Captain Laura Nelson sat at her desk considering the papers before her. She had been asked by Commander Hayes to evaluate the psychological state of the men in the late Major Cole's team. Flipping though the files again she read her notations. None of the men had been willing to talk to her at all, so what she knew she had gleaned from their behavior and minutely observing them in the aftermath of Major Cole's death.
First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood: Appears guilt ridden, trying to flee from reality. Drinking heavily, near exhaustion.
Second Lieutenant Brian Allard: Injured, refuses medication, some self destructive behavior
Second Lieutenant Mark Allard: Blames himself, puts on a good face for others but torn up inside.
Second Lieutenant Joseph Kendrick: Sees Major Cole's death as a reprise of his own brothers death, unwilling to deal with it.
Captain Nelson looked over her papers. She noted in the report a common thread of the men either not dealing with the loss or dealing with it in destructive ways.
Laura thought on the man that they had lost. David was bright and friendly when he opened up. A natural leader and teacher. He had advanced through the ranks swiftly after Commander Hayes had brought him to the base. His men had come to love and rely on him. She had not a doubt that each of them would have died in his stead. But she also knew David, knew that he would sacrifice himself rather than let any of his men die.
With regret Captain Nelson picked up her pen.
Recommend separation and reassignment due to risks of emotional and psychological damage to the personnel.
Laura hated what she was doing to them, but she had to think first of what was best for this command, for the base and for all the men here. Reluctantly Captain Nelson signed her name at the bottom of the paperwork and placed it in the out box. It would be delivered to the Commander first thing tomorrow morning.
Setting down her pen, Laura scooted her chair back from her desk and turned off the desk lamp before walking out the door.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
And The Torch Went Out
“Now, pretty boy, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at DJ with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
She's a Great Kisser
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Chase with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Hayes get the news
Commander Hayes sat stunned in his office. Steve had just left to have his wounds tended in the infirmary after having told Hayes what had happened. Hayes was used to men not coming back from battle. He had lost many good men, men that he had trained, men that he had grown to respect. Of all the people that had died in the battles that had been waged across the world; the thought that David would not come home had never crossed his mind. David had seemed so strong. He knew that it would have been foolish to assume that David would never get hurt, but he was shocked all the same.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Better Liar
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Bob with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
AWOL Joe
Joe stood on the edge of the beach, staring out to sea, the wind fingering through his hair. Joe watched the sun set over the waves. It had been a week now since he had left the base; a week since David's funeral. It felt like he had walked around in a fog the week leading up to the funeral. The psychologist had tried to get him to talk. He had flatly refused.
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Canadian National
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Scott with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Fractured
Mark was hesitant to leave Brian's side in the hospital. He knew that Brian was in pain; both physically and mentally, but he was trying his best not to show it. Mark knew however. You can't hide anything from your twin.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Brian is Stuck
Brian was stuck in the hospital. He hated hospitals. He especially hated being in the hospital for something that could have been avoided if he were more careful. Brian looked down at his leg and over at his bandaged shoulder. He had taken a shot in the leg that had shattered the femur, and a shot thorough his shoulder; the bullet ripping clean through; just under his collar bone. Mark and Steve had carried him to safety.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
The Wrong Brother
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Clay with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Clay took a deep breath. “Before you start cutting me like an emo, girl, there’s one thing you should consider.” His mind raced - this wasn’t just an unfriendly crowd he was trying to win over, this was a professional psychopath. “I have a twin brother.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “Why should that matter to me?”
Clay met the man’s gaze squarely. “You should consider that you might have the wrong guy. Granted, we’re both in the rhythm section, but I’m the bassist and he’s the drummer. If you have the wrong guy, well, you’re not going to get anything from me but six quarts of mess, and whoever you work for won’t be pleased that you wasted all this time and effort for nothing.”
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “You make a fine point, you know. If you aren’t lying. They didn’t say anything about twins, they just said to a grab the boy from the band - and you’re a boy. From the band. But I don’t think I have the wrong brother.”
“I’m the wrong brother, I assure you.” Clay knew that much, but he didn’t know which of his brothers was the right one, which one he should protect or scream at.
“The wrong brother wouldn’t have known I work for anyone, and he wouldn’t be this calm in the face of interrogation,” the man said. His smiled widened. “The right brother would have been trained, however, for just this type of situation, and you, young sir, are very calm.”
