Writing [Voice] Rain


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Boss (situational)
Color #
The objective of [Voice] exercises is to write in your character's voice.

  • Write a story in first person, your character narrates this story
  • Use the five indicated words
  • Any form of the word is allowed, including compound words (ex: rain, raining, rainfall)
  • rain
  • abstract
  • great
  • garden
  • forbidden


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Known Aliases
Patt, Patts, Petite, Amber Cecelia Argos, Valkyrie
Color #
During uni, took a field trip to the National Gallery in London. This dude in his 60s started talking about how abstract art, for the "uninitiated" was like some kind of forbidden garden.

He was showing off 'Rain, Steam and Speed' by J. M. W. Turner. He said it was a great masterpiece of symbolism, and to note the hare running along the tracks at the bottom right.

I stared at that painting, and nothing. But while the group was moving on, I saw a little white rabbit with pink ears hopping along the track. And then I was like, oh my god! Why didn't he say it was a fuzzy white bunny!? Art snobs.


little red riding hood ? v.i.l.e.
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Little red riding hood
Color #
I run in the garden during a heavy rainstorm.
The great thunder roars loudly
It’s forbidden to play in a rain storm
Abstract I would be to not do what I am doing
Because it’s an obsession to splash in puddles of mine
I proably will get sick later this afternoon

Joe Kerr

VILE Trickster
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Joey, Joseph,
Color #
Looking out the watchtower windows, I silently observe the rain; its rhythm has always been inexplicably calming to me.

Beyond the soggy silhouette of the town I can barely make out the great forest that surrounds us. It reminds me of a story the old nuns used to tell; of a garden at the beginning of creation, of the tree of forbidden fruit.

Abstract ideas of its appearance and taste dance in my mind; not for the first time i find myself wondering what if I'd been there, would I have made the same choice to open Pandora's box? would it really have been worth it all?


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Known Aliases
Ivory, Victorique, V
Color #
Greatness was often an abstract concept for myself. Those who came before me always led in one way or another, be they king, politician, head of a crime ring, or preacher.
I, however persuasive I may be, had an aversion to crowds.
I could not see myself in front of any number of people and ask them to follow me through the cold, the wet, the rain, the harsh and dreary, and expect myself to be considered great by them.
I would rather hide in some labyrinthine garden, spending all the while seeking knowledge; almost to fisticuffs with the briars over some forbidden path to a yet unexplored trove of ideas.
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For as far back as I can remember, I have always liked the rain.
There is really nothing abstract about it.

A light rain, in the morning, gives me a good excuse to be a little "lazy" to start my day later
napping with cats, talking with family and friends

A moderate, steady rain is always appreciated in my small, rural, idyllic hometown in Ohio, by people who like to plant gardens of vegetables and flowers; and in a town where much of our industry is still linked to agriculture, by farmers, who grow crops such as hay, for livestock and corn, that can be enjoyed by animals and humans, alike.

But, I have always enjoyed the storm, too.
Most of the time, it arrives as it was forecast, days earlier, with constant updates, and dire predictions of it expected impact; and numerous warnings to be prepared for any possibility while at the same time, we are always cautioned not to venture out for any reason; although noone can really forbid you from doing it.

But, I have always liked the fast-moving storm,
with no announcement of its arrival
except some loud rumbles of thunder
and bright, hot bursts of white and blue lightning
that light up the sky
making certain I have candles, and matches, and flashlights ready
And then the power goes out, and I know there's nothing I can do, for a while anyway
but sit in the dark; but it doesn't scare me; in fact, I like it
I see it as a reminder that we, human beings, who think we are so smart,
have not conquered nature, as we think we have, that a greater power is at work.

But, then the next day, I will look out the window, and I see the shutters that were blown off the house; the pieces of the board blown off the fence; the tree limbs in front yard; the creek in the backyard, overflowing its banks a little. Then, later, I turn on the TV and I see the aftermath of the storm for all the towns, cities and suburbs, that as the crow flies, really aren't that far from us, that suffered much greater damage, with epic flooding, where people lost everything; and I feel guilty.

So, I keep it to myself; because I know not everyone will understand why I love the rain.


Canine Unit
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Alice, Lou, "Strength",Luce, Rini
Although it was raining and I was tired, I decided to visit the gorgeous garden. I had not been there for over a month, so It was with great anticipation that I approached the entrance. When I got there I was saddened for it was now forbidden to go there. Luckily I felt like wandering around that day, for I had not see the rest of the area and I came across a place with abstract art.

Claire Yeon

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Color #
Monsoon season reminded us of its presence - as if we could have forgotten - in the staccato beat of raindrops against the glass of the third-floor conference room at the Marina Bay Sands. Even if the day had been clear, there was not much to see from our vantage point other than the glass and concrete of the next tower over. The view from rooftop garden was, they assured me, worth every minute of the nineteen-hour flight, rain or not. On a day like today, though, whatever abstract visions existed beyond the plane of perception were elusive as ever, and I could not escape that room soon enough.

“First time in Singapore?”

The unfamiliar voice came from a few feet behind and to the left. When I turned, I saw that it belonged to a young man. He was my age, perhaps a few years older; good-looking, though not exceptionally so, with dark hair long enough to tuck behind his ears and a smile that, judging by the creases at the corners of his eyes, came easily and often. His navy suit and tie matched several others in the room, most of whom were engaged in conversation with the other members of my contingent. He carried two glasses of champagne, and as he held one out to me, I recognized the lion-and-orchid crest on his cuff links as the logo of the firm whose prospective clients were the reason we came to this party in the first place. So, he had come to schmooze with the one member of the New York delegation who was as yet unattached. I didn't know what he hoped to gain by it, but for the sake of that rare vintage, I was willing to find out.

“Yes,” I answered, accepting the glass. He touched his flute to mine before tilting its contents toward his lips, and I mirrored his movements. Whatever his intentions may be, it was great champagne, and that fact was not one to be overlooked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words made it out, another navy-suited man appeared at his side. “Lan Huan,” the newcomer growled, his expression decidedly less friendly than my new friend’s.

An apologetic smile replaced whatever statement Lan Huan meant to make, and he raised his glass. “Not the last, I hope,” he said, and followed the intruder into the sea of strangers.

I found myself smiling back, and could not help but wonder just how forbidden fraternizing with the competition was.

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