"I know what you did last night," Mark said in a singsong voice as he stepped into the room where Bryan was working on a few sparring moves. The room was practically empty. Mark glanced around and could only see two other soldiers in the far corner.
Bryan's head snapped up, his eyes full of guilt. "I didn't do anything last night," he said. Even to his own ears, the denial was weak.
Marks laugh was low, his eyes glimmering with mirth, "don't kid yourself," he said, "you know exactly what you did."
Bryan swallowed hard, "you won't tell anyone will you?" he asked.
Mark's lips quirked into a half smile, "let's just say that I won't rat you out to the Commander. You are, after all, my brother. But if he finds out, I'm not covering for you," Mark said.
"Fair enough," Bryan said, "I don't think he will find out that I "borrowed" his car. And if he does, well lets just say that mastering this move will be the least of my problems."
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Not So Bad
Clay checked left, then right. The coast was clear - all the nurses were busy. He kept the warm bag of McDonald’s tucked safely under his jacket and darted into the hospital room.
“Hey Bobby, I brought some --”
Bob lunged for the remote control and turned off the television. Then he pasted a bright, innocent smile on his face and sat back. “Clay. What’s up?” He spotted the bulge under Clay’s jacket, and his eyes lit up. “Did you bring it?”
Clay eyed the television warily. “What were you watching?”
Again with the wide, guileless eyes. Clay knew that expression. They’d perfected it together when they were kids for the purposes of switching identities for the day.
“Nothing,” Bob said sunnily. “Is it McDonald’s?”
Clay approached the bed cautiously, still holding his prize. “What could that show have possibly been that you turned the TV off that quickly?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you were watching --”
“Dude, you can’t get porn on TVs in hospitals, and that’s just wrong.” Bob crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
“I didn’t say it was porn, but since you suggested it --” Clay struck, quick as a snake, and snatched the remote up off the bed.
“Hey!” Bob scrambled after it, but he was too late. And he was brought up short by the IV in the back of his hand.
Clay hit the power button and watched the television come to life. The scene was dark, but Clay recognized the streets. It was a local show, one filmed in Canada. The characters on screen were a woman, blonde, with glasses and a night stick and a man who looked surprisingly young in comparison. Then he grinned. Long fangs. No way.
Bob turned bright red and ducked his head, an automatic gesture even though he no longer had long hair to hide behind.
An amused grin spread across Clay’s features. “Blood Ties? The one Shelley watches? Are you serious?”
Bob snatched the remote back with an indignant huff, but he didn’t turn the show off. “She started watching it with me when she comes in to visit, and...it’s not so bad.”
“It’s about vampires.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not in it for the vampire.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I’m not Dan.” Bob eyed the McDonald’s bag hopefully.
Clay’s expression turned calculating. “Give me one good reason why I should continue to associate with a moron who watches such low-brow --”
“The girl. The ex-cop. She kinda reminds of Caro.” Bob stared down at his hands.
Clay’s breath hitched in his chest. “Oh.”
Bob lifted his head. “I’m sorry.”
Clay shook his head, held out the bag. “No. I was just kidding about the show --”
“I’m sorry about me. And Carolyn. And how it made you feel. We both -- well. I felt horrible about it.”
“I know, dearthair. But she chose you, and not me, and you deserved to be happy. Now eat up before the nurses get back.”
“Hey Bobby, I brought some --”
Bob lunged for the remote control and turned off the television. Then he pasted a bright, innocent smile on his face and sat back. “Clay. What’s up?” He spotted the bulge under Clay’s jacket, and his eyes lit up. “Did you bring it?”
Clay eyed the television warily. “What were you watching?”
Again with the wide, guileless eyes. Clay knew that expression. They’d perfected it together when they were kids for the purposes of switching identities for the day.
“Nothing,” Bob said sunnily. “Is it McDonald’s?”
Clay approached the bed cautiously, still holding his prize. “What could that show have possibly been that you turned the TV off that quickly?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you were watching --”
“Dude, you can’t get porn on TVs in hospitals, and that’s just wrong.” Bob crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
“I didn’t say it was porn, but since you suggested it --” Clay struck, quick as a snake, and snatched the remote up off the bed.
“Hey!” Bob scrambled after it, but he was too late. And he was brought up short by the IV in the back of his hand.
Clay hit the power button and watched the television come to life. The scene was dark, but Clay recognized the streets. It was a local show, one filmed in Canada. The characters on screen were a woman, blonde, with glasses and a night stick and a man who looked surprisingly young in comparison. Then he grinned. Long fangs. No way.
