Daydreaming

Every time Clay closed his eyes, he could see her, feel her. The best part of waking up was that first indrawn breath when he could smell the lingering traces of her perfume on the pillow beside his. He’d wait just inside the door, checking his watch every two seconds, eager for her to come home, and as soon as she was through the door he’d slam it shut, press her against it and kiss her breathless.

She’d laugh softly into the kiss and run her fingers through his hair, cradle him close, and he would smile. He loved the moment of completion he felt as soon as she was in his arms, because while she was gone he was only half a self, broken and faded, but as soon as she was with him he was himself again, and he could breathe.

“I love you,” he would whisper in her ear, and she’d whisper it right back.

He’d lean down and nip playfully at her collarbone, dart sly fingers at the buttons on her blouse, and she’d bat his hands away, giggle.

“If you’re going to be like that, we need a bed,” she’d said, and he’d pull back, tug her by the wrist, lead her back toward the bedroom. They’d tumble onto the sheets, a twining of limbs and a meeting of mouths, and --

A shoe connected sharply with his ankle.

Dan shot him a look.

Bob arched an eyebrow.

Scott made a rude gesture below Carolyn’s eye-level to imply that he knew precisely what Clay had been thinking about.

Carolyn cleared her throat pointedly. “If you want to pass your next geography test, you need to know this,” she said.

Clay ducked his head, penitent.

Later, when Shelley had relieved Carolyn of her schoolmistress duties, Dan said,

“You really have to stop spacing out like that. It’s gonna show in your grades, and Dad will get mad.”

Clay was quite sure that his father would be the least of his problems if the others knew what he day-dreamed about.

(344 words)

Two Types of Pain

"Are you finished with your applications yet?" David asked as he leaned in Ariana's doorway, "they're due tomorrow by nine in the morning."

"Ummm..."

"Ari," David sighed, "I though you said you were going to get it done by tonight so that we could go out."

"Now when you say finished, do you mean done done, or just sort of done?" Ariana asked, a blush infusing her face.

"Done, done, Ari. As in finished, complete, nothing left to do," David said as he rolled his eyes at her.

Ariana stood up from her desk, "It can get done later. I swear it will be finished by tomorrow," she said as she got ready to go out.

David shook his head, "no, Ari. We're not going until you are finished."

"But this is the last night of the Comet," Ariana pouted.

"There are two types of pain," David said in return, "the pain of discipline and the pain of regret. Now, it will hurt to have to miss out on the comet to do your college applications, but it will hurt less than the pain of regret when tomorrow comes and you are not done and you don't get accepted to the school you want."

Ariana slumped in defeat, "alright, I'll get them done," she said.

"That's my girl," David said as he embraced her and dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth, "procrastination is a terrible habit.

On the Papasan

Bob knew he slept too much. These days it was easier than listening to his father and Shelley yell at each other. It was easier than standing around talking to his brothers and turning to share a joke with Dan, only to realize he wasn’t there.

The best place in the world was on the papasan chair shoved into the corner of the den. He was getting a little too tall for it, but if he curled up on his side in a teeny tiny ball he fit, as if cupped in the palm of giant hand, and he could sleep.

All he had to do was wait till no one was looking, slip into the den, curl up, and fling an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Shelley and his mother let it go, murmuring about how much the ‘illness’ was taking out of him. Bob liked to think he was finally catching up on seventeen years’ worth of sleep deficit from touring all the time.

The best way to nap was to crawl up onto the papasan while Clay was there and curl up behind him, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel the reassuring warmth of his presence, and listen while he practiced his bass softly. Without the amp, all he could hear was the rhythmic twang of the strings, but it was lulling, gentle. It was better when Clay hummed under his breath, a counterpoint to the beat.

Bob liked it when he woke up and Clay was still playing.

(260 words)

Stubborn to a Fault

"Take a rest Mark," Steve said. There was still six miles left to camp and the sun was going down. It was just Mark and Steve out for a run.

"Come on, we can make it to camp before night if we keep going," Mark said, he didn't sit down as indicated by his superior officer.

"You are on the verge of collapse already," Steve noted in a dry tone, "take a rest and we will get to camp when we get there, an hour after sunset, no more."

"I don't need to rest Sir. I can make it," Mark said.

