It could be distorted and heavy, like smoke on the water, or crystalline and clear, an old rock riff. Sometimes it was rhythmic and bouncing, a little jazz, a little ska. Other times it was jagged and steel, full of metal. On slow days in the sun it was wood and steel across a hollow box. It was always fast hands and callused fingertips, counting frets and beats under his breath while someone else led, because he was all about the rhythm, not the melody. A little Brian Setzer, a little Kurt Cobain, some Buddy Holly and *hide, whatever he felt in the mood for, as long as his hands could handle it.
Tonight, under the stars as the wind shivered through the leaves, it would be Meg and Dia and Justin Nozuka and maybe, before he fell asleep, just a little John Denver.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Smoke in the Night
Smoke curled out of the darkness. It was dark, but not quiet. Screams echoed in the night, masses of people crowding the night. Some were crying, some staring, others stood in disbelief of what was happening. Men in uniform were trying to keep order, and not managing very well against the surges of humanity. Lights flashed in the darkness, partially lighting the night. Smoke billowed thicker,the crowd's noise increasing. crackling could be heard, increasing in volume. Blinding floodlights illuminated the area and the first chords were struck.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Waves of Grain
Rise and fall, rise and fall, sweep and slide, sweep and slide, a lulling, gentle, rocking rhythm. Tiny particles, white and weightless, drifted in the weight of the wind, but the rest of the surface remained rolling and rollicking. If he tipped his head back he could pause and enjoy the spray, the scent, the way it tickled his face.
If he stretched out a hand, he could feel each blade and frond graze his palms, and he could imagine a girl holding his hand.
And then his father would glare and he'd lift his scythe and fall to reaping once more.
If he stretched out a hand, he could feel each blade and frond graze his palms, and he could imagine a girl holding his hand.
And then his father would glare and he'd lift his scythe and fall to reaping once more.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Mr. White Keys
Keys, black and white, so many to choose from, so many right or wrong or perfect, some standing alone or some running in harmonious twos, threes. He stared, hesitant, nervous to touch but desperate to find out which combination was the one. There was a perfect combination, or so the stories went, and he had to find it.
The right set of keys would open the door to her heart, but he had to find them. It was going to take a lot of work. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work, picking keys, scribbling their names down on a piece of paper whenever he struck upon a combination that would work.
Even if this isn't the food of love, he thought, I'm going to be playing on.
The right set of keys would open the door to her heart, but he had to find them. It was going to take a lot of work. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work, picking keys, scribbling their names down on a piece of paper whenever he struck upon a combination that would work.
Even if this isn't the food of love, he thought, I'm going to be playing on.
Whispering...
Bending and swaying it dances in the slightest gust of air, bowing low only to spring up again. It can be increased to a roar or reduced to a whisper. It can be snuffed out, only to have it's kin revive it. The air practically shimmers near it's core. It would give off a pure tone if it could be heard. Primal and essential, it is a building block of our world.
(grr... Writers block)
(grr... Writers block)
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
In the Sun 'Tis a Woe to Me
It was blue in the sun and black in the shadows, sleek like silk and as light and flowing as a waterfall. He watched it move in the breeze, saw deft but absent fingers lay it straight, and he wished he dared get close enough to touch.
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the way it felt beneath his hands, the way it would smell as he leaned in, like strawberry or coconut.
Edna St. Vincent-Millay was right. In the sun ‘tis a woe to me. He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep on walking.
(101 words)
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the way it felt beneath his hands, the way it would smell as he leaned in, like strawberry or coconut.
Edna St. Vincent-Millay was right. In the sun ‘tis a woe to me. He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep on walking.
(101 words)
Bells on the Wind
Wind breezes through the night air, carrying music to the late night lovers. Delicate tones reverberate off of the walls of the wide balcony, each ping as soothing as the one before. All the notes are different, yet there is no discord in the music. There is no pattern to the music except the rustle of the tree branches outside. The notes blend randomly into a midnight serenade.
(Okay, a bit lame, but I was stuck...)
(Okay, a bit lame, but I was stuck...)
Monday, May 25, 2009
Play the Game
They trudged through the dungeon, motley assortment of weapons and armor slung over shoulders and cinched uncomfortably around ill-suited torsos. They were wary of each other, leery of backstabbing at any moment, of thieving and betrayal.