Bob turned bright red and ducked his head, an automatic gesture even though he no longer had long hair to hide behind.
An amused grin spread across Clay’s features. “Blood Ties? The one Shelley watches? Are you serious?”
Bob snatched the remote back with an indignant huff, but he didn’t turn the show off. “She started watching it with me when she comes in to visit, and...it’s not so bad.”
“It’s about vampires.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not in it for the vampire.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I’m not Dan.” Bob eyed the McDonald’s bag hopefully.
Clay’s expression turned calculating. “Give me one good reason why I should continue to associate with a moron who watches such low-brow --”
“The girl. The ex-cop. She kinda reminds of Caro.” Bob stared down at his hands.
Clay’s breath hitched in his chest. “Oh.”
Bob lifted his head. “I’m sorry.”
Clay shook his head, held out the bag. “No. I was just kidding about the show --”
“I’m sorry about me. And Carolyn. And how it made you feel. We both -- well. I felt horrible about it.”
“I know, dearthair. But she chose you, and not me, and you deserved to be happy. Now eat up before the nurses get back.”
Friday, September 4, 2009
It all started
Joe walked down the hallway with a barely perceptible limp, eyes downcast with dark circles under them. Hidden beneath his shirt were dark purple bruises, a few, a pale sick looking green, and others only a faint trace. Another bruise ran from his hip to thigh.
Joe ducked into the bathroom and quickly checked all the stalls to make sure that he was alone. Joe lifted up the hem of his shirt and examined the freshly marred skin. He gently prodded one and winced at the sharp pain that radiated from the light touch.
Joe looked into the mirror, his hand gripping the sink tightly as the other one held up his shirt. It had gotten worse since Alec had died. The foster couple who "cared" for him blamed him for Alec's death. With Alec gone, they were down five hundred dollars a month from the government, and the creep was sure to take it out of Joe's hide. It usually was not a bad beating, but on the day of the month when the checks came, Eddie would get all liquored up and come looking for Joe. That was when it was really bad.
Joe was to far lost in his own thoughts to be aware of someone coming into the bathroom, until he heard someone swear under their breath.
Joe's head snapped up, quickly pulling his shirt down. He glared at the student, recognizing a face, but not able to come up with a name.
"Man, what happened?" Tim asked.
"Nothing," Joe lied.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tim said with raised eyebrows.
Joe narrowed his eyes, "I said it's nothing, and none of your business even if it was anything," he said.
Tim eyed Joe, "you want someone to talk to?" he asked.
Joe snorted, "how could you help."
"I'm not saying I can help, I'm saying I can listen," Tim said.
"Don't you have class to be in or something?" Joe asked a little belligerently.
"None that can't be put off for a while," Tim said as he leaned against the sink next to Joe.
Joe hesitated for a moment, but the need to unburden himself was to strong, "it all started when my brother died," Joe began.
Joe ducked into the bathroom and quickly checked all the stalls to make sure that he was alone. Joe lifted up the hem of his shirt and examined the freshly marred skin. He gently prodded one and winced at the sharp pain that radiated from the light touch.
Joe looked into the mirror, his hand gripping the sink tightly as the other one held up his shirt. It had gotten worse since Alec had died. The foster couple who "cared" for him blamed him for Alec's death. With Alec gone, they were down five hundred dollars a month from the government, and the creep was sure to take it out of Joe's hide. It usually was not a bad beating, but on the day of the month when the checks came, Eddie would get all liquored up and come looking for Joe. That was when it was really bad.
Joe was to far lost in his own thoughts to be aware of someone coming into the bathroom, until he heard someone swear under their breath.
Joe's head snapped up, quickly pulling his shirt down. He glared at the student, recognizing a face, but not able to come up with a name.
"Man, what happened?" Tim asked.
"Nothing," Joe lied.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tim said with raised eyebrows.
Joe narrowed his eyes, "I said it's nothing, and none of your business even if it was anything," he said.
Tim eyed Joe, "you want someone to talk to?" he asked.
Joe snorted, "how could you help."
"I'm not saying I can help, I'm saying I can listen," Tim said.
"Don't you have class to be in or something?" Joe asked a little belligerently.
"None that can't be put off for a while," Tim said as he leaned against the sink next to Joe.
Joe hesitated for a moment, but the need to unburden himself was to strong, "it all started when my brother died," Joe began.