"Just sit down for a few moments."

"I can make it. There is no need to coddle me."

"I'm not. You won't make it if you keep pushing yourself."

"I know I can make it back before sunset."

"And if you pass out once you are there? Then what?"

"Sir..."

"Just sit down Allard. Take a breather for twenty and then we will be on our way."

Mark still didn't sit down.

"Do I have to make that an order Allard?"

"No Sir," Mark said as he sat down at last, "but I still think I could have made it."

Can't Move On.

"Are you going to come with us tonight Boss?" Steve asked as he straitened his collar in the mirror. He knew what the answer would be before he asked, but he wanted to offer anyway.

David didn't even look up from where he was working at the table, "No, but you men have fun," he said.

"Come on Boss, just once. Come out for the night. It's not like the paperwork is going to disappear in the few hours we'll be gone," Steve said.

David looked up at last at his subordinate officer. He could see the worry in his eyes. He glanced down at the papers on the table and sighed, "alright," he agreed.

Steve broke into a wide grin, "It will be great!" he said as he clapped David on the shoulder.

David stood up from the table and walked to his room where he flicked on the light. He looked in his closet and pulled out a slightly dusty dress shirt and a pair of slacks; these he brushed off and quickly changed into.

David was the last out the door. The soon arrived at the club and the others split off to their various pursuits; Bryan and Mark to the dance floor and Joe to a poker table.

Steve hung back with David, wanting to introduce him to some of the regular people that he knew. His eyes brightened as they fell on Loreena. Perfect, he thought to himself. He gestured to Loreena to come over.

Steve watched her approach and thought of the possibilities for David. Loreena was a petite blond woman with delicate features and porcelain skin. She was clad in a simple black dress that fell to just above her knees.

"David, this is Loreena," he nodded at the pretty woman, "Loreena, this is David, he's my commanding officer," Steve said, making the introductions.

Loreena smiled an offered her hand to David who shook it firmly, "It's nice to finally meet you David. Steve has mentioned you frequently."

A smile ghosted across David's face, a smile that didn't quite warm his eyes. "It's nice to meet you too," he said.

"Would you like to dance?" Loreena asked.

David was about to decline when Steve nudged him discreetly. "Alright," David said and held out a hand to her.

*****************************************

David sighed as he closed the front door, it was after midnight and he still had work to do. He shouldn't have gone to the club.

"So, did you have fun?" Steve asked as he poked his head around the corner.

David paused before answering, "Yes. I did enjoy myself," he said.

Steve grinned, "so are you going to see her again? I know that she liked you."

"No," David said as he hung up his jacket, "no I won't be seeing her again."

Steve's face creased with puzzlement, "why not? It's not like you're married or anything," he said.

"You wouldn't understand," David said as he walked past Steve towards his desk.

Steve perched on the edge of the desk as David began to work. After a few moments of silence; broken only by the faint rustle of papers and the infinitesimal click of the pen, Steve finally asked, "is this about Ariana?"

David's head jerked up, shock written on his face, "how do you know about that?" he demanded.

Steve hesitated before pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to David. "This landed at my feet about a month ago," he said.

David swallowed hard. He knew what this was even before he unfolded it. His hands shook as he held the letter that he had sent heavenward.

"I think that she would want you to move on," Steve said quietly.

David's eyes flashed to the younger mans face, fire darting about in those dark eyes. "I can't," he said as he pushed back the chair roughly.

"Why?" Steve asked to David's turned back, a back that was tense with pent up emotion. It was almost a whisper, pleading to have it explained.

"Because I still love her," David said, his voice no louder than Steve's.

Steve shook his head as David stalked out the door towards his bedroom.

David knew that he could never love another. He knew that he couldn't move on. That was the reality of his life. And he would not give up on that, because without her, he was nothing.

(okay, I know this one ran kinda long, but here it is nevertheless.)

A Little Pain

It was like a hot spark across his skin, followed by an icy-cool aftershock to dull the pain. Then adrenaline cranked through his veins, rushing to fill his limbs and his mind with lightning energy.

Scott eased his fingertips away from the burn and straightened up.

Carolyn stood in a high fighting stance, fists up to guard her core, but she was watching him, concerned.

