“I don’t like the look of this at all,” Christian said.
“Neither do I.” Angel took a deep drag off his cigarette.
“Knock it off.” Christian elbowed him. “A sniper can see the cherry of your smoke from miles away. You’re gonna get yourself shot.”
“I noticed you said nothing about me getting myself killed.” Angel smiled grimly.
Christian closed his eyes and felt the rock and sway of the boat, wondered what one of his past incarnations would have thought of climbing into a giant metal death trap and hoping to float on the sea. “I’ve learned by now.”
“Good.” Angel flicked his cigarette over the edge of the boat. “I think this will be my last battle as a peon.”
“Oh? And how do you figure?”
Angel snorted. “You don’t know what it was like before. I’m a general by birth and by training. Taking orders like an automaton isn’t my thing.”
“And yet here you are, enlisted again.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure I can wrangle getting killed once we storm up this beach.” Angel closed his eyes and sighed. “Will humankind ever tire of wars?”
“No,” Christian said. “Somehow, it’s also in our blood.”
“You’re not humankind,” Angel pointed out rather undiplomatically.
Christian rolled his eyes. Then he sighed and shifted his gun, rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. “What time is it?”
“Oh-one-hundred-thirty-seven,” Angel said without looking at his watch. His sense of time had always been uncanny. Christian wondered if it was a telekinetic thing. “Technically it is now June 6th.”
“Normandy Beach, here we come.” Christian closed his eyes.
“Here we come,” Angel agreed. “Our last charge, right?”
“The last.”
(281 words)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
She Would
“Leave us,” Arcturus said, and his knights bowed respectfully, ducked out of the tent.
Elaine continued fastening his armor with steady hands, as if this were any other battle, but she knew that it wasn’t. They had been at Camlann for three days now, and both of them had seen Clarent shining in Medraut’s grip on the other side of the battlefield. Arcturus had Caledfwlch and Rhongomyniad, but Elaine had seen the end, and she knew it.
In all her years serving Arcturus, in her years training the young lad Arthwr, he’d never questioned her presence at Emry’s side as anything more than a dogsbody and a master-of-arms, but now she realized that he had suspected the truth all along, that he knew the truth of their power.
“I’m going to die out there, aren’t I?”
“You will kill Medraut.”
“And he will kill me.”
Elaine focused on fastening Arcturus gorge plate, fascinated by the soft, smooth skin at the nape of his neck. He sighed, and she knew that sound, lifted her hands away obediently. He turned to face her, and she kept her gaze obediently averted; she had become too good at playing a servant after so long in the role. He sighed again, and she felt the cool leather of his glove as he tilted her chin up.
“Elaine --”
“My Lord.”
“You never call my Arthwr anymore.”
“You are my king.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I was never your king.”
“You have always been my king,” Elaine said softly, and he had been her king in her dreams long before he was even born.
“You know and I know that this is my last battle,” Arcturus said. “As your king, I ask you to grant me a last request.”
“Anything, My Lord.”
“Call me Arthwr.”
“Yes, Arthwr,” Elaine said. She swallowed hard.
He stepped closer, and his hand slid to cup her face. “Elaine - kiss me --”
She shook her head and stepped back. “My Lord - your queen --”
His green eyes were wide, almost boyish in their fear. “Elaine --”
“I cannot,” she said. But she knew she would, when she was kneeling on the battlefield with him in her arms, listening to him breathe his last.
He bowed his head. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Elaine picked up Caledfwlch, pressed it into his hands. “I would forgive you all, my Lord, but there is naught to forgive.”
(400 words)
Elaine continued fastening his armor with steady hands, as if this were any other battle, but she knew that it wasn’t. They had been at Camlann for three days now, and both of them had seen Clarent shining in Medraut’s grip on the other side of the battlefield. Arcturus had Caledfwlch and Rhongomyniad, but Elaine had seen the end, and she knew it.
In all her years serving Arcturus, in her years training the young lad Arthwr, he’d never questioned her presence at Emry’s side as anything more than a dogsbody and a master-of-arms, but now she realized that he had suspected the truth all along, that he knew the truth of their power.
“I’m going to die out there, aren’t I?”
“You will kill Medraut.”
“And he will kill me.”
Elaine focused on fastening Arcturus gorge plate, fascinated by the soft, smooth skin at the nape of his neck. He sighed, and she knew that sound, lifted her hands away obediently. He turned to face her, and she kept her gaze obediently averted; she had become too good at playing a servant after so long in the role. He sighed again, and she felt the cool leather of his glove as he tilted her chin up.
“Elaine --”
“My Lord.”
“You never call my Arthwr anymore.”
“You are my king.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I was never your king.”
“You have always been my king,” Elaine said softly, and he had been her king in her dreams long before he was even born.
“You know and I know that this is my last battle,” Arcturus said. “As your king, I ask you to grant me a last request.”