What He'd Seen
Sometimes Shelley was starkly aware that she wasn’t the boys’ mother. Something was going on between Bob and Clay, and the other two had taken sides. Now they were practically at war, and Shelley didn’t know what to do. The boys wouldn’t talk to her, and Kevin was too busy with the new label rep to realize what was going on. The boys had hissed twin-speak arguments between takes and avoided each other the rest of the time.
Shelley sat in the corner with a stack of magazines, wishing she could be more useful. On the road she could dig in with the crew and help get the show on its feet. Here she wasn’t mother or musician or anything remotely useful, and for one moment she wished she was one of those wives who was content to spend a day at the mall with her husband’s credit card.
She wished the boys trusted her with something more than checking their homework.
The engineer called Dan in to lay down vocals, and Shelley checked her watch. She’d been sitting in the same corner for two hours straight. No good. She stood up, taking the time to indulge in a yawn and a stretch. That was when she noticed that Bob and Clay were missing.
“Scott,” she said. He was sulking over his guitar. “Where are your brothers?”
He muttered, “Níl fhios agam.”
“English, Scott.”
He lifted his head. “Oh, sorry Shelley.” He glanced at the beanbags where the matching set had been also sulking, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks.” Time to hunt, then. They knew better than to wander off. She ducked out of the room and into a hallway. On the way in she’d spotted a couple of vending machines, and she wouldn’t put it past a couple of hungry teenage boys to go in search of junk food despite their fathers’ orders against it. Given how they were feuding, however, she doubted that they’d gone searching together.
Shelley rounded the corner, and she saw Clay standing in the doorway of a side room, frozen. The expression on his face was faintly heartbroken, and then he wrenched himself back, eyes shut tightly as if to block out what he’d seen. After a moment, he straightened up, turned away, and marched toward the vending machine.
Something tightened in Shelley’s chest. He wasn’t her son, but she hated seeing him hurt. She crept toward the door to find out what he’d seen.
He’d seen Bob and Carolyn in each other’s arms, kissing.
(427 words)
Shelley sat in the corner with a stack of magazines, wishing she could be more useful. On the road she could dig in with the crew and help get the show on its feet. Here she wasn’t mother or musician or anything remotely useful, and for one moment she wished she was one of those wives who was content to spend a day at the mall with her husband’s credit card.
She wished the boys trusted her with something more than checking their homework.
The engineer called Dan in to lay down vocals, and Shelley checked her watch. She’d been sitting in the same corner for two hours straight. No good. She stood up, taking the time to indulge in a yawn and a stretch. That was when she noticed that Bob and Clay were missing.
“Scott,” she said. He was sulking over his guitar. “Where are your brothers?”
He muttered, “Níl fhios agam.”
“English, Scott.”
He lifted his head. “Oh, sorry Shelley.” He glanced at the beanbags where the matching set had been also sulking, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks.” Time to hunt, then. They knew better than to wander off. She ducked out of the room and into a hallway. On the way in she’d spotted a couple of vending machines, and she wouldn’t put it past a couple of hungry teenage boys to go in search of junk food despite their fathers’ orders against it. Given how they were feuding, however, she doubted that they’d gone searching together.
Shelley rounded the corner, and she saw Clay standing in the doorway of a side room, frozen. The expression on his face was faintly heartbroken, and then he wrenched himself back, eyes shut tightly as if to block out what he’d seen. After a moment, he straightened up, turned away, and marched toward the vending machine.
Something tightened in Shelley’s chest. He wasn’t her son, but she hated seeing him hurt. She crept toward the door to find out what he’d seen.
He’d seen Bob and Carolyn in each other’s arms, kissing.
(427 words)
Thursday, September 3, 2009
With You
"Tell me a secret," Ariana said. Her head was pillowed on David's chest and she could hear his heartbeat.
"Hm," his voice rumbled in his chest, "a secret. Let me think," he said.
Ariana waited, listening to his breathing, the air moving steadily in and out. She reached out and laced her fingers through his. They were laying in a sunny patch of grass. It was a rare sunny day.
"I think," David said, "that my secret is, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Ariana'a head came up quickly. She quickly searched his gaze and saw nothing but truth. A smile spread across her face as she thought of what that could mean. Leaning up, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you David," she said and snuggled back into his arms.
"Hm," his voice rumbled in his chest, "a secret. Let me think," he said.
Ariana waited, listening to his breathing, the air moving steadily in and out. She reached out and laced her fingers through his. They were laying in a sunny patch of grass. It was a rare sunny day.
"I think," David said, "that my secret is, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Ariana'a head came up quickly. She quickly searched his gaze and saw nothing but truth. A smile spread across her face as she thought of what that could mean. Leaning up, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you David," she said and snuggled back into his arms.