“Maybe I’m just a talented performer,” Clay said. Between him and Scott, he was honestly the better charmer. “I can pretend to be calm. Have you ever been calm when ten-thousand thirteen-year-old girls are trying to pull your hair?” Maybe that was a stupid question, since the man was bald.
And he was full-on grinning. “Pretend away, then, son. Time for that six-quart mess.”
Clay passed out.
(397 words)
Clay took a deep breath. “Before you start cutting me like an emo, girl, there’s one thing you should consider.” His mind raced - this wasn’t just an unfriendly crowd he was trying to win over, this was a professional psychopath. “I have a twin brother.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “Why should that matter to me?”
Clay met the man’s gaze squarely. “You should consider that you might have the wrong guy. Granted, we’re both in the rhythm section, but I’m the bassist and he’s the drummer. If you have the wrong guy, well, you’re not going to get anything from me but six quarts of mess, and whoever you work for won’t be pleased that you wasted all this time and effort for nothing.”
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “You make a fine point, you know. If you aren’t lying. They didn’t say anything about twins, they just said to a grab the boy from the band - and you’re a boy. From the band. But I don’t think I have the wrong brother.”
“I’m the wrong brother, I assure you.” Clay knew that much, but he didn’t know which of his brothers was the right one, which one he should protect or scream at.
“The wrong brother wouldn’t have known I work for anyone, and he wouldn’t be this calm in the face of interrogation,” the man said. His smiled widened. “The right brother would have been trained, however, for just this type of situation, and you, young sir, are very calm.”
“Maybe I’m just a talented performer,” Clay said. Between him and Scott, he was honestly the better charmer. “I can pretend to be calm. Have you ever been calm when ten-thousand thirteen-year-old girls are trying to pull your hair?” Maybe that was a stupid question, since the man was bald.
And he was full-on grinning. “Pretend away, then, son. Time for that six-quart mess.”
Clay passed out.
(397 words)
Monday, May 18, 2009
About Six Quarts
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Dan with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Dan took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything.” It was the truth - he was the youngest, and he didn’t know anything, never knew anything. Scott hardly trusted him, and then twins were locked in their own little telepathic world - he didn’t know anything. “I swear - I’m just a keyboard player in a band and I don’t know what’s going on.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “I know you seem like you’re just a keyboard player in your little boy rock band, and I seem like some random truck driver, but I work for a man who knows more about you and your world than you realize, and he knows that you’ve been two-timing your agent to run connections for Sector Five Commander.”
Sector Five Commander. Agent. Connections. Dan didn’t understand any of it. “I really am just a musician. Please - let me go! My father will pay whatever you want - there’s lots of money in the trust account - just --”
“It’s not money Commander Hagalaz wants. Just information. And you’re going to give it to him,” the man said.
Hagalaz. Dan didn’t even realize that could be a person’s name. He strained against the chains, felt them bite into his wrists. He was already bruised - what would more bruising matter? “I have nothing to give.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, and Dan felt his heart begin to pound madly in his ears. The man rose to his feet and brandished the knife so the blade glinted beneath the glow of the single bulb.
“You have lots to give, actually, lad,” he said. “About six quarts.” He drew the knife slowly, delicately, across Dan’s thigh.
Dan screamed.
(348 words)
Dan took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything.” It was the truth - he was the youngest, and he didn’t know anything, never knew anything. Scott hardly trusted him, and then twins were locked in their own little telepathic world - he didn’t know anything. “I swear - I’m just a keyboard player in a band and I don’t know what’s going on.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “I know you seem like you’re just a keyboard player in your little boy rock band, and I seem like some random truck driver, but I work for a man who knows more about you and your world than you realize, and he knows that you’ve been two-timing your agent to run connections for Sector Five Commander.”
Sector Five Commander. Agent. Connections. Dan didn’t understand any of it. “I really am just a musician. Please - let me go! My father will pay whatever you want - there’s lots of money in the trust account - just --”
“It’s not money Commander Hagalaz wants. Just information. And you’re going to give it to him,” the man said.
Hagalaz. Dan didn’t even realize that could be a person’s name. He strained against the chains, felt them bite into his wrists. He was already bruised - what would more bruising matter? “I have nothing to give.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, and Dan felt his heart begin to pound madly in his ears. The man rose to his feet and brandished the knife so the blade glinted beneath the glow of the single bulb.