And then a door loomed ahead.
Someone said, "Kick it down."
No response.
"Kick it down, already. It's your turn, Chaz."
Chaz booted the door down with little enthusiasm. A small Mortal Kom Bat hovered, waiting to take him on. Chaz hefted his sword. "Anyone going to screw me over? Anyone? Anyone at all? I'm going to kill it in three, two, one..."
None of the others said a thing, and Chaz dispatched the creature quickly. He fished his reward off the pile with trepidation, and then the party erupted into laughter.
Someone said, "You should know better than to pick up a duck in a dungeon."
And then a door loomed ahead.
Someone said, "Kick it down."
No response.
"Kick it down, already. It's your turn, Chaz."
Chaz booted the door down with little enthusiasm. A small Mortal Kom Bat hovered, waiting to take him on. Chaz hefted his sword. "Anyone going to screw me over? Anyone? Anyone at all? I'm going to kill it in three, two, one..."
None of the others said a thing, and Chaz dispatched the creature quickly. He fished his reward off the pile with trepidation, and then the party erupted into laughter.
Someone said, "You should know better than to pick up a duck in a dungeon."
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Overview #27 - Characterization in an Instant
This was fun. I'd always told myself that's what makes people people, how they react in a given situation, and that's what sets people apart, the way they act so differently in the same situation, and I wanted to try that out. I knew pretty much how the brothers Summers would act, up until Bob. In my head Bob has always been the shy one - he hides behind his hair, never says much in interviews, but he was also the one picked to be a connection, and I realized that had to impact how he acts in emergency situations. I wasn't sure who the last two should be, but I was glad I chose Chase, because I'm essentially rewriting a lot of his character, and this was a good chance to see it. As for DJ - I honestly wasn't sure what he would do. Each of the Sector Five boys is homicidal in his own way. I think I chose DJ because it would have been too easy for Keith, Gabriel, and Angel, each of whom have ranged talents that wouldn't require them to even break free of their bonds. Christian has had enough love lately, and I'll confess that I don't have quite the hold on Tobias that I'd like. And DJ - DJ has his own brand of cruelty, and I wanted to try it out, because with the way Chadstone rolled on Other Haven I was a little dissatisfied with what he has in him. I wanted to make sure he still had it.
Project Assignment #28 - Description
This weeks project is to take an object, concrete or abstract, and to describe it. The object of this exercise is to convey the essence of the object or idea without naming it. The other writers should try to guess in their comments. Hopefully by the way it is described, it should be, if not obvious, at least easier to guess what it is. Let's have fun.
Lets limit it to 200 words.
Lets limit it to 200 words.
Overview #27: Characterization in an instant
I had fun this week working on each of the characters that had to deal with David's death. I must say this is the longest I have stuck with one universe, or the same characters. I have been enjoying discovering their personalities and their quirks.
I found that as I was working with them this week that often after I had written the piece that they decided to tell me more about what they were felling than they did at first. They like to hold out on me. Take Steve. Even as he wanted to keep the team together, I was not able to convey the deep sense of personal guilt on his part over David's death. He felt it was partly his fault. That in some way that he could have prevented it from happening.
I think i need to ponder more fully what is going on before I begin to write. This could greatly improve the consistency and quality of my writing. I think that on the whole that my writing has vastly improved since we began this project. I know my grammar is still probably lacking, but I plan on picking up a copy of the shrunk&white book.
I found that as I was working with them this week that often after I had written the piece that they decided to tell me more about what they were felling than they did at first. They like to hold out on me. Take Steve. Even as he wanted to keep the team together, I was not able to convey the deep sense of personal guilt on his part over David's death. He felt it was partly his fault. That in some way that he could have prevented it from happening.
I think i need to ponder more fully what is going on before I begin to write. This could greatly improve the consistency and quality of my writing. I think that on the whole that my writing has vastly improved since we began this project. I know my grammar is still probably lacking, but I plan on picking up a copy of the shrunk&white book.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Psychologist
Captain Laura Nelson sat at her desk considering the papers before her. She had been asked by Commander Hayes to evaluate the psychological state of the men in the late Major Cole's team. Flipping though the files again she read her notations. None of the men had been willing to talk to her at all, so what she knew she had gleaned from their behavior and minutely observing them in the aftermath of Major Cole's death.