Proof
(continued from this post)
Carolyn hadn’t been lying; the picture she carried around was one anyone could find on the Internet. The picture she kept in her wallet, however, was one not even the most diehard Four Times SUmmer fan could find. Melanie was more diehard than Carolyn knew, and she’d looked.
Tucked behind a Westlaw access card, a Lexis access card, and a Federalist Society card, was a photograph of Bob Summers asleep. Melanie had studied the picture for along time - Carolyn let Melanie use her cards - and it looked like Bob was asleep in his own bed. It was definitely not the sort of picture a mere fan, no matter how diehard, would have.
Melanie knew she was one of Carolyn’s only friends at school, but she didn’t know that much about Carolyn, and Carolyn was great at talking without sharing. Melanie didn’t know how to ask about the picture without mentioning that she’d snooped through Carolyn’s wallet, and she didn’t know how to ask if Bob Summers was the reason Carolyn sometimes looked a little heartbroken. The solution, of course, was the Internet.
Several days and foreign video streaming sites later, Melanie found it, proof that Carolyn’s secret really had something to do with the brothers Summers.
The video was grainy and shot by an amateur on an old VHS handycam, but some dedicated fan had filmed her own television to record a news clip. It was less than five minutes long and the newscaster was speaking German, but it had proof. A shot of all four boys on the tour bus playing cards sealed the deal. A fifth child, a skinny moppet with green eyes and a shock of black curls, sat between Bob and Dan and plied her own hand of cards.
Melanie would know that smile anywhere. Even at seven, Carolyn’s smile was sharp, subtle, like light glinting off the blade of a knife.
The next shot featured nine-year-old Dan chattering about life on the road. “We have fun,” he said. “Sometimes people on crew bring their kids with them, so we have people to play with.”
If the picture in Carolyn’s wallet was anything to go by, she’d been on the road with the brothers Summers a lot, because the boy sleeping in that bed was at least sixteen.
Melanie backtracked through the video to watch the card game again.
The little girl slapped her cards down and cheered.
Scott groaned and shoved her in the shoulder. “No fair, Caro!”
(415 words)
Carolyn hadn’t been lying; the picture she carried around was one anyone could find on the Internet. The picture she kept in her wallet, however, was one not even the most diehard Four Times SUmmer fan could find. Melanie was more diehard than Carolyn knew, and she’d looked.
Tucked behind a Westlaw access card, a Lexis access card, and a Federalist Society card, was a photograph of Bob Summers asleep. Melanie had studied the picture for along time - Carolyn let Melanie use her cards - and it looked like Bob was asleep in his own bed. It was definitely not the sort of picture a mere fan, no matter how diehard, would have.
Melanie knew she was one of Carolyn’s only friends at school, but she didn’t know that much about Carolyn, and Carolyn was great at talking without sharing. Melanie didn’t know how to ask about the picture without mentioning that she’d snooped through Carolyn’s wallet, and she didn’t know how to ask if Bob Summers was the reason Carolyn sometimes looked a little heartbroken. The solution, of course, was the Internet.
Several days and foreign video streaming sites later, Melanie found it, proof that Carolyn’s secret really had something to do with the brothers Summers.
The video was grainy and shot by an amateur on an old VHS handycam, but some dedicated fan had filmed her own television to record a news clip. It was less than five minutes long and the newscaster was speaking German, but it had proof. A shot of all four boys on the tour bus playing cards sealed the deal. A fifth child, a skinny moppet with green eyes and a shock of black curls, sat between Bob and Dan and plied her own hand of cards.
Melanie would know that smile anywhere. Even at seven, Carolyn’s smile was sharp, subtle, like light glinting off the blade of a knife.
The next shot featured nine-year-old Dan chattering about life on the road. “We have fun,” he said. “Sometimes people on crew bring their kids with them, so we have people to play with.”
If the picture in Carolyn’s wallet was anything to go by, she’d been on the road with the brothers Summers a lot, because the boy sleeping in that bed was at least sixteen.
Melanie backtracked through the video to watch the card game again.
The little girl slapped her cards down and cheered.
Scott groaned and shoved her in the shoulder. “No fair, Caro!”
(415 words)
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Point of the Exercise
Stars exploded behind Steve's eyes as his head snapped backwards, the force of the blow shattering his nose with a sickening crunch; the back of his head hitting the high railing on the chair he was tied to. Steve blinked, bringing his head back up. He drew a few shallow breaths, trying to keep his side from burning from the broken ribs.
"You know," the interrogator said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, "this can all end when you tell us what we want to know."