“You have lots to give, actually, lad,” he said. “About six quarts.” He drew the knife slowly, delicately, across Dan’s thigh.
Dan screamed.
(348 words)
Steve Deals With It.
The pain of losing a friend, commander and a brother in arms was almost to much for Steve. It had been a rough few weeks; first David's death in the bunkers. Brian was still in the hospital, though he was able to attend the funeral. Joe had run off somewhere for a week and now would hardly talk to anyone; and Mark was as bad off as the rest of them.
Steve tried everything that he could think of to block out the pain of reality; exercising to the point of exhaustion, meditation, even hitting the bottle pretty hard. All he wound up with was a hangover, frustration, and sore muscles.
The psychologist had wanted to talk to all of them, but Steve was not really in a cathartic mood.
Coming back to his quarters one evening, Steve found an official set of orders.
ATTN: First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood
SUB: Disband
You are hereby notified that the team lead by the late Major David Cole is to be disbanded and reassigned to different teams.
Office of General Command.
Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jumping up from his bunk, Steve ran down the hall to Commander Hayes office and knocked on the door, not waiting for permission to enter.
"Commander."
Hayes turned in his chair to face Steve.
"Lieutenant," Hayes said, looking at the agitated man in front of him.
"What is this? Are you really splitting up the team?" Steve demanded, his voice bordering on belligerent.
When Hayes raised an eyebrow at his tone, Steve amended with a moderated, "Sir."
"Yes, lieutenant, I am splitting up the team. The cohesion of the group has fallen apart since the death of Major Cole."
"But sir, will all due respect, we are almost a family. Please, give me the chance to keep us together." Steve felt like he was pleading. Not that he minded, he would do anything to keep the group together.
Hayes considered the man in front of him. He knew all about Steve, and what he had been doing the last few weeks. He also had the Psychologists report on the mental state of the team. She had recommended the disbandment of the team; stating that they would do better if they were separated. But Hayes was a shrewd man; he could see what this would mean for the group.
"Alright Lieutenant," Hayes said nodding, "I'll give you one month to pull your team back together. If in that time, you are not all functioning as a unit again, then I will disband the team."
"Thank you Sir," Steve said, saluting his commander. He walked out of the room. He knew that he could never be to the team what David was, but he would give it his best to keep them together.
Steve tried everything that he could think of to block out the pain of reality; exercising to the point of exhaustion, meditation, even hitting the bottle pretty hard. All he wound up with was a hangover, frustration, and sore muscles.
The psychologist had wanted to talk to all of them, but Steve was not really in a cathartic mood.
Coming back to his quarters one evening, Steve found an official set of orders.
ATTN: First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood
SUB: Disband
You are hereby notified that the team lead by the late Major David Cole is to be disbanded and reassigned to different teams.
Office of General Command.
Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jumping up from his bunk, Steve ran down the hall to Commander Hayes office and knocked on the door, not waiting for permission to enter.
"Commander."
Hayes turned in his chair to face Steve.
"Lieutenant," Hayes said, looking at the agitated man in front of him.
"What is this? Are you really splitting up the team?" Steve demanded, his voice bordering on belligerent.
When Hayes raised an eyebrow at his tone, Steve amended with a moderated, "Sir."
"Yes, lieutenant, I am splitting up the team. The cohesion of the group has fallen apart since the death of Major Cole."
"But sir, will all due respect, we are almost a family. Please, give me the chance to keep us together." Steve felt like he was pleading. Not that he minded, he would do anything to keep the group together.
Hayes considered the man in front of him. He knew all about Steve, and what he had been doing the last few weeks. He also had the Psychologists report on the mental state of the team. She had recommended the disbandment of the team; stating that they would do better if they were separated. But Hayes was a shrewd man; he could see what this would mean for the group.
"Alright Lieutenant," Hayes said nodding, "I'll give you one month to pull your team back together. If in that time, you are not all functioning as a unit again, then I will disband the team."
"Thank you Sir," Steve said, saluting his commander. He walked out of the room. He knew that he could never be to the team what David was, but he would give it his best to keep them together.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Project #27: Characterization in an instant
You have 100-500 words to demonstrate characterization in a single instant. Start with a single, simple scenario and have one character's reaction to it. In the next post, have a different character (original character, of your own making) react to the same scenario. Take the opportunity to explore what each character would do, how each of them is formed, how they think and feel and what makes them act the way they do. Don't tell too much, don't overdo backstory and details - just show us, in a moment, what makes your character who he or she is.
