Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

Lessons learned from yesterday: when there are fans in the foyer of the hotel, chances are they have located the service elevator, and singing your own songs at the top of your lungs on the way back from the restaurant isn’t the best way to stay incognito. It is also common courtesy to not trip your brother in the hopes that the fans catch him first.

Things to be remembered from today: Just because Dad says you’re old enough to do something doesn’t mean you should rush out and do it. Also, holding Scott’s hair back while he pukes after drinking too many beers might be legitimate grounds for demanding that he cut his hair already.

Hopes for tomorrow: Whatever is eating away at Bobby should be gone by then. He’s been moody and broody, and he won’t tell his other half what’s going on. Intervention via phone call from Mom is definitely an option. Or get Carolyn to beat it out of him.

ETA: Apparently Bob was all bent out of shape about Carolyn. He kissed her.

Why do I feel like he stabbed me in the chest?

(189 words)

Living This Way

Scott stared down at the diary open on his knee, at the fragments of sentences he’d scribbled while drunk. What had he been trying to say? He scooped up his guitar and tested a few chords, then squinted down at his journal some more.

He paused, scooped up a pencil, and drew line breaks between some of the sentences and phrases.

Then, alone on the cold empty floor of his house, he began to sing.

“Wake me up and I'm tired again.

A good night’s sleep is around the bend.

I know in your arms is the only place I'll be disarmed.

I smoke to much so I'm trying to quit.

It's so hard, with no one to quit with,

Back on track with an insecure wrath.

How do I keep on living this and

Why do I keep on living this way?

I look in my diary almost every day,

See how bad life's been

And how much better things could be.

I can't face the truth ‘cause then I'd be facing you.

How do I keep on living this and

Why do I keep on living this way?”

Scott considered the diary some more, then reached out and grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka by the neck. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth, spat it aside, and then took a long pull.

After a few deep breaths, Scott picked up his guitar and tried the song again. It had sounded, oddly enough, better when he was sober. That was a good sign. He reached out and turned on the cheap little recorder he’d bought.

Once the song was done, he turned the page in his diary and considered his writing some more.

(285 words - lyrics from Kissing & Bleeding by Scott, Clint, and Bob Moffatt)

Few and Far Between

Mark flipped through a few pages of the old and worn book in his hands, the dates of the entry's were far apart.

He reread one entry from the middle of the book, calling to mind the memory of the day that he and his brother had decided to join the military. Their father had been proud of them.

The next entry was dated a year later. 'We have been placed in Major David Cole's command.

And the next and last entry three years later. "David gave his life for us today. Bryan is in the hospital, and Joe is missing. Steve is taking this hard.

Mark flipped the book closed and placed it back on his drawer. He didn't know when he would write in it next. Some things he would prefer to forget.

(rather pathetic I know)

Carrier Log

Carolyn and John didn’t keep anything from each other. They didn’t have heart-to-heart father-daughter chats or anything of the like. Carolyn kept a journal, a discreet black, leather-bound thing that gave off enough journal vibes to keep the boys away from it.

It wasn’t a journal in the strictest sense - Carolyn didn’t record her dreams or hopes. Like everything in her life, her journal was all about The Carrier.

8/17: attempted infiltration, south side stage door. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 22:45.

8/18: all secure. Carrier down with flu. Chicken noodle soup administered.

8/21: attempted retrieval, two blocks southeast of venue. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 19:04.

8/24: contact attempted by civilian female (read: fan). Interception by Agent Simon. Security reestablished at perimeter of hotel.

8/25: Orphaneer surveillance detected at mile marker 55 on I-80 eastbound. Countersurveillance established. Estimated time of strike unknown. Agent Simon dispatched to make undercover contact at gas station at mile marker 183.

8/26: attempted retrieval at hotel. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 05:15.

8/27: he kissed me.

8/28: attempted sedation via breakfast. Carrier grumpy and hungry. Orphaneer as yet undetected. Security at venue double-checked. 19:27 Orphaneer attempted retrieval. Intercepted. Wounded but not eliminated. Agent Simon on follow-up.