Steve shook his head, blinking back a few tears of pain.
The man sighed, "have it your way," he said. He nodded to the man next to Steve. The large and brutish man took up a large hammer and swung it at Steve. Blood began to flow freely when Steve bit clean through his lip as the man broke his arm.
"Are you ready to speak?" the more refined man asked, "what are the attack plans for your military? What weapons do they have and where will they strike from?"
Steve raised his head and smiled through the blood that was still flowing from his nose and lip. "You really want to know the secret?" Steve asked, his eyes dark and fathomless.
"Of course," the man said, "after all, that is the whole point of this exercise."
"Okay," Steve said, looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, "the secret is, that you're about to die."
The man was still laughing as the bullet entered his head.
"You know," the interrogator said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, "this can all end when you tell us what we want to know."
Steve shook his head, blinking back a few tears of pain.
The man sighed, "have it your way," he said. He nodded to the man next to Steve. The large and brutish man took up a large hammer and swung it at Steve. Blood began to flow freely when Steve bit clean through his lip as the man broke his arm.
"Are you ready to speak?" the more refined man asked, "what are the attack plans for your military? What weapons do they have and where will they strike from?"
Steve raised his head and smiled through the blood that was still flowing from his nose and lip. "You really want to know the secret?" Steve asked, his eyes dark and fathomless.
"Of course," the man said, "after all, that is the whole point of this exercise."
"Okay," Steve said, looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, "the secret is, that you're about to die."
The man was still laughing as the bullet entered his head.
More than a Dry Run
“What’s going on here?” Kevin stood on the edge of the stage, hands on his hips, expression unreadable.
Carolyn set the drum sticks down carefully, stood up. “Bob asked me to set up his drums. I was giving them a dry run.” She ducked her head, tugged self-consciously on her baseball cap.
Kevin studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the scrawny kid John asked to bring on the road with him, but for five years all Carolyn had ever shown an interest in was her stack of increasingly obscure books and karate. She’d never shown even an inkling of interest in music.
“That’s something more than a dry run,” he said finally.
Carolyn shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Kevin had seen Bob with the exact same mannerism. She really had been hanging around the boys too long; she wore baggy shorts and baseball hats like Clay, t-shirts with band slogans like Dan, and slouched like Bob. Her hair was shorter than Bob’s, a shock of black curls.
“Where did you learn the play like that?”
“There’s a band I listen to. X Japan. Speed metal. Their drummer’s pretty cool, and I spent a lot of time in the rig --” back in the days before the boys liked her enough to want to spend time with her on the bus -- “listening to their songs and learning. How the beats go.”
“Does Bob know you can play like this?” Kevin had seen drummers with her speed and dexterity, sense of rhythmic complexity, but they were all studio veterans.”
Carolyn shook her head. “No. I don’t mention it.”
Kevin nodded. “I think it’d be best to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else you can do like...that?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Bob’s a good drummer, sir. Better than pretty much every other musician his age. He’d learn different rhythms if he played, you know, different songs.”
“I know,” Kevin said. “But the boys are good at what they play.”
Carolyn stepped out from behind the drums. As an afterthought, she dropped the hi-hat. Then, idly tapping a rhythm against her thighs, she headed for the instrument rig.
(381 words)
Carolyn set the drum sticks down carefully, stood up. “Bob asked me to set up his drums. I was giving them a dry run.” She ducked her head, tugged self-consciously on her baseball cap.
Kevin studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the scrawny kid John asked to bring on the road with him, but for five years all Carolyn had ever shown an interest in was her stack of increasingly obscure books and karate. She’d never shown even an inkling of interest in music.
“That’s something more than a dry run,” he said finally.
Carolyn shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Kevin had seen Bob with the exact same mannerism. She really had been hanging around the boys too long; she wore baggy shorts and baseball hats like Clay, t-shirts with band slogans like Dan, and slouched like Bob. Her hair was shorter than Bob’s, a shock of black curls.
“Where did you learn the play like that?”
“There’s a band I listen to. X Japan. Speed metal. Their drummer’s pretty cool, and I spent a lot of time in the rig --” back in the days before the boys liked her enough to want to spend time with her on the bus -- “listening to their songs and learning. How the beats go.”
“Does Bob know you can play like this?” Kevin had seen drummers with her speed and dexterity, sense of rhythmic complexity, but they were all studio veterans.”
Carolyn shook her head. “No. I don’t mention it.”