“Did I hit too hard? I can pull my hits.”

Scott bit his lip and felt the old burns on his hip flare, but he shook his head. “No holding back. I want a black belt, and I’m willing to work for it.”

“All right.” Carolyn’s gaze went oddly blank - Dan said it was Zen - and then she was in his space, kicking and striking, almost too fast for him to see. Each contact was a fresh blossom of pain against his ribs, his chest, his upper arms, and he hoped he bruised, but he attacked her right back, meeting strike for strike and block for block.

Carolyn was better than all of them, and they knew it, but Scott refused to give up.

Until she had him facedown on the mat, arm twisted up behind his back, and he had to tap out.

“That was good,” Carolyn said. “You’re getting better, but you’re still walking a fine line. You used to overthink, but now I think you’re not focusing quite enough.”

Scott nodded, shook her hand and bowed. “Thanks.” He checked his watch. “I better go shower and change for soundcheck.”

Carolyn nodded. “Go on - I got the mats.”

* * *

Scott showered under too-hot water, cranked up the pressure to high and felt the needle-sting of pounding water against his fresh wounds. He slid a hand up to his ribs and pressed, felt the new bruises there, and he had to bite his lip so he didn’t make a sound. The fresh rush of adrenaline and agony made him dizzy.

Every now and again, he just wanted a little pain.

Gotta Dance

Bryan buried his head in his pillow when the sunlight reached his eyes, Mark had pulled up the shades again when he got up. Bryan couldn't fathom how Mark could enjoy getting up before dawn, and yet he did. Every morning.

Bryan tried to succumb to sleep again, desperately seeking that nirvana of oblivion where he didn't have to think to much. It had been a late night last night, in fact, so had all the nights for the last week and a half. When the sun went down, it was like electricity started coursing through his body and Bryan just had to get out; had to relieve all the pent up energy and passions. Almost every night this week Bryan had hit the clubs; occasionally accompanied by on of the others, but mostly by himself. He never sought out anybody there, preferring to dance. And dance he did. Shifting styles as the music shifted. Bumping and grinding, swaying to a smooth jazz rift, or jumping up on a box and whipping off his shirt for the heck of it.

"You know, you wouldn't be so tired in the morning if you dragged yourself home at a reasonable hour," Mark said as he walked into the room, towel wrapped about his waist and freshly showered after his morning run.

"Can't help it," Bryan mumbled from under his pillow, "gotta dance." Bryan groaned as visions of Gene Kelley in a tux danced through his thoughts.

The Internet Is For...

The problem with the Internet, Carolyn decided, was that she could find anything on there. Anything.

Including, say, old videos of Four Times Summers that she’d never known existed. Sure, music videos were a dime a dozen, and more than once she and Melanie had indulged in nostalgia over videos on YouTube, but one day, between classes, Carolyn had ventured further and found...video heaven.

As much as the Agency was something of an omniscient entity, the one thing they could never fully wrangle was cyberspace, and Carolyn was taking advantage of the fact that old concert footage on YouTube would barely ding on the terrorist radars.

It was easy to find a playlist that had all every single song in setlist triggered to automatically play, two hours of music all in a row, and Carolyn would listen while she read. While she wrote. While she squabbled with Brad over MSN Messenger about the difference between a buyer in the ordinary course and a buyer in good faith.

Melanie didn’t care, because as far as she was concerned, a girl could never get enough Four Times Summer.

Brad noticed it first when he stopped by Carolyn’s study nook.

“Is that girl headbanging?” he asked.

Carolyn glanced at her laptop, which was open beside her on the couch. “Yes and no.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” Brad arched an eyebrow.

Carolyn set her highlighters down on her open textbook to mark her place “Girl no, headbanging yes.”

Brad leaned over and peered at the screen. “Looks like a girl.”

“He was fifteen at the time. Give him a break.” Carolyn scooped up her highlighters again, the gesture pointed.

“He looks kinda familiar,” Brad conceded. “Like - oh no. You’re not a crazy Four Time Summers fangirl like Melanie, are you?”

“Crazy, no, fangirl, yes,” Carolyn said primly.

Brad shrugged. “Happy studying.”

* * *

“Are you working?” Donna asked.

Carolyn hit a button on her keyboard and the video on the screen paused. “Did you need something?”