8/29: 03:32 Orphaneer eliminated. Janitors called 03:37. Bed-check revealed no disturbances with Carrier and siblings. (21:47 Clay kissed me. Trouble???)

9/1: all secure. (Robbie and Clay in a fight and not speaking. Potential for security breach due to angry carelessness?)

9/2: all secure. (Robbie and Clay still not speaking. Dan and Scott are catching on.)

9/3: all secure. (Robbie and Clay made up. Dan and Scott have figured things out. Need to keep Frank and Shelley out of the loop.)

9/4: attempted retrieval 23:02. Intercepted. Eliminated. (Good thing I was up late watching movies with the boys.) Janitors called 23:17. Reported to Agent Simon for medic check. Limited mobility in lower left quadrant, bruised ribs, sprained wrist. Agent Simon on high alert until healed.

9/5: all secure. (Robbie brought me hot chocolate so I would feel better after I “fell down the stairs” at the hotel.)

(376 words)

Why Am I Here

'Sometimes I ask myself why I am here. Not here as in the world, here as in my situation. I had a fairly normal life. How did I end up here in a black-ops unit saving the world day after day? Always another mission, always another life to save, always our way of life to uphold. Am I a glutton for punishment? Did fate just deal me these cards, though I really don't believe in fate. Fate as in something you can't escape... Nope, I don't think there is a point to that. Why do I do it and what do I hope to gain from it?'

Steve slowly closed his pocket journal and slipped it back in his bunk. These questions always rattled around in his head.

Skeletons of their Music

Kevin found it behind the desk in his sons' old bedroom, a battered spiral-bound notebook full of scribbled lyrics, chord progressions, production notes, and doodles. It was a songbook, the heart and soul of almost ten years of songwriting. Kevin sat down and paged through the smatterings of lyrics, tracing the handwriting and knowing instinctively whose hand had written what.

He’d lost his sons somewhere along the way, and all he had left was skeletons of their music.

Kevin settled back against Scott’s old bedstead and read.

Antifreeze and aeroplanes
Killing you and killing me
Tell you what? We can fly away

She makes me touch the sky
She makes me cry
Stole my heart and made me bleed
I don’t mind when she goes
Bang Bang Boom

I open my eyes and see her face
But I want one more night
in California, one more night with you

She’s all right, but
She’s a hangover I can’t get over
I call up her machine just to hear her voice
Call the doctor - she’s in my head

Every town I pass, your name’s on the road sign
Your voice is on the wind
Tell me if I make it back there again you’ll let me in

Carolyn

You keep moving, you’re tired of the places you call “there”
You are the girl of my dreams
All alone in my room wishing that you were here
I’m going down in flames
I’ll never be the same

No hard feelings
You left me breathing
How does it feel?
I don’t want you to want me
Tonight I’ll hold you tight
but I won’t come back again

I mean
I’ll be there for you
Isn’t it funny how time seems to slip away so fast?
If life is so short
I’m going to love you endlessly
But I won’t forget
Love isn’t always going to find me

Misery is when I touch you and
You can’t feel me
When I look in your eyes
Can you see me?

I look good with my heart in my throat

I’m perilously here and
She is gone

I’d say you were a supermodel, so

Tell me why do these walls
Lead me to a place
Where I can’t think about your face
Without missing you
So raise a glass to a love long past

This one’s for you

Every drink you down you taste reluctantly
Free yourself, be yourself, or lie my pretty
Venus butterfly

I’m walking behind while
They’re banging on every door
Hoping you’re alive
What were they looking for?

When you touch me it’s like
Nothing I have ever known, but

I’ve seen you looking at him
Who do you love?

We can take our time
Take it on
Take it all in till it’s all gone
In the moonlight you’re
Wide-eyed and lovely

I want to be wild at heart but
Without you my world

came
     undone

Maybe it’s wrong to have fun

(493 words)

Voice from the Past

Joe stood shuffling through a stack of papers and items. He had gathered everything up when he left the foster home. Everything.