Kevin nodded. “I think it’d be best to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else you can do like...that?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Bob’s a good drummer, sir. Better than pretty much every other musician his age. He’d learn different rhythms if he played, you know, different songs.”
“I know,” Kevin said. “But the boys are good at what they play.”
Carolyn stepped out from behind the drums. As an afterthought, she dropped the hi-hat. Then, idly tapping a rhythm against her thighs, she headed for the instrument rig.
(381 words)
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
I'll Do The Dishes
Bryan pounced on his brother as soon as he walked in the front door.
"Alright, tell me all about it. What happened? How did it go? Did you kiss her?" Bryan asked.
Mark just smiled and shook his head in response to his brothers volley of questions.
"Come on man, give me something!" Bryan demanded as he grabbed his twin by the arm. He always found it a little strange that even though they were practically identical in looks, they were far from the same when it came to their personality.
"I'm sorry," Mark said, as he shook off his brothers grip, "the information you have requested has been classified as need to know only." Mark loved ribbing his brother.
Bryan sighed, he knew that he would not be getting any information until Mark felt like giving it up. If he ever felt like giving it up. For now, Mark would keep his secrets.
"I'll do the dishes for two weeks," Bryan wheedled.
Mark laughed and walked down the hall to his own room.
"Alright, tell me all about it. What happened? How did it go? Did you kiss her?" Bryan asked.
Mark just smiled and shook his head in response to his brothers volley of questions.
"Come on man, give me something!" Bryan demanded as he grabbed his twin by the arm. He always found it a little strange that even though they were practically identical in looks, they were far from the same when it came to their personality.
"I'm sorry," Mark said, as he shook off his brothers grip, "the information you have requested has been classified as need to know only." Mark loved ribbing his brother.
Bryan sighed, he knew that he would not be getting any information until Mark felt like giving it up. If he ever felt like giving it up. For now, Mark would keep his secrets.
"I'll do the dishes for two weeks," Bryan wheedled.
Mark laughed and walked down the hall to his own room.
Vices and Virtues
“Isn’t that bad for a singer’s voice?”
Scott swore and went to put the cigarette out, but John just waved him off. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a fresh pack of cigarettes, tapped them against his palm to pack them down.
“You won’t tell my father?”
John lit up, inhaled that first blissful burst of nicotine. “I’m not your father, kid. And I can’t really judge, can I?”
Scott took a cautious puff of his cigarette, slouched back against the wall to avoid being seen from the parking lot where his father was giving Bob a post-show dressing down. Again.
“But you wouldn’t let Carolyn smoke, would you?”
John laughed. “Kid, I haven’t let that girl do anything since she was five. She’s been smarter than me since she was three. I did my best to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong, and from there on out we negotiate.”
“Oh. So Carolyn chooses not to smoke?”
“That would about be the size of it.” John took another deep drag, exhaled. “Man, this is such a filthy habit. So hard to kick it. The next time I need to run a mile, Caro’s gonna leave me in the dust.”
Scott relaxed faintly, took another drag off his cigarette. “Sometimes, it’s just --”
“A little safer than drinking?”
Scott nodded.
John tipped his head in the direction of the parking lot where Kevin was still yelling. “He do that often?”
“Some days more than others.” Scott’s eyes darkened.
John prodded Scott lightly in the hip, ignored the boy’s wince and the bright spark of shock that blossomed across his face.
“Burning’s not safer than drinking, hm?”
Scott shifted away from John. “How did you know?”
John’s smile was bleak. “I wasn’t always a roadie, kid. A man never forgets the smell of burning flesh.”
“There’s no one I can tell,” Scott said. He stared down at his shoes. The cigarette dangled between his fingers, forgotten and slowly burning out. “I mean, he has custody of us, and Mom stopped seeing what he did long ago. Bobby’s my little brother, and there’s nothing I can do to protect him.”
“Punishing yourself when he’s being punished for the three of you ruins the entire point of having a single scapegoat, doesn’t it?” John dropped his cigarette to the ground, put it out with the heel of his boot.
The sound of flesh on flesh echoed sharply, and Scott closed his eyes.
John thought or a long moment, then tucked the pack of cigarettes into Scott’s pocket. “You need them more than me. Besides, the ones you bum off of Captain Lyle are cheap. You’ll at least die slower with this brand.”
Scott opened his eyes.
John turned away, rounded the corner. Before he was properly in eyesight of his employer and the child he was roundly disciplining, he cleared his throat.
“Hey Kevin, some of the venue crew’ve been giving me some guff about the soundboard.”
(497 words)
Scott swore and went to put the cigarette out, but John just waved him off. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a fresh pack of cigarettes, tapped them against his palm to pack them down.
