Author's Note: These are a bunch of imitations I did in Creative Writing class.
Expectedly, most of them are written from the point of view of one of the the Gundam Pilots.
I'm not telling which. Some of them are obvious, like when the particular person is playing
a violin or flute. Other passages are meant to be whatever pilot you think fits best.
Conrad Imitation
I approach the rolling hills. I can see the marble gravestones that cover the lucious green
hills even from this distance; the yellow-green blades dance in the wind while the stone
markers stand, reminders of the mortality I myself possess. I push the gate with my hand,
the corroded wood a sensation that is all too familiar to me, the chipping brown paint a
familiar sight. I walk the path, loose gravel kicked up by my shuffling feet, glinting in
the afternoon sun and falling to the ground again. The sun shines brightly in the cloudless
sky, warming my face and calming my fears. The pain of loss tugs at my heart as the
gravemarker I seek becomes visible to my eyes, the sweet aroma of the grass masking the
smell of death and decay; I kneel next to the slab of stone, the scent of freshly mowed
grass heavy in the air, rivaled only by the scent of flowers. He was my life. I will forever
remember the way he looked upon me, with such love in his eyes, a broken promise of the
future we now can never share.
Hemingway Imitation
Mid-afternoon of a summer day I am at my house in the backyard where the sound of music drifts
through the air. The music from my violin is clear and peaceful and it drifts lazily on the
calm summer breeze, the bow moving fluidly over the strings. Another melody disturbs my own and
overpowers the sounds of the violin. I pause in my playing and look for the source, finally
seeing the flute and its player and I join in his tune and we play togeter, the instruments
having remarkable harmony, the notes mixing beautifully and rising to a cresendo and finally
the song ends and we rest as the music lingers in the summer air.
Steinbeck Imitation
The sun slowly begins to sink towards the horizon and the clouds seem to move with it, floating
down after the orange orb. On the balcony of a nearby house the blonde teenager sits still as a
statue and watches with awe. His features seem to glow in the changing light of the sunset-features
that are usually so pale are suddenly tinged with pink and orange. Just inside the house there
is the movement of other people; occasionally one comes to the window to chek on the statue-
like boy, only to move away again and disappear like a shadow in fading light. The distinct smell of
a summer day rises into the air. It is the smell of flowers and a home-cooked meal and fresh
grass and fruit. Summer always has that smell. The boy sits still in his chair as the summer
smell and sunset surround him; no sound disturbs him. Perhaps the wildlife, like the boy, is
too much at peace to disturb the scene with any shock of noise.
Expectedly, most of them are written from the point of view of one of the the Gundam Pilots.
I'm not telling which. Some of them are obvious, like when the particular person is playing
a violin or flute. Other passages are meant to be whatever pilot you think fits best.
Conrad Imitation
I approach the rolling hills. I can see the marble gravestones that cover the lucious green
hills even from this distance; the yellow-green blades dance in the wind while the stone
markers stand, reminders of the mortality I myself possess. I push the gate with my hand,
the corroded wood a sensation that is all too familiar to me, the chipping brown paint a
familiar sight. I walk the path, loose gravel kicked up by my shuffling feet, glinting in
the afternoon sun and falling to the ground again. The sun shines brightly in the cloudless
sky, warming my face and calming my fears. The pain of loss tugs at my heart as the
gravemarker I seek becomes visible to my eyes, the sweet aroma of the grass masking the
smell of death and decay; I kneel next to the slab of stone, the scent of freshly mowed
grass heavy in the air, rivaled only by the scent of flowers. He was my life. I will forever
remember the way he looked upon me, with such love in his eyes, a broken promise of the
future we now can never share.
Hemingway Imitation
Mid-afternoon of a summer day I am at my house in the backyard where the sound of music drifts
through the air. The music from my violin is clear and peaceful and it drifts lazily on the
calm summer breeze, the bow moving fluidly over the strings. Another melody disturbs my own and
overpowers the sounds of the violin. I pause in my playing and look for the source, finally
seeing the flute and its player and I join in his tune and we play togeter, the instruments
having remarkable harmony, the notes mixing beautifully and rising to a cresendo and finally
the song ends and we rest as the music lingers in the summer air.
Steinbeck Imitation
The sun slowly begins to sink towards the horizon and the clouds seem to move with it, floating
down after the orange orb. On the balcony of a nearby house the blonde teenager sits still as a
statue and watches with awe. His features seem to glow in the changing light of the sunset-features
that are usually so pale are suddenly tinged with pink and orange. Just inside the house there
is the movement of other people; occasionally one comes to the window to chek on the statue-
like boy, only to move away again and disappear like a shadow in fading light. The distinct smell of
a summer day rises into the air. It is the smell of flowers and a home-cooked meal and fresh
grass and fruit. Summer always has that smell. The boy sits still in his chair as the summer
smell and sunset surround him; no sound disturbs him. Perhaps the wildlife, like the boy, is
too much at peace to disturb the scene with any shock of noise.