Donna arched an eyebrow at the video. “Rock concert during office hours?”

“Makes for a good soundtrack while I hammer out this brief,” Carolyn said. She studied Donna’s expression, waiting for derision or amusement, but she saw neither.

“You used to listen to their nonsense in law school,” Donna said.

“What can I say? Good music transcends trends and time.” Carolyn couldn’t resist a faint smile.

“I swear I saw you watching this same video yesterday.” Donna raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door frame.

“It’s a good song.”

“You need a new hobby, Pierce.”

“And you need to get back to work.”

As soon as Donna was gone, Carolyn pressed a key on her keyboard, and another video popped up. She leaned in and watched, wistful, as Bob protested band stereotypes.

“Does the drummer get to speak?” the presenter asked.

Bob leaned into the microphone with an earnest smile. “Can I please, please speak?”

(491 words)

120 MPH

"Not again," Joe growled under his breath. His foot eased down the brake pedal as he shifted lanes to his right. He glanced in the rear view mirror again at the flashing blue and red lights and pressed a little harder on the brakes, bringing the car to a stop along the freeway. He flicked on the emergency flashers, turned down the stereo, and waited impatiently. After what seemed like forever the policeman stepped out of the cruiser and approached the black car.

"In a bit of a hurry?" the cop asked, his voice dripping with sarchasm.

"No, not really," Joe said. He could be as snarky as he wanted to be. Nothing was going to get him out of another ticket.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" the cop asked, clearly taken aback as the young mans answer. He usually got a bunch of apologies and begging.

"About a hundred and twenty," Joe said in a matter of fact tone.

"You do know that this zone is only sixty-five don't you?"

Joe could tell that the cop was getting irritated; either from Joes' apparent lack of deference to his authority, or the lack of care he seemed to show for breaking the speed limit. Joe was curious just how far he could push this guy. He put on a vapid look, "It is?" he asked with all the innocence he could force into his voice.

"I need your license and insurance," the cop said at last as he shook his head, not quite sure what to make of Joe, but irritated nevertheless.

Joe handed out his license, military ID card, and insurance card.

The cop walked back to his cruiser to enter the information into his computer while Joe tapped idly on the steering wheel. He knew that Commander Cole would find out, but it wouldn't stop him in the future. Ever since Alec had died Joe was unable to control himself when he got behind the wheel. It wasn't as if he had a death wish, though he was sure that the psychologists would say he did. He just felt so free with the road flying past beneath his tires.

Joe glanced up again at the movement in his mirror; the cop was approaching again.

"I am sure you know the drill by now soldier," the police officer said as he handed Joe two slips of paper, "I didn't even know that a person could get that many speeding tickets. The cop shook his head, "The first paper is your fine, the second is from your commander. I contacted him when you came up for arrest for speeding." The cop shook his head and walked away from Joe's car.

Joe sighed and quickly read the message from Major Cole.

Return to base immediately.
Report upon arrival.
Discipline to follow.

As soon as the cop pulled away and was out of sight headed in the other direction, Joe shifted the car to drive and slammed down on the accelerator.

Chocaholic

“I found these in your pockets,” Clay said.

Dan looked up from his history book. “Found what?”

Clay held four neatly-folded candy bar wrappers.

Dan swallowed hard. Then he took a deep breath and attempted to summon some righteous indignation. “What the hell were you doing, going through my pockets?”

“It was my turn to help Shelley with the laundry,” Clay said. “You’re supposed to check pockets before you put clothes in the machine.”

Dan swallowed again. Now what could he say?

“You’re lucky it was me and not Shelley who found these.” Clay crumpled the wrappers in his fist. “You know Dad’s rules. No chocolate - too many calories, high risk of zits.”

Dan wilted under his older brother’s accusing stare. “It was German chocolate, all right? I saved the bars I bought when we were over there, and I’ve been rationing them out. I never have more than one a day, and --”

“One a day?”

“I like chocolate,” Dan said. He hunched his shoulders defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you know what Dad will do if he catches you with any?” Clay demanded.

Dan lowered his gaze.

The resulting silence could have been sliced with a knife.

Clay held out one hand. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Dan’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The rest of the chocolate. Where is it?”