“You won’t tell my father?”
John lit up, inhaled that first blissful burst of nicotine. “I’m not your father, kid. And I can’t really judge, can I?”
Scott took a cautious puff of his cigarette, slouched back against the wall to avoid being seen from the parking lot where his father was giving Bob a post-show dressing down. Again.
“But you wouldn’t let Carolyn smoke, would you?”
John laughed. “Kid, I haven’t let that girl do anything since she was five. She’s been smarter than me since she was three. I did my best to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong, and from there on out we negotiate.”
“Oh. So Carolyn chooses not to smoke?”
“That would about be the size of it.” John took another deep drag, exhaled. “Man, this is such a filthy habit. So hard to kick it. The next time I need to run a mile, Caro’s gonna leave me in the dust.”
Scott relaxed faintly, took another drag off his cigarette. “Sometimes, it’s just --”
“A little safer than drinking?”
Scott nodded.
John tipped his head in the direction of the parking lot where Kevin was still yelling. “He do that often?”
“Some days more than others.” Scott’s eyes darkened.
John prodded Scott lightly in the hip, ignored the boy’s wince and the bright spark of shock that blossomed across his face.
“Burning’s not safer than drinking, hm?”
Scott shifted away from John. “How did you know?”
John’s smile was bleak. “I wasn’t always a roadie, kid. A man never forgets the smell of burning flesh.”
“There’s no one I can tell,” Scott said. He stared down at his shoes. The cigarette dangled between his fingers, forgotten and slowly burning out. “I mean, he has custody of us, and Mom stopped seeing what he did long ago. Bobby’s my little brother, and there’s nothing I can do to protect him.”
“Punishing yourself when he’s being punished for the three of you ruins the entire point of having a single scapegoat, doesn’t it?” John dropped his cigarette to the ground, put it out with the heel of his boot.
The sound of flesh on flesh echoed sharply, and Scott closed his eyes.
John thought or a long moment, then tucked the pack of cigarettes into Scott’s pocket. “You need them more than me. Besides, the ones you bum off of Captain Lyle are cheap. You’ll at least die slower with this brand.”
Scott opened his eyes.
John turned away, rounded the corner. Before he was properly in eyesight of his employer and the child he was roundly disciplining, he cleared his throat.
“Hey Kevin, some of the venue crew’ve been giving me some guff about the soundboard.”
(497 words)
Monday, August 31, 2009
English?
“They’re mad at me,” Kevin said, matter-of-factly.
“How can you tell?” John asked.
Kevin gestured to where all four boys were kicking a soccer ball back and forth and chattering loudly. “The triplets started up with this goofy language of their own when they were kids. You know, twins do that sort of thing all the time.” He shrugged. “I guess all the boys were close enough in age that they all learned it together. Whenever they’re mad at me, they refuse to speak English.”
“Oh.” John watched the four of them play, idly admiring their footwork. “I thought French was required in Canada.”
“Not for homeschoolers,” Kevin said. He dragged a hand over his face. “Is the soundboard ready?”
“For reverb settings anew.” John saluted.
Kevin beckoned for the boys. They cast him matching baleful looks but approached obediently.
“Soundcheck,” Kevin said.
They nodded, murmured to each other softly in an unintelligible language, and shuffled off toward the stage. John followed silently. Just before he headed toward the sound panel, he leaned over to Scott and said,
“An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Scott whirled around, eyes wide. The triplets froze.
John winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your father.”
“How can you tell?” John asked.
Kevin gestured to where all four boys were kicking a soccer ball back and forth and chattering loudly. “The triplets started up with this goofy language of their own when they were kids. You know, twins do that sort of thing all the time.” He shrugged. “I guess all the boys were close enough in age that they all learned it together. Whenever they’re mad at me, they refuse to speak English.”
“Oh.” John watched the four of them play, idly admiring their footwork. “I thought French was required in Canada.”
“Not for homeschoolers,” Kevin said. He dragged a hand over his face. “Is the soundboard ready?”
“For reverb settings anew.” John saluted.
Kevin beckoned for the boys. They cast him matching baleful looks but approached obediently.
“Soundcheck,” Kevin said.
They nodded, murmured to each other softly in an unintelligible language, and shuffled off toward the stage. John followed silently. Just before he headed toward the sound panel, he leaned over to Scott and said,
“An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Scott whirled around, eyes wide. The triplets froze.
John winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your father.”
Clubbing?
