Storygram #110
He was certain that he’d already lost at least two toes to frostbite, and a finger wasn’t responding. But he had to make it to the bunker, wherever it was hiding in the white blanket before him.
Storygram #109
It was his first decree when he became the new king of Corlinia: The doors shall be open for everyone, always. If the king was not away on business or sleeping, he could be found perched on his throne, waiting.
Storygram #108
The fog was beautiful to her—a sheet of white silk draped over the land to soothe it to sleep. She understood why some people didn’t like it, though. It conceals and creates an unknown. Everyone is afraid of the unknown.
Storygram #107
The bell tower chimed for its midday fill of admiration from the busy streets below. Everyone stopped in their tracks to gaze at it, as was their custom. But the tower was rarely the subject of their murmurs.
Storygram #106
I stand under the only solar powered light that hasn’t died yet. My rendezvous with Perry always occurs at this spot but at random times and intervals. Otherwise, taker scouts might follow us.
Storygram #105
The living room was lit only by the faint glow of a TV. He was sound asleep on the couch, where his exhaustion had triumphed over his will to get in bed, as it did every night. It wasn’t until the TV went to silent static that he awoke.
Storygram #104
He fumbled with the keys on his keychain, trying to function without having had his morning coffee yet. When the correct key presented itself, he pushed it into the lock and felt the tumblers give way to its force.
Storygram #103
The sounds of the city streets were the only things keeping him awake. The constant revving of the cars, the yelling vendors, the construction hammers—he needed all of them after his early morning job, a full day of classes, and this job, which wouldn’t be over until nine o’clock.
Storygram #102
Mike shoved him over to the freezer and made him open it. Inside were rows upon rows of frozen creatures, each no bigger than Mike’s fist. “I’m sorry, Mike. But business was down, and everyone loves these things.”
Storygram #101
We live nestled into the safety of the mountains. My little brother and I have never seen the world outside of our cove, but Mom says there’s no reason to care about what’s out there anyway.
Storygram #100
In the home of William Oliver Knox, there were no city lights to stream through the windows and no busy streets to fill the air with noise. At night his home did its best to eradicate the safety of human companionship.
Storygram #99
The fog was barreling towards her like a train. It had no smiling engineer or delighted passengers—only a lust for death. Attempting to escape it would be futile, so she stood there, waiting. Just off the road, a doe watched her—its eyes pleading with her to run.
Storygram #98
Sometimes at night, it’s quiet enough to hear the cries of the souls that float along the surface. A woman’s soul once asked me, “Please, tell my son I’m sorry,” as she bobbed past. But no one can help them.
Storygram #97
He was running as fast as his damaged leg would allow him to, but they were still gaining on him. The wires hanging out of his shin kept snagging on tall grass, slowing him down even more. A bullet whizzed by his ear.
Storygram #96
As he walked, his ears began to detect a second set of footsteps. When he stopped, they stopped a couple of steps late. He repeated the procedure enough times to confirm that someone was following him but didn’t want to be known.
Storygram #95
I can never go back to the city, but my mind is still encased in its mortar, my heart pumping to its fast paced rhythm. However, out here, living in the hills, my lungs can breathe. I had never realized how hard it was to breathe before.
Storygram #94
In the woods he could be a king, ordering his knights to cut down the rabble that spoke ill of his young reign. He could be a soldier, like his father, fighting for the freedom of his fellow countrymen, hiding in trenches and spying on the enemy.
Storygram #93
At first they were just showers—normal storms. They were wonderful for playing in the rain or taking a peaceful afternoon nap. But then, they didn’t stop.
Storygram #92
The trades are never avoidable. We can dodge them. We can narrowly escape their grasp, but they always catch up to us at some point. It begins with one slip up.
A Filmmaking Heart To Heart
The level of professionalism a film reaches is directly correlated with the amount of time the professional spends making it and the team he or she has.