“Anything, My Lord.”
“Call me Arthwr.”
“Yes, Arthwr,” Elaine said. She swallowed hard.
He stepped closer, and his hand slid to cup her face. “Elaine - kiss me --”
She shook her head and stepped back. “My Lord - your queen --”
His green eyes were wide, almost boyish in their fear. “Elaine --”
“I cannot,” she said. But she knew she would, when she was kneeling on the battlefield with him in her arms, listening to him breathe his last.
He bowed his head. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Elaine picked up Caledfwlch, pressed it into his hands. “I would forgive you all, my Lord, but there is naught to forgive.”
(400 words)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Last Dance
“The night is almost over,” Tobias murmured in Veronica’s ear.
She nodded against his shoulder. “Indeed it is.”
“Is there no way to slow time?”
“I haven’t found one yet.” Veronica smiled faintly.
Tobias buried his face in her hair and sighed. He wondered if it was a high school cliché, to say that tonight had been the best night of his admittedly short life, and he didn’t want it to end.
“We still have the last dance,” Veronica said. They’d been swaying to slow music for the last fifteen minutes - straight duck walks, all five songs. Tobias thought a good stroll or jitterbug, a jive or a swing might liven things up - it’d be a great way to end the night, breathless and bright-eyed in each other’s arms. Veronica was a terrific dancer.
The DJ announced it, the last dance, the last three minutes Tobias would get to have Veronica in his arms, and he closed his eyes, ready for another pathetic duck walk. He loved feeling the warmth of her against him, of feeling her heartbeat against his, but this was -- too slow. He was restless, she was energetic, and...
The music that poured over the gym was a tango.
Tobias grinned. He pulled back, offered his hand and bowed. “May I have this dance?”
Veronica grinned right back at him. “You may.”
(226 words)
She nodded against his shoulder. “Indeed it is.”
“Is there no way to slow time?”
“I haven’t found one yet.” Veronica smiled faintly.
Tobias buried his face in her hair and sighed. He wondered if it was a high school cliché, to say that tonight had been the best night of his admittedly short life, and he didn’t want it to end.
“We still have the last dance,” Veronica said. They’d been swaying to slow music for the last fifteen minutes - straight duck walks, all five songs. Tobias thought a good stroll or jitterbug, a jive or a swing might liven things up - it’d be a great way to end the night, breathless and bright-eyed in each other’s arms. Veronica was a terrific dancer.
The DJ announced it, the last dance, the last three minutes Tobias would get to have Veronica in his arms, and he closed his eyes, ready for another pathetic duck walk. He loved feeling the warmth of her against him, of feeling her heartbeat against his, but this was -- too slow. He was restless, she was energetic, and...
The music that poured over the gym was a tango.
Tobias grinned. He pulled back, offered his hand and bowed. “May I have this dance?”
Veronica grinned right back at him. “You may.”
(226 words)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Hold Back or Hold On
“This is it,” Dylan said. He leaned against the railing, gazed out at the skyline where high-rises made it jagged, unnatural. He would miss the way the blues and greens played on the edges of the bay, the twinkle of the cable car up to the peak. He wouldn’t miss much else, not as long as Celia was beside him.
“The last fight,” Celia agreed. She nudged his shoulder with hers, the gesture subtle but comforting; he could feel the warmth of her through the sleeve of his jacket.
“I won’t hold back,” he said.
“I don’t think you ever have - at least, not in the first fight,” Celia said.
Dylan ducked his head and sighed. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“You thought I was a boy.” Celia smiled easily. She turned more fully toward him, pressed herself against his side. “You really thought I was a boy?”
“That jacket doesn’t fit nearly as well as you think it does,” he said.
“Yes, well, they’re one size fits all, and we don’t have money like you do. We were lucky to get cute matching jackets at all.” Celia fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve experimentally. “It’s a good thing Tiger has retarded notions about the 1950’s, eh?”
“Indeed,” Dylan agreed, tone mock-solemn. They stood, gazing out at the skyline in comfortable silence. Then Dylan sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Celia said. “You know I’m a capable fighter.”
Dylan turned to her, tugged her close, arms wrapped around her waist. “I know you are. It’s just --”
Celia’s golden eyes gleamed. “We have to make it believable. Give it your all, and I’ll do the rest.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “One last fight.”
“Last fight,” Celia agreed, and kissed him.
Dragon pulled back when a car horn sounded from the street below. Soren and the others hollered for him to come take a ride.
“Catch you later, Demon,” Dragon said.
“Later,” Seal agreed. She watched him vault over the side of the balcony, shimmy down the tree with the agility of a professional acrobat. He had no idea what would hit him.
(362 words)
“The last fight,” Celia agreed. She nudged his shoulder with hers, the gesture subtle but comforting; he could feel the warmth of her through the sleeve of his jacket.
