Marshall Starkweather
Bio
I started writing when I was 13. At first it was an escape, but now, it is the gift that gave me my purpose. I dream of becoming a best-selling author. Reality isn't so bad when you're a page away from traveling to another dimension.
Stories (5/0)
What They See
1 INT. INTERCITY APARTMENT - MID-MORNING - CHICAGO, 1973 MARIE DAVITSON (25, MIXED FEMALE) lounges in an armchair, nose deep in a green book about the biography of Adolf Hitler. She licks her finger and thumb and turns the page. The phone, plugged into the wall and settled on the kitchen counter, rings. MARIE dog-ears the page of the book and gets up to pick up the phone.
By Marshall Starkweather17 days ago in Humans
Farsighted
Scene One INT. EMILY’S HOUSE - DAY Still camera shots of empty rooms, phone rings faintly in background. Emily Dellmark is found sitting at the end of the table, a 90s style, corded phone to the left of her. She lets it ring three times before picking it up.
By Marshall Starkweather11 months ago in Fiction
A Tradition
It was cold when I awoke in the late morning. I could smell breakfast, but even as my stomach growled, I snuggled deeper into the cozy blankets and sighed contently. But, then I remembered another fact: Adrien and his family were right next door! My pulse increased excitedly and I knew that going back to sleep wasn’t an option. So, I quickly threw on some clothes, put up my hair, and headed toward the bathroom.
By Marshall Starkweather11 months ago in Fiction
The Velaeiyus
It was like any other spring day. The sun was shining, the air was warm with a slight breeze, and the Elizabethtown Track Team was back at it again with another week of workouts. Feet pounded on the track, solid 8 pounders sank into the grass, and bodies hit the mats with a heavy intensity. A dual meet was coming up in a couple of days, so the team was being pushed close to the breaking point. The weather, though, was gracious, as it aided the athletes’ strong pace with a relieving breeze. Amongst the demanding calls of each coach and the harshly breathing competitors, everything seemed to hold in a steadfast manor.
By Marshall Starkweather11 months ago in Futurism