ㅁ Kiamon boarded the tram in the morning; No one had offered her much of a warning. Mist over snow, all half melted and gray, Slowly she started unfolding her day.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Part of a never-ending series of randomized snippets from the life of a fictional being in a fictional world (which is to say, my novel-in-progress that refuses to actually ever progress).
ㅁ Kiamon looked the world as it was. Deeply dismayed, she then wanted to pause. Stopping was out, though. Her enemies hunted. She watched the snow. Sighed. They'd all be confronted.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Part of the continuing stochastic snapshots from life of the fictional being, Kiamon..
ㅁ Kiamon pondered the point of the game. Seemingly, all of the turns were the same. First she'd get caught, after which she'd escape. Villains would chase, like a repeating tape.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Part of the continuing chaotic snapshots from life of the fictional being, Kiamon.
ㅁ Kiamon stood by the side of the road... feelings were grim, and the gray skies had snowed. Nobody stopped to assist her. The cars kept zooming past with their tail-lights like stars.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon never could disregard signs showing conspiracies, visable lines, tracing connections between sundry groups. Gazing at traffic, she pondered these loops.
– a quatrain in a dactylic tetrameter. A nonsequential snapshot into a fictional being’s life.
ㅁ Kiamon noted the grim atmosphere. Several looked up. She could understand fear. No one, however, decided to fight. Here she would stay, on edge for the night.
– a quatrain in a dactylic tetrameter. The nonsequential snapshots into this fictional being’s life continue.
ㅁ Kiamon couldn't forgive herself, then. Warm, springlike weather was rampant, again. She'd been upset at a stranger's request; Lurking anxiety'd made her quite stressed.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. One of a series of chronologically random quatrains about the protagonist of a novel I never make much progress on.
ㅁ Snow had arrived, and was thick on the ground. Trees were stripped bare. The town's streets had no sound. Kiamon trudged from the dingy motel, Facing her fate, her thick coat like a shell.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon noted the rats by the grate. Sunset had passed, and the time had grown late. Streetcars were scarce. A dull mist filled the air. Facing her future, she muttered a prayer.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. This is yet another random snippet from the life of Kiamon, a fictional being in an imaginary world.
ㅁ Kiamon left her old daydreams behind, knowing at this point she'd best clear her mind. Sneaking suspicions took root in her brain: people were plotting a hidden campaign.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon challenged the facts that she found; someone'd created them, spread them around. Lacking in proofs, she just studied the clues, finding strange holes in the logic of news.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. The continuing ruminations of a fictional character, Kiamon.
ㅁ Kiamon woke from her dreams with a start. Somehow she'd lost herself inside some art: paintings her grandmother'd done long ago, cabins in forests and wide fields of snow.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon dreamed that the mountains had crashed stones tumbling down so the road was all smashed; workers had come to repair what they could. Dawn showed its hand: gravel fill, shattered wood.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon struggled to understand things. Clues were provided: short, causal strings. Still, the essentials eluded her grip. Outside, the rain pushed a slow, steady drip.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon knew that she'd face things alone, setting her jaw, with her face made of stone. Fragments of snow still polluted the town, winter still ruled and the trees were still brown.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon walked down the path in the wood, looking for signs of the past, if she could, hoping to find some small, relevant clue. No simple answers appeared. What to do?
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. The continuing saga of Kiamon, a fictional being.
ㅁ Kiamon went out and into the wood hoping the time off would do her some good; but she discovered the ghosts living there, calling her name and distorting the air.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ The rails bestrode the busy street; the trolley made its way. The lake beyond was torn by wind: a sketch drawn green and gray.
– a quatrain in ballad meter. The setting here is the imaginary city of Ohunkagan, in the Ragged Point neighborhood south of downtown.
ㅁ Kiamon made an attempt to control feelings and impulses roiling her soul; but in the end she gave up and just sighed somehow the will in her body had died.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Not-A-Wolf tested the ground with his feet: icy, and gaining a layer of sleet. Nevertheless, he decided to move. Soldiers were coming. He'd something to prove.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Not-A-Wolf is Kiamon’s great-great-great-great-grandfather.
ㅁ Rosalie laid out the cards that she'd made; winter, outside, sculpted snow and conveyed endings to things that she hadn't yet schemed: Kiamon's name came to her as she dreamed.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter. Rosalie is Kiamon’s great-great-grandmother, and Not-A-Wolf’s granddaughter.
ㅁ Kiamon dwelt in the house by the shore, built by her grandmother's mother, before; lately she'd taken to sitting alone, there by the trees on an outjutting stone.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon counted the times she had tried, Each time as if she had somehow just died. Now here she was, trying once more, again, Still she compelled herself: think where she'd been.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon dreamed that the wind was her friend, Happy to blow through a life near its end. Waking she realized she wasn't yet dead; rising, she went out to see where things led.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon sat and considered her slump: nothing moved forward, she just was a lump. Nevertheless things would brighten, she thought. Then she would finally find what she sought.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon watched as a raven took wing, pondering just what engendered this thing. Doubts seemed to flee as she hardened her soul, knowing she'd finally take on the role.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon never considered the fact: others disliked her avoidance of tact; personally she just viewed it as truth... slightly heroic, to be so uncouth.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon drifted along in a daze; life had become an ineffable maze, endlessly throwing up difficult games, sending on detours her previous aims.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon struggled to bring it together. All of the clues were piled up like the weather; when you see storm clouds all laden with rain, moody and dark, premonitions of pain.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon sat and gazed out at the fog: seemed she was facing a bit of a slog. Not so much bodily as with her mind; somehow she had to escape from this bind.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon yielded to sleep's dull caress. What they had said had all failed to impress. Nothing she knew was in fact making sense: she'd have to wait now for future events.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon felt slightly positive then, still at a loss as to exactly when winds would begin to die down for a while, ghosts would at last pause a bit, give a smile.
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
ㅁ Kiamon barely remembered her name. Trying but failing, she'd ended the game. Tired and broken, she needed to rest. So her antagonist gloated, "I'm best!"
– a quatrain in dactylic tetrameter.