“Clay...”

“All of it. Right now. Give it to me before Dad runs a sweep of your room and all our rooms.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “What would Dad have to search your room for?”

“Give up the chocolate and I won’t tell Dad what you’ve done,” Clay said.


Dan sighed. “Fine. But you promise not to tell him, right?”

Clay nodded. “I promise.”

Dan heaved himself off the bed. He shuffled around his room, pulling candy bars out of his desk, out from between books on his shelves, from inside his closet and under his bed and by the window. The entire time, he could feel Clay’s gaze on him, burning between his shoulder blades.

He piled the candy bars on his bed and watched as Clay bundled them up in his jacket.

“You know the rules,” Clay said, and swept out of the room.

Dan watched him go, reached into his pocket and unwrapped another candy bar. He’d have to find out what Clay was keeping in his room.

(393 words)

Just Not My Game

The smoke curls out of my mouth and drifts lazily toward the sky. I remember my first cigarette. The mountains seemed to hide my new secret, but the echoes of my sputtering coughs rang quite clearly.

I never really picked up the habit, as some do. Sometimes one is all it takes, but for me, I could take it or leave it. It became a placebo to me – a mindless activity that gave me the façade of calm. I still coughed. Everybody looked at me like I was out of place, that a nicotine addiction just wasn’t my game. Maybe it wasn’t.

Now, smoking goes along with another vice of mine: drinking. The two go hand and hand, and I always find myself running outside to join the rest of the smokers when a smoke break has been called.

Out here, alone now, I know that both of these habits are probably doing their best to kill me. And I don’t really mind.

(163 words)

Always Another Secret.

Steve shifted a glance to the left and to the right. He was pretty sure no one was at the safe house at the moment so he felt relatively secure in the knowledge that no one would find him out. "Anyone home?" he called out for good measure.

When no one answered, he stepped through the doorway and into the living room. He knew that if the others found out, they would harass him mercilessly about it, he would have no peace. The only problem that he had found so far was in finding a secure place for his private stash. Steve's eyes roamed the rooms, analyzing, scanning them for anything that was even slightly out of place; David always insisted that everything be exactly where it was supposed to be.

Even knowing that no one was home, Steve still walked through the house on whisper-quiet feet, lithe movements, almost like a stalking cat. He knew everyone on the team had little hide-a-holes secreted through the house, hiding things had become second nature to all of them. Steve knew them all, but he was pretty certain they had not found all of his.

Steve walked to one of his more well known spots and opened a cupboard. Inside he removed a false panel and shuffled a few of his items to one side, a spare gun and clip, a few bags of chips and a jar of salsa. At the top of the hidden cashe Steve removed another panel, revealing a secondary hidden compartment which was empty aside from a picture of a smiling woman.

Steve wiped a bit of dust from the shelf and straitened the picture as he reached into his jacket pocket. He drew out a bulky paper bag, slightly crumpled and worn. he unrolled the top of the bag and drew out a single object. Steve glanced around and quickly rerolled the top of the bag and gently placed in in the compartment. He closed the false panel and rearranged the items in the other; he then closed the false wall and closed the cupboard.

Steve carefully examined his prize from every angle, inspecting it for flaws. Satisfied, he popped it in his mouth, sighing in relief and satisfaction as the dark chocolate and raspberry creme melted in his mouth and slid sinfully down his throat.

Preferred Brand

“You’re reading slower than usual,” Bob said. He and Carolyn were sprawled side-by-side on the double bunk at the back of the bus, textbooks and notebooks spread haphazardly around them.

“Mmhmm,” Carolyn murmured absently, savoring each word as it curled off the page and down her throat like warm honey.

Bob lowered his geography book and peered at the spine of Carolyn’s book. “What are you reading?”

The title on the spine of the book was The Federalist Papers.

“Number 84. Hamilton’s denial of the necessity of the Bill of Rights,” she said.

Bob arched an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve seen you speed through textbooks before. And America has a Bill of Rights, doesn’t it? So this Hamilton guy had it all wrong.”

“Mmhmm,” Carolyn agreed.

Bob poked the dust-jacket on the book experimentally. “So why are you reading his stuff if he was wrong?”