Rules v. 1.5
Rest Days
It is my official decree that Sunday shall be a day of rest, a chance to post overviews and new project assignments or muse on one posted by another, but having to post two or three things in a day could be a challenge, since sometimes creating a challenge and then writing for it is difficult. From this week henceforth, Sunday shall be a day of rest - feel no need to post writing beyond minor admin stuff on a Sunday. There - take a load off and relax.
It is my official decree that Sunday shall be a day of rest, a chance to post overviews and new project assignments or muse on one posted by another, but having to post two or three things in a day could be a challenge, since sometimes creating a challenge and then writing for it is difficult. From this week henceforth, Sunday shall be a day of rest - feel no need to post writing beyond minor admin stuff on a Sunday. There - take a load off and relax.
Overview #25 and #26
So I failed a couple of overviews in a row. Them's the breaks, I guess. It was fun, cobbling together dialogue out of random things like song lyrics and poems. To make it really work, I'd have to fiddle with the quotes a bit, what I came up with from direct quotes worked pretty well. It was difficult to establish true character, but at least two subject positions could be clearly defined creating dialogue that way. As much as I love dialogue, writing so much of it here gets it out of my system, because in rereading some old online fiction, I've discovered that pointless dialogue for the sake of witty exchanges is a mark of immature writing. Still, sometimes, when practicing with a character, it's fun.
The midnight challenge was pretty good times. It reminded me of late nights with my friends and all the things you can say in the sombreness of darkness that no one dares breach during the day. It was also fun to let Bob and the boys out of their boxes a little more to explore the Dagaz universe and possibilities for Asia.
The midnight challenge was pretty good times. It reminded me of late nights with my friends and all the things you can say in the sombreness of darkness that no one dares breach during the day. It was also fun to let Bob and the boys out of their boxes a little more to explore the Dagaz universe and possibilities for Asia.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Walking the Midnight Perimeter
Scott didn’t like her. He’d been suspicious of her the first time they’d met, back when the triplets were fourteen and didn’t know much better. All three of them had been charmed by the pretty college girl, the one who was willing to listen to Clay’s bad poetry, learn new rhythms from Bob, spar with Dan, but Scott knew it was bizarre, how perfect she was for each of them. She was perfect for him, too, but he was the older brother, and he would cut off his own hands before he let anyone hurt his brothers, and he was sure she’d hurt at least one of them.
He just hadn’t realized how she could hurt them.
She was sitting in Clay’s chair on the front porch, hands folded neatly in her lap, when Scott returned from walking the midnight perimeter.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t care that his tone was rude or hostile.
“I brought medicine for Bob.”
“You could have left it on the table and been on your way.” Scott swung his axe up on his shoulder and studied her. He was taller than her, not that he or any of his brothers were particularly tall, and outweighed her by a lot. He imagined he was almost angry enough to take her.
“This is your house. It’s rude to enter someone’s house uninvited,” she said. Her gaze was perfectly frank, and Scott had the strange notion that she actually meant what she said.
“Bob wouldn’t have needed this medicine if it weren’t for you,” he said. That was irrational and he knew it, but he’d wanted to speak his mind to her since she’d shown up in their hotel room in Germany nine months ago.
“He would have needed this medicine regardless of whether or not he passed selection.” Asia gazed up at him. “Some of the team passed you for selection, but the analysts knew better - you’re too distrustful for your own good.”
“Why would I trust you? All you’ve done is endanger us and isolate us from everyone we know and love.” Scott knew he was starting to yell, that Dan would come running, but he didn’t care.
“Because that red dot on your chest isn’t from the laser pointer on my key chain,” Asia said, and stood up.
Scott could only stare as she jerked forward slightly, a red stain blossoming across the front of her t-shirt. She coughed, the sound wet, and when she drew her hand away from her mouth it was covered with blood.
“You - you’ve been shot!”
“I know,” she said. She drew a gun from the waistband of her jeans, glanced over her shoulder, and fired once. Scott heard the resulting thump of a corpse hitting the ground.
Scott ripped open the front door. “Dan! Dan, get the first aid kit!”