“I won’t hold back,” he said.
“I don’t think you ever have - at least, not in the first fight,” Celia said.
Dylan ducked his head and sighed. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“You thought I was a boy.” Celia smiled easily. She turned more fully toward him, pressed herself against his side. “You really thought I was a boy?”
“That jacket doesn’t fit nearly as well as you think it does,” he said.
“Yes, well, they’re one size fits all, and we don’t have money like you do. We were lucky to get cute matching jackets at all.” Celia fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve experimentally. “It’s a good thing Tiger has retarded notions about the 1950’s, eh?”
“Indeed,” Dylan agreed, tone mock-solemn. They stood, gazing out at the skyline in comfortable silence. Then Dylan sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Celia said. “You know I’m a capable fighter.”
Dylan turned to her, tugged her close, arms wrapped around her waist. “I know you are. It’s just --”
Celia’s golden eyes gleamed. “We have to make it believable. Give it your all, and I’ll do the rest.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “One last fight.”
“Last fight,” Celia agreed, and kissed him.
Dragon pulled back when a car horn sounded from the street below. Soren and the others hollered for him to come take a ride.
“Catch you later, Demon,” Dragon said.
“Later,” Seal agreed. She watched him vault over the side of the balcony, shimmy down the tree with the agility of a professional acrobat. He had no idea what would hit him.
(362 words)
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Last Kiss
James sat in the waiting room at the hospital, staring at his shoes. He had his hoodie pulled up to hide his face; he couldn’t deal with fans right then. He could remember, with painstaking clarity, their last kiss. It had been - innocuous. Soft and brief, the press of her lips against his as she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her shoes.
“Going for a run,” she’d said, leaned down and pressed her lips to his. “I’ll bring back some fresh bread and cream, all right? Maybe some strawberries.”
“Fraises,” he’d murmured, half awake, drinking in the sight of her backlit by the morning sun.
And then she’d gone.
When Tobias stepped out of the little side room where the doctor had asked to speak to him, James knew. Tobias’s face was pale, expression dangerously blank - especially on an actor - and then he spoke. James saw Tobias’s mouth shape words, heard syllables, but nothing made sense.
After a few moments, he buried his face in his hands and cried.
(173 words)
“Going for a run,” she’d said, leaned down and pressed her lips to his. “I’ll bring back some fresh bread and cream, all right? Maybe some strawberries.”
“Fraises,” he’d murmured, half awake, drinking in the sight of her backlit by the morning sun.
And then she’d gone.
When Tobias stepped out of the little side room where the doctor had asked to speak to him, James knew. Tobias’s face was pale, expression dangerously blank - especially on an actor - and then he spoke. James saw Tobias’s mouth shape words, heard syllables, but nothing made sense.
After a few moments, he buried his face in his hands and cried.
(173 words)
Monday, March 8, 2010
Supper, First and Last
“What are you doing?” Jade stood in the doorway of the tent, arms crossed over his chest. Without his curls he looked older, more dangerous. With the curls, he’d looked benign and boyish. Puppy-like.
Tobias was kneading dough with easy hands, humming an old jazz tune under his breath as he worked. “Sourdough bread. Homemade. Family recipe, as it were. Some of the boys said they were hankering for good sandwiches, and wonderbread doesn’t cut it out here.”
“You say it like it’s their last meal,” Jade said.
Tobias glanced over his shoulder; his eyes were dark. “For some of them it is.”
Jade took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his cheekbone where he’d caught some flak from an explosion earlier that day. “Right. Now that I’m - “ he gestured at himself vaguely - “I forget it’s so much harder for everyone else. To survive.”
“Yes, well, I figure some of the grunts deserve some good food. After all, it’s my last meal.”
Jade looked confused. “But...you don’t have to eat.”
“I know,” Tobias said. “And since I don’t have to eat, there’s no reason for me to waste upwards of three hours a day cooking for the troops, is there? The Commander needs me for things.”
The corners of Jade’s mouth turned down as he considered Tobias’s position, and then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Asia always used to tell me you were the best cook, you know. When she was training me to fly. I guess if you’re never going to cook again, you might as well go out with a --”
“Fondue,” Tobias said.
“Right,” Jade agreed, and grimaced at his poor decision to use a cliché.
Tobias used his elbow to point to a rolling pin. “Ever made pie from scratch?”
Jade rolled his sleeves up. “No. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“And a last,” Tobias agreed.
(316 words)
Tobias was kneading dough with easy hands, humming an old jazz tune under his breath as he worked. “Sourdough bread. Homemade. Family recipe, as it were. Some of the boys said they were hankering for good sandwiches, and wonderbread doesn’t cut it out here.”
“You say it like it’s their last meal,” Jade said.
Tobias glanced over his shoulder; his eyes were dark. “For some of them it is.”