Joe pulled another box towards himself where he sat on the floor in his tiny one room flat. He swallowed down a lump when he saw the box was labeled 'Alec.' He gently opened the flaps on the top and looked over a confusion of papers and assorted bits of the past.

Joe lingered over the papers, reading his brothers words, hearing his voice in his head. As Joe reached into the box for the final load of papers, his fingers encountered a book that was somewhat thicker than the normal composition books that had been filled with snatches of prose and bits of poetry.

The book was large and Joe could tell immediately that it was some kind of journal. Joe closed his eyes and flipped the book open to where the bookmark was inserted, to where Alec had written his thought for the last time.

'September 20

I've just been accepted to Purdue. I don't know though if I will go. Joe needs me here. The old man is such a bastard. I can't bear to think what he would do, what he would do worse if I were to leave. I can't do that to Joe. He's so innocent sometimes. I hate to see what the world is doing to him. Everyday I see the sparkle lessen in his eyes. Everyday that he has to face down the Bastard, every time he gets a beating. I can take it. I know eventually Joe would be able to bear that too, but he shouldn't have to. I will make a deal with the Bastard. He leaves Joe alone and he had whup me as much as he wants. I want Joe to have a happy life; well at least as happy as it can be, all things considered.
I won't go to Purdue. I won't leave Joe to that Bastard. the local college will be good enough for me. And when I get a good paying job, me and Joe will move out to a simple apartment, and Joe can just be a kid.'

Joe felt the salt drying on his cheek hours later, felt the tightening of the skin, the tightening of his heart. He gently placed the journal back into the box and placed it on a high shelf. A memory to be stored and returned to later.

To My Brothers

Dear Scott, Clay, and Bob,

I know you’re reading this (dirty traitors) so I will dispense with pretenses and get straight to the heart of things.

Scott was off key during the second chorus of Crazy tonight. Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but while I was helping Bob set up his drums someone - I suspect Clay - spoke to the sound engineer and had him remix my monitor so Scott’s voice was the loudest. Clay was a little off his game tonight, but then he started flirting with some girl in the first row and things might have been going well - until the forty-year-old woman behind the teenage girl thought Clay was flirting with her and --

Well, Clay has good reflexes. He ducked.

Which meant poor Bob ended up with some strange woman’s bra hanging from his crash cymbal. Luckily for Bob, he could hide his embarrassingly bright blush behind his pretty long hair.

We’re professionals, though, and none of us laughed.

Until we made it off stage.

Even Carolyn laughed. Apparently Dad had asked her to skip onto stage between songs and rescue the bra - none of the guys on crew wanted to go near it - but she was laughing too hard to be of any use.

Bob really, really needs to cut his hair.

Or at least clean it out of the drain in the shower after he’s done, because I don’t much appreciate getting his hair wound around my toe while I’m showering first thing in the morning.

From now on, when we get two rooms, I am so rooming with Clay. Let the long-haired monsters share the shower.

Adieu,

Dan

(276 words)

Project Assignment #50 - Dear Diary

Okay, lets pretend for a second that your characters keep diaries or journals, or whatever. What would an entry look like? Do they keep a daily record, or is it a once in a while thing as major events happen?

500 word max

Have fun writers!!

Overview #49: Fairytale Remix

Once we did a longer, more complex version of this challenge on Heavy Noir, and recently I read through some fairytale remixes, and I thought it would be fun to do some brief ones, in the vein of the comic A Softer World or maybe even A Merlin World. I like mythological and fairytale remixes, especially in urban fantasy settings the way Neil Gaiman does them. It's also fun to play with gender roles or give characters more personality or spine than they had in the original tale and see where that takes us, or to suggest that a less pleasant, less romantic version is the true version.

I'm pretty lame at most genres besides action thrillers and badly-ending romances, and I figure a few exercises in other genres is a lot of fun.

I couldn't resist a little Arthurian Legend thrown in for good measure.