“This is a bit beyond first aid, but I’ll live,” Asia said. “If you can’t trust a woman who takes a bullet for you, you’ll never trust anyone, not even the woman you love.” She thrust a plastic bag at him. “Medicine for Bob. I’ll be back before it runs out.” She didn’t even stagger as she stepped off the front porch and began the trek down to her car.
(545 words)
He just hadn’t realized how she could hurt them.
She was sitting in Clay’s chair on the front porch, hands folded neatly in her lap, when Scott returned from walking the midnight perimeter.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t care that his tone was rude or hostile.
“I brought medicine for Bob.”
“You could have left it on the table and been on your way.” Scott swung his axe up on his shoulder and studied her. He was taller than her, not that he or any of his brothers were particularly tall, and outweighed her by a lot. He imagined he was almost angry enough to take her.
“This is your house. It’s rude to enter someone’s house uninvited,” she said. Her gaze was perfectly frank, and Scott had the strange notion that she actually meant what she said.
“Bob wouldn’t have needed this medicine if it weren’t for you,” he said. That was irrational and he knew it, but he’d wanted to speak his mind to her since she’d shown up in their hotel room in Germany nine months ago.
“He would have needed this medicine regardless of whether or not he passed selection.” Asia gazed up at him. “Some of the team passed you for selection, but the analysts knew better - you’re too distrustful for your own good.”
“Why would I trust you? All you’ve done is endanger us and isolate us from everyone we know and love.” Scott knew he was starting to yell, that Dan would come running, but he didn’t care.
“Because that red dot on your chest isn’t from the laser pointer on my key chain,” Asia said, and stood up.
Scott could only stare as she jerked forward slightly, a red stain blossoming across the front of her t-shirt. She coughed, the sound wet, and when she drew her hand away from her mouth it was covered with blood.
“You - you’ve been shot!”
“I know,” she said. She drew a gun from the waistband of her jeans, glanced over her shoulder, and fired once. Scott heard the resulting thump of a corpse hitting the ground.
Scott ripped open the front door. “Dan! Dan, get the first aid kit!”
“This is a bit beyond first aid, but I’ll live,” Asia said. “If you can’t trust a woman who takes a bullet for you, you’ll never trust anyone, not even the woman you love.” She thrust a plastic bag at him. “Medicine for Bob. I’ll be back before it runs out.” She didn’t even stagger as she stepped off the front porch and began the trek down to her car.
(545 words)
After the First
Commander Hayes walked back and forth in his office. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it read eleven forty-five. Commander Hayes office was in perfect military order; the only hint of anything personal was a photograph on his desk. It showed Hayes with a pretty woman. The figures in the photo were sitting on the grass, the trees overhead turning bright colors, Hayes and the woman were smiling at each other.
Hayes forced himself to stop pacing and sit at his desk, trying to get some paperwork done. He was not worried about David, at least not to much, but it was David's first solo mission. He looked at the clock again, only five minutes had passed.
Hayes thought back to his first mission. Surveillance, and execution of the objective. Of course it had been different back then. Weapons had not been as advanced, nor had the surveillance.
Hayes looked up at the solid knock on his office door.
"Come," Hayes called.
The door opened and David stepped in the room, snapping off a salute. Hayes looked his man up and down, noting the blank look in David's eyes. Hayes motioned for David to take a seat.
He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "It looks like you could use this," Hayes said, pouring out a glass for David.
David grasped the glass tightly and knocked back the shot, wincing as it went down.
Hayes remained silent, waiting for David to speak.
Eventually David asked, "Does it get easier?"
Hayes considered his answer before speaking, "No, but eventually you learn to block it out.
Hayes forced himself to stop pacing and sit at his desk, trying to get some paperwork done. He was not worried about David, at least not to much, but it was David's first solo mission. He looked at the clock again, only five minutes had passed.
Hayes thought back to his first mission. Surveillance, and execution of the objective. Of course it had been different back then. Weapons had not been as advanced, nor had the surveillance.
Hayes looked up at the solid knock on his office door.
"Come," Hayes called.
The door opened and David stepped in the room, snapping off a salute. Hayes looked his man up and down, noting the blank look in David's eyes. Hayes motioned for David to take a seat.
He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "It looks like you could use this," Hayes said, pouring out a glass for David.
David grasped the glass tightly and knocked back the shot, wincing as it went down.