Jade took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his cheekbone where he’d caught some flak from an explosion earlier that day. “Right. Now that I’m - “ he gestured at himself vaguely - “I forget it’s so much harder for everyone else. To survive.”
“Yes, well, I figure some of the grunts deserve some good food. After all, it’s my last meal.”
Jade looked confused. “But...you don’t have to eat.”
“I know,” Tobias said. “And since I don’t have to eat, there’s no reason for me to waste upwards of three hours a day cooking for the troops, is there? The Commander needs me for things.”
The corners of Jade’s mouth turned down as he considered Tobias’s position, and then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Asia always used to tell me you were the best cook, you know. When she was training me to fly. I guess if you’re never going to cook again, you might as well go out with a --”
“Fondue,” Tobias said.
“Right,” Jade agreed, and grimaced at his poor decision to use a cliché.
Tobias used his elbow to point to a rolling pin. “Ever made pie from scratch?”
Jade rolled his sleeves up. “No. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“And a last,” Tobias agreed.
(316 words)
Knew it was a Lie
Joe glanced around guiltily as he ducked from the lighted street into a partially shadowed doorway. He pulled the door closed firmly behind him and made sure it was locked before he even turned away from it.
The hall that stretched before him was illuminated looked like any other hallway in a city condo building. Joe paced down the carpeted alley; making no noise as he passed five doors; three hundred paces to his final destination. Joe raised one fist and knocked gently.
The door was pulled open a crack and then shut again, he could hear the chain rattling on the other side of the wood. As soon as the door was open wide enough he slipped through and gently shut the door behind him so that no one would notice his passing.
The room was dim, though he could see well enough. He knew these rooms like his own and didn't hesitate as he toed off his shoes by the door and hung up his jacket. He could hear breathing coming from his right and turned to face Jen.
Joe took two steps and was enfolded in a soft and sensual embrace; his lips eagerly seeking out hers. Kisses that were soft and urgent quickly turned demanding and passionate; teeth clashing and tongues entwining. Joe quickly lost his shirt as he was backed up against the wall.
Hours later, he slipped quietly from the apartment on stockinged feet.
Each time Joe told himself that it was the last time. But he knew that it was a lie.
The hall that stretched before him was illuminated looked like any other hallway in a city condo building. Joe paced down the carpeted alley; making no noise as he passed five doors; three hundred paces to his final destination. Joe raised one fist and knocked gently.
The door was pulled open a crack and then shut again, he could hear the chain rattling on the other side of the wood. As soon as the door was open wide enough he slipped through and gently shut the door behind him so that no one would notice his passing.
The room was dim, though he could see well enough. He knew these rooms like his own and didn't hesitate as he toed off his shoes by the door and hung up his jacket. He could hear breathing coming from his right and turned to face Jen.
Joe took two steps and was enfolded in a soft and sensual embrace; his lips eagerly seeking out hers. Kisses that were soft and urgent quickly turned demanding and passionate; teeth clashing and tongues entwining. Joe quickly lost his shirt as he was backed up against the wall.
Hours later, he slipped quietly from the apartment on stockinged feet.
Each time Joe told himself that it was the last time. But he knew that it was a lie.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Overview # 61 - Poetry
So I was on a roll this week, but I ended up stumbling at the end of the week. I did turn out some poetry that I thought was rather well done and some that was not so much. I must say, writing the Dance club poem for me was intense as I remembered. Funny how memories can be so potent, and others that are just as important begin to fade...
Project #63: This is the Last Time
So...last times for characters. The last time David saw Ari alive. The last time Asia kissed James. The last time Joe held a gun. It's the last time for someone, so make it good. 100-400 words.
Overview #62: Poetry
So I started writing for this challenge at about 4 a.m. Sunday the week it began. The challenge was poetry, and the wordcount was unlimited, so I thought - well, what type of poetry represents an unlimited wordcount better than epic poetry? Of course, I'm no poet, so taking on an epic poem was really quite delusional of me. And it went pretty badly - it started off in the present tense, and switched to past tense, and then somewhere along the way I forgot what the verb tense was for each section anyway. It was a whole lot of description, similes and metaphors piled onto each other to make pointless things concrete. Some of it was real (like I google the directions from Glastonbury to Bath and then from Bath to Dinas Emrys), and some of it was totally made up (Arthur had no reason to be really hanging around Aquae Sulis), and some of it was more old-fashioned than necessary (Caledfwlch for Excalibur), but it was fun to write nevertheless, since I've been digging on Arthurian legends as of late. I structured the poem based on the typical conflicts found in fiction (self v. self, self v. another character, self v. society, &c), and I had a lot of fun with it (although technically there are seven standard conflicts; our weekly challenges only leave room for six.
So I was overambitious and under-performing, but it was good fun this week.
So I was overambitious and under-performing, but it was good fun this week.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)