“’S important to know.” Carolyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Bob eyed her for a long moment. Something wasn’t right; she only read her ‘novels for fun’ this slowly. “Really?” His tone was loaded with skepticism.

Carolyn opened her eyes and looked at him, blinked as if she were just coming to proper awareness. “Really. Lawyers need to know both sides of every argument.”

“Right,” Bob said, tone still skeptical. “You’re not doing homework, are you? We had a deal - we both get our homework done before soundcheck and then after the show we can go get dinner together.”

“Together with your brothers,” Carolyn said. She closed her book and grinned. “I’ll tell you what - how about we take a quick study break?”

“What kind of study break?” Bob asked.

Carolyn leaned up and kissed him.

The book slid from her grasp and landed on the floor, open to the page she had been reading.

O my America! my new-found land, / My Kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned, / My mine of precious stones, my empery, / How blest am I in this discovering thee!

John Donne had little to say about the Bill of Rights.

* * *

Dan poked his head into Carolyn’s hotel room. “Hey, can I borrow one of your textbooks about English common law?”

Carolyn looked up from where she was savoring a volume of Blackstone’s Commentaries. “Which one?”

“Any one. My assignment is about the development of English courts.”

“Sure. I’ll bring one down to you in a minute,” Carolyn said. “It’ll take me a moment to find the right one.”

Dan eyed the stack of textbooks on the table. “I can just grab it - no need to stop studying. Which volume?” He started toward the table.

Carolyn sat up. “Seriously. I’ll bring one to you.”

Dan blinked at the vehemence in her tone. “Uh...okay. I’m rooming with Scott. Bye.”

“Bye,” Carolyn said. She took a deep breath. She really needed to find a better hiding place for her preferred brand of poetry.

(488 words; quote from John Donne's Elegy XIX)

Project #44 - Vice

I don't know if you've done this, but this concept has become very interesting to me as of late. Now, it can be the normal stuff, like drinking, smoking, other miscellaneous drugs, etc. However, it can also be silly things too, like terrible horror movies, sugary junk food, or... sex! I don't know. Just throwing ideas out there. How does your character deal with his/her vices? Does he/she try to hide them? Does he/she display them openly, not caring for the opinions of others? How did they acquire their vice? Are they trying to kick their habits?

100-500 words, as per usual. Good luck all.

Overview #43: Voices

This was a hard one for me. Funny how the challenges I issue are always the hardest for me. It was difficult to find different way to go into characters' voices in the Carolyn-verse, especially given that four of them are singers. I decided to give Scott some solo singing love, because I could totally see him singing a highly inappropriate lullaby to a baby. I don't think Clay and Bob's voices are really all that similar, but sometimes when I close my eyes and listen to them speak, it's easy to get them mixed up. I was sad that no one went out for a mini-essay. It was fun to try Carolyn's voice in epistolary form. Honestly, I think the best post of the week was the one about Kevin remembering his sons' voices, especially since he was with them all growing up and listened to their voices change. Still, this was a fun exercise in learning how people's voices serve as memory triggers and how much voice, in its literal or literary form, can play a huge part in a story.

Also, I could not resist at least one "chipmunks" dig at the boys.

...I think I'm the only one who went all six days this week. I guess...technically...this week's prize is mine. Head on over to the Shop and find it!

Jaded Chaos, you're on!

Overview #43 - voices

So this week was a big challenge for me. I have not had much practice in defining a persons voice. I've never really tried to bring it so much to life that I could hear it, or others could hear it either. I think this week was kind of hit and miss when it came to getting it right. Thank you especially to Nagi who helped me see what my posts could have been. How I could have expanded the voice more to include another dimension to it.

EMT Lullabies

“Where did you say you found her?” Ellis asked.

“On a bench out by the ER entrance. I was running final checks on the ambulance,” Scott said.

The baby girl kicked and squalled, red in the face as Ellis tried to check her over. Ellis tried to maneuver his stethoscope around her flailing limbs, but she wasn’t having it.

“Where’s the NICU nurse?” Ellis demanded.

“Down in the NICU,” Scott said.

“If she’d just hold still --”

“She didn’t start screaming until you touched her,” Scott said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I’d know if I could just check her vitals.” Ellis leaned in, reared back to avoid taking a foot to the eye. He growled, frustrated, and that made the baby cry louder.

