowl of fruit. "Make it purple, or more saturated or something; don’t conform to the rules."
"I can’t believe I’m listening to your spiel about rule-breaking now," Gary murmured and added some weird blobs around the bowl.
"Even a broken clock is correct twice a day," Maxim winked and returned back to his work.
by Prof. Tarma Amelia Black
The geese flew overhead, their wings graceful and strong. They saw, beneath them, the seasonal pond where they would occasionally stop, rest, and graze upon the grasses of the meadow. The vividness of the sky, shaded with tints of contrasting blue and red and scarlet and purple, mirrored the glass-like water of the large pond below them. A snake, no, it was a small brown chameleon, in a blurred move, reached the edge of the pond. Hesitating, looking around to make sure a predator was not present that might make it the next meal of the day, it approached the very point of water meeting land and waded in a few steps. Lapping at the water broke up the pattern of the mosaic of colours, each piece moving to form an entirely different repeating pattern, until the saturation of the whole turned the surface of the pond a blinding gold, then blue, then fashionable purple hue.
Meanwhile, overhead, a little further on their journey, the geese had made a decision to return to the pond. Honking their choice, flying strongly, they arrowed their way back to the pond, did a great spiraling circle, and gracefully, in a gliding sort of motion, lowered their flight to where they settled so softly onto the water that barely a splash was made or heard.
The chameleon, its thirst taken care of, quietly retreated to the shelter of the nearest bunch of wild rose bushes. While geese didn't usually eat lizards and such, they would sometimes eat insects. It was a small chameleon … and had no intention of being a meal for these lovely predators!
The geese flew overhead, their wings graceful and strong. They saw, beneath them, the seasonal pond where they would occasionally stop, rest, and graze upon the grasses of the meadow. The vividness of the sky, shaded with tints of contrasting blue and red and scarlet and purple, mirrored the glass-like water of the large pond below them. A snake, no, it was a small brown chameleon, in a blurred move, reached the edge of the pond. Hesitating, looking around to make sure a predator was not present that might make it the next meal of the day, it approached the very point of water meeting land and waded in a few steps. Lapping at the water broke up the pattern of the mosaic of colours, each piece moving to form an entirely different repeating pattern, until the saturation of the whole turned the surface of the pond a blinding gold, then blue, then fashionable purple hue.
Meanwhile, overhead, a little further on their journey, the geese had made a decision to return to the pond. Honking their choice, flying strongly, they arrowed their way back to the pond, did a great spiraling circle, and gracefully, in a gliding sort of motion, lowered their flight to where they settled so softly onto the water that barely a splash was made or heard.
The chameleon, its thirst taken care of, quietly retreated to the shelter of the nearest bunch of wild rose bushes. While geese didn't usually eat lizards and such, they would sometimes eat insects. It was a small chameleon … and had no intention of being a meal for these lovely predators!
by Sky Alton
It was all she could do not to smack her hand against the table and send the jewel bright pieces of glass flying every which way. But she didn’t want to spend hours repairing them with her wand… again. After days of trying to get the different hues and contrasts just right, her brain had reached saturation point. Her head was aching and her eyes itched and stung, making everything a blur.
She reached for the goblet of water, weighed it in her hand and upended it over her head. She’d hoped the cold would invigorate her, but now she was just wet and even more miserable. She’d been so excited that Hogwarts had finally listened to her about adding 'The Magic of Art' to the curriculum. Now she was feeling like an idiot. If she couldn’t fashion something truly magical to get her students excited about the subject in the first lesson, what good was she? If she just exhibited a common or garden portrait, she’d lose them within the first five minutes.
She stared down at the pattern again. It was all very nice, very orderly: a perfect mosaic, fit for any Roman to set their sandal on. The different shapes repeated in perfect symmetry. In desperation, she lifted her wand and tinted a few hexagons in the upper left hand corner a slightly darker red, then mirrored the change in the bottom right. It still left her cold. She shut her throbbing eyes.
The quality of the light behind her eyelids changed. She opened them cautiously and blinked at the bright bar of sunlight that was slanting through her office window, setting small sparkling fires in the hearts of her glass pieces. Morning already. It should have made her panic, but, instead, she cupped her chin.
Standing, she flourished her wand. The pieces lifted, like a vivid, flashing swarm of fireflies. She directed them to hover in front of the window. Their colours rippled and changed like a fantastic chameleon as she began to direct them into a new formation: mimicking the swirling shades and unpredictability of the sunrise.
It was all she could do not to smack her hand against the table and send the jewel bright pieces of glass flying every which way. But she didn’t want to spend hours repairing them with her wand… again. After days of trying to get the different hues and contrasts just right, her brain had reached saturation point. Her head was aching and her eyes itched and stung, making everything a blur.
She reached for the goblet of water, weighed it in her hand and upended it over her head. She’d hoped the cold would invigorate her, but now she was just wet and even more miserable. She’d been so excited that Hogwarts had finally listened to her about adding 'The Magic of Art' to the curriculum. Now she was feeling like an idiot. If she couldn’t fashion something truly magical to get her students excited about the subject in the first lesson, what good was she? If she just exhibited a common or garden portrait, she’d lose them within the first five minutes.
She stared down at the pattern again. It was all very nice, very orderly: a perfect mosaic, fit for any Roman to set their sandal on. The different shapes repeated in perfect symmetry. In desperation, she lifted her wand and tinted a few hexagons in the upper left hand corner a slightly darker red, then mirrored the change in the bottom right. It still left her cold. She shut her throbbing eyes.
The quality of the light behind her eyelids changed. She opened them cautiously and blinked at the bright bar of sunlight that was slanting through her office window, setting small sparkling fires in the hearts of her glass pieces. Morning already. It should have made her panic, but, instead, she cupped her chin.
Standing, she flourished her wand. The pieces lifted, like a vivid, flashing swarm of fireflies. She directed them to hover in front of the window. Their colours rippled and changed like a fantastic chameleon as she began to direct them into a new formation: mimicking the swirling shades and unpredictability of the sunrise.