They don't know. And if I have my way, they will never know. All they will ever see is the commander. The one who sacrifices his time and life for the cause. I see them shake their heads, in either wonder or in pity; and sometimes, I can't tell which it is. Not that it really matters. All that matters is the result. They all assume that there is no one for me, that there has never been anyone, but they're wrong. They believe that because it is what I want them to believe. They will only see what I want them to see.
"Hey Boss," Steve said, poking his head into the room, "do you want to some to the club with us?"
David looked up from some scattered paperwork on the desk and ofered an apologetic smile, "sorry, I have to figure out this SNAFU before Hayes has my backside. Maybe next time," he said.
Steve shook his head and withdrew from the room.
David shuffled the papers to the side and pulled out a glossy photo with a smiling girl. She was laughing at the person behind the camera, her eyes bright and alive.
David gently ran his fingers across the picture before tucking it away in his pocket.
They would never know why he never went with them.
"Hey Boss," Steve said, poking his head into the room, "do you want to some to the club with us?"
David looked up from some scattered paperwork on the desk and ofered an apologetic smile, "sorry, I have to figure out this SNAFU before Hayes has my backside. Maybe next time," he said.
Steve shook his head and withdrew from the room.
David shuffled the papers to the side and pulled out a glossy photo with a smiling girl. She was laughing at the person behind the camera, her eyes bright and alive.
David gently ran his fingers across the picture before tucking it away in his pocket.
They would never know why he never went with them.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Project #40: Secrets
We all have them, and we all have a different way of hiding them (or not). This week, I want us to write about how our characters deal with the telling and keeping of secrets. Who do they tell? Who don't they tell? Do they tell anyone at all? How about keeping them, are our characters good at that? Do they promise not to tell, and then accidentally spill to that one other person? Are our characters gossips? Backstabbers? The keeper of everyone's secrets? We shall see.
EDIT: Word limit is 100-500. Sorry. I forgot.
Overview #39: Kissing
While I didn't write anything on Friday or Saturday, I still really enjoyed this week's challenge. It was something to get me writing and it was fun to work on the whole romance thing. Kisses are very important... they are the first step down a road of intimacy that I think sometimes people take for granted. /babbling
And now, for the challenge...
Overview #39: Kisses
Ah, but this was a difficult challenge for me, despite the fact that I picked it. I think I came up with a fairly solid arc, that began with The Mission and ended with The Mission as well. It felt like the posts I was more comfortable writing were the heartbreak posts, the ones that usually involved Clay feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. I wanted all four brothers to get in on the action without making poor Carolyn too Mary Sue and having all the boys like her, and I think I did all right. In some posts, the kiss was definitely the main point of the plot, and in others, sometimes a kiss was sort of there and just incident to the entire thing. (Drafting the "Wide-Eyed and Lovely" scene for Bob and Carolyn in the middle of Advanced Con Law was a serious study in awkwardness, by the way.) I liked getting Dan's perspective back in on things, since he's the only brother who's really aware (and only peripherally at that) that Carolyn's not a normal teenage girl. My sense of romance might have been improved, if I hadn't detracted from my romantic progression by throwing down some Clay-angst and a scene loaded with killing. Urgh. I wanted to stray from my comfort zone, but then I was afraid of getting too mushy on my readers, which really defies the purpose of this exercise, which is to write to improve.
NOTE: This week's winner is Madness! So, post a reply in the comments to this post and claim your prize. The rules have been altered thusly:
The winner shall be chosen by whoever issued a challenge in a given week (since it'd be lame if I picked myself as a winner one week when the challenge was not issued by me). Challenge issuers should take into account the creativity of the manner in which the challenge was answered, the timeliness of posts, and the helpfulness of feedback. Carry on writing, friends!
NOTE: This week's winner is Madness! So, post a reply in the comments to this post and claim your prize. The rules have been altered thusly:
The winner shall be chosen by whoever issued a challenge in a given week (since it'd be lame if I picked myself as a winner one week when the challenge was not issued by me). Challenge issuers should take into account the creativity of the manner in which the challenge was answered, the timeliness of posts, and the helpfulness of feedback. Carry on writing, friends!
Overview #39: Kisses
Wow, it's been a while since I have done a proper overview. I really enjoyed this week. The firsts and the lasts that come with kissing, a piece of your soul given away, as it were. I still have things to work on, like not repeating myself and trying to use stronger images. I think it was mentioned once or twice about the scene feeling rushed, so I should work on that too. I was glad to read how other people wrote their kisses, ranging from passionate to sweet and gentle.
It feels good to be writting again!
It feels good to be writting again!
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