Scott elbowed Ellis aside and scooped the baby up awkwardly into his arms. Then he rocked her gently and began to sing.

Ellis stared.

Scott lowered his head and sang softly, barely audible above the tiny girl’s sobs. But her cries slowly subsided, and Scott continued singing, rocking her to the rhythm of the song.

Ellis blinked. “She...she likes your voice.” Then he frowned. “Is that song really appropriate for a baby?”

Scott glared at him but kept singing, kept rocking her. By the end of the song, she’d closed her eyes and stilled. Scott went to lay her back down on the cot. Her eyes flew open and she squalled some more. Ellis gestured sharply, and Scott scooped her back up, began to sing once more.

(250 words)

The Voice

David remembered Ariana's voice so clearly that at times he thought he could hear her next to him.

Ariana's voice could cast a spell on the hardest of hearts. It flowed sweetly in Italian, and seductively in French. It was harsh in German, and staccato in Japanese. Her voice was tight when she was upset, and modulated when giving a speech. Her bell-clear voice could soar to that perfect pitch, her entire soul laid bare in the moment.

I hear your voice on the wind
And I here you call out my name

'Listen my child', you say to me
'I am the voice of your history
Be not afraid, come follow me
Answer my call and I'll set you free'

I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain
I am the voice of your hunger and pain
I am the voice that always is calling you
I am the voice, I will remain

It was the voice David would know anywhere. But for years, it had been silent.


(short, and not very good, but here it is. I also know it it a bit of an impossibility for her to know that many languages.)

Switching Places

Dinah tilted her head to one side. “That’s not Clay’s voice.”

Shelley paused and listened as well. “No. The triplets are helping some younger boys write a song. Must be one of them singing.”

“You’re probably right,” Dinah said. She and Shelley stood side-by-side in the kitchen, fixing lunch for the boys. “Should we make more sandwiches, then?”

“Teenage boys are bottomless pits.” Shelley reached for the loaf of bread she’d just tied off. “A little extra couldn’t hurt.”

Once all the sandwiches were done, the women headed upstairs to deliver the food. They paused in the doorway and watched the boys brainstorming lyrics.

Dan was laughing. “You mean...a song about insects?”

One of the teenage boys raised his eyebrows. “Dude, did you just say incest?”

Bob flung a crumpled ball of paper at him. “He said insects.”

The boy shook his head, confused.

The triplets exchanged looks, and then Bob said,

“Never mind - song was before your time.”

“Wait a moment,” one other boys said, “you sang a song about bugs?”

“We were nine at the time,” Clay protested. “Come on - what’s going on in the second verse?”

“Hey Clay, did we already use the phrase ‘on the floor’?” the third boy asked.

Bob consulted the laptop. “No. Unfortunately.”

Then the boy blinked. “Did I just call you Clay?”

Dan said, “They switched places.”

Bob and Clay laughed. Dinah glanced at Shelley, and they smiled. It was good to hear laughter in the house again.

(249 words - I couldn't resist this one)

Deadly Calm

"Your worthless Joe!" the man said as he landed another kick to his ribs, "just like your brother. Both of you; a pair of worthless hoods not worth the money from the government!"

Joe curled in around himself, stifling a whimper of pain as he felt another blow catch him in the hip. If he was quiet, it would be over soon.

"The only good thing about the two of you is the money. And now there is even less of it now that your brother is gone. If I could have gotten the money without either one of you, I would have killed him myself!" he said. Joe felt a rib crack and fire began dancing under his skin.

"No," Joe whispered, curling tighter. "No," he repeated louder, firmer, a tone of determination sliding into place as if it should have always been there.

"NO!" he yelled as he twisted away from the approaching blow. He spun swiftly and caught Earl's leg in an iron grasp. He didn't release his leg when he stood up, causing Earl to fall backwards.

Joe towered over Earl, "I could kill you now myself and have no regrets about it," his voice was icy calm, deadly, "Make no mistake. I have no compunctions killing you, other than Alec would not want me to. It's only for his sake that you are still breathing. If you ever touch me again, then I will have to pray for his forgiveness, because I will kill you."

Joe stepped away from where Earl lay on the floor and walked out the door into the night.