First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood: Appears guilt ridden, trying to flee from reality. Drinking heavily, near exhaustion.
Second Lieutenant Brian Allard: Injured, refuses medication, some self destructive behavior
Second Lieutenant Mark Allard: Blames himself, puts on a good face for others but torn up inside.
Second Lieutenant Joseph Kendrick: Sees Major Cole's death as a reprise of his own brothers death, unwilling to deal with it.
Captain Nelson looked over her papers. She noted in the report a common thread of the men either not dealing with the loss or dealing with it in destructive ways.
Laura thought on the man that they had lost. David was bright and friendly when he opened up. A natural leader and teacher. He had advanced through the ranks swiftly after Commander Hayes had brought him to the base. His men had come to love and rely on him. She had not a doubt that each of them would have died in his stead. But she also knew David, knew that he would sacrifice himself rather than let any of his men die.
With regret Captain Nelson picked up her pen.
Recommend separation and reassignment due to risks of emotional and psychological damage to the personnel.
Laura hated what she was doing to them, but she had to think first of what was best for this command, for the base and for all the men here. Reluctantly Captain Nelson signed her name at the bottom of the paperwork and placed it in the out box. It would be delivered to the Commander first thing tomorrow morning.
Setting down her pen, Laura scooted her chair back from her desk and turned off the desk lamp before walking out the door.
First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood: Appears guilt ridden, trying to flee from reality. Drinking heavily, near exhaustion.
Second Lieutenant Brian Allard: Injured, refuses medication, some self destructive behavior
Second Lieutenant Mark Allard: Blames himself, puts on a good face for others but torn up inside.
Second Lieutenant Joseph Kendrick: Sees Major Cole's death as a reprise of his own brothers death, unwilling to deal with it.
Captain Nelson looked over her papers. She noted in the report a common thread of the men either not dealing with the loss or dealing with it in destructive ways.
Laura thought on the man that they had lost. David was bright and friendly when he opened up. A natural leader and teacher. He had advanced through the ranks swiftly after Commander Hayes had brought him to the base. His men had come to love and rely on him. She had not a doubt that each of them would have died in his stead. But she also knew David, knew that he would sacrifice himself rather than let any of his men die.
With regret Captain Nelson picked up her pen.
Recommend separation and reassignment due to risks of emotional and psychological damage to the personnel.
Laura hated what she was doing to them, but she had to think first of what was best for this command, for the base and for all the men here. Reluctantly Captain Nelson signed her name at the bottom of the paperwork and placed it in the out box. It would be delivered to the Commander first thing tomorrow morning.
Setting down her pen, Laura scooted her chair back from her desk and turned off the desk lamp before walking out the door.
Friday, May 22, 2009
And The Torch Went Out
“Now, pretty boy, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at DJ with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
She's a Great Kisser
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Chase with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Hayes get the news
Commander Hayes sat stunned in his office. Steve had just left to have his wounds tended in the infirmary after having told Hayes what had happened. Hayes was used to men not coming back from battle. He had lost many good men, men that he had trained, men that he had grown to respect. Of all the people that had died in the battles that had been waged across the world; the thought that David would not come home had never crossed his mind. David had seemed so strong. He knew that it would have been foolish to assume that David would never get hurt, but he was shocked all the same.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Better Liar
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Bob with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
AWOL Joe
Joe stood on the edge of the beach, staring out to sea, the wind fingering through his hair. Joe watched the sun set over the waves. It had been a week now since he had left the base; a week since David's funeral. It felt like he had walked around in a fog the week leading up to the funeral. The psychologist had tried to get him to talk. He had flatly refused.
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Canadian National
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Scott with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Fractured
Mark was hesitant to leave Brian's side in the hospital. He knew that Brian was in pain; both physically and mentally, but he was trying his best not to show it. Mark knew however. You can't hide anything from your twin.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Brian is Stuck
Brian was stuck in the hospital. He hated hospitals. He especially hated being in the hospital for something that could have been avoided if he were more careful. Brian looked down at his leg and over at his bandaged shoulder. He had taken a shot in the leg that had shattered the femur, and a shot thorough his shoulder; the bullet ripping clean through; just under his collar bone. Mark and Steve had carried him to safety.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)