Hayes remained silent, waiting for David to speak.
Eventually David asked, "Does it get easier?"
Hayes considered his answer before speaking, "No, but eventually you learn to block it out.
Friday, May 15, 2009
She Knows Things Sometimes
“Why are you still awake?”
“Still? It’s midnight. I got off work at eleven. It takes at least an hour for my brain to shut down.” Bob closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
Clay slid into the seat opposite him. “You shouldn’t risk yourself, going out there like that.”
“Risk myself how? No one’s going to look for the drummer of Summers Four at a paper factory.” Bob ran a hand over his shorn head and smiled tiredly. From just the right angle, he looked indistinguishable from his older brother. “You should cut your hair again and we could pull doubles.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on Scott and Dan,” Clay said.
“It’s too bad they were always the fan favorites, hm? No one ever cares about the rhythm section.” Bob reached up to rub his neck. It was sore from his being hunched over a machine all day. “Just three more months of this and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Why do you trust her so much?” Clay leaned forward and caught Bob’s gaze, searched. “She lied to all of us, and she lied to you, endangered us, stole our lives - “
“She’s the reason I’m still alive. She’s the reason all of us are alive, and as for her being a danger - I could have said no, let them do the memory wipe, but I chose to be part of something bigger than I am.” Bob met his brother’s gaze frankly. “I did this to us, not her. Don’t be afraid to blame me just because I’m sick.”
Clay shook his head. “Sometimes, when it’s you and me hunched over Scott’s old guitar, writing country songs like we did when we were kids, it’s like we’re children again, like we have that same wordless connection we always had, but then I realize I don’t know you at all. Ever since you told us about the leukemia, you’ve changed.”
“I changed before the leukemia,” Bob said.
“I’m guessing so, if you started working for these people when you were fourteen,” Clay said. “It’s just -”
“I knew about the leukemia before it happened,” Bob said.
Clay forgot everything he was going to say. “What?”
“I knew. Before it happened. You all thought it was weird that I never cried, but - I was ready for it. When I said I was ready, I meant it.”
“How could you know something like that before?” Clay demanded. “Was it the work they had you doing? Did you work around radiation, or-?”
“Asia knew. She just - knew. And she told me.” Bob studied his hands. “She knows things sometimes.”
Clay sat back. “What else does she know?”
“The day I’m going to die.”
(451 words)
“Still? It’s midnight. I got off work at eleven. It takes at least an hour for my brain to shut down.” Bob closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
Clay slid into the seat opposite him. “You shouldn’t risk yourself, going out there like that.”
“Risk myself how? No one’s going to look for the drummer of Summers Four at a paper factory.” Bob ran a hand over his shorn head and smiled tiredly. From just the right angle, he looked indistinguishable from his older brother. “You should cut your hair again and we could pull doubles.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on Scott and Dan,” Clay said.
“It’s too bad they were always the fan favorites, hm? No one ever cares about the rhythm section.” Bob reached up to rub his neck. It was sore from his being hunched over a machine all day. “Just three more months of this and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Why do you trust her so much?” Clay leaned forward and caught Bob’s gaze, searched. “She lied to all of us, and she lied to you, endangered us, stole our lives - “
“She’s the reason I’m still alive. She’s the reason all of us are alive, and as for her being a danger - I could have said no, let them do the memory wipe, but I chose to be part of something bigger than I am.” Bob met his brother’s gaze frankly. “I did this to us, not her. Don’t be afraid to blame me just because I’m sick.”
Clay shook his head. “Sometimes, when it’s you and me hunched over Scott’s old guitar, writing country songs like we did when we were kids, it’s like we’re children again, like we have that same wordless connection we always had, but then I realize I don’t know you at all. Ever since you told us about the leukemia, you’ve changed.”
“I changed before the leukemia,” Bob said.
“I’m guessing so, if you started working for these people when you were fourteen,” Clay said. “It’s just -”
“I knew about the leukemia before it happened,” Bob said.
Clay forgot everything he was going to say. “What?”
“I knew. Before it happened. You all thought it was weird that I never cried, but - I was ready for it. When I said I was ready, I meant it.”
“How could you know something like that before?” Clay demanded. “Was it the work they had you doing? Did you work around radiation, or-?”
“Asia knew. She just - knew. And she told me.” Bob studied his hands. “She knows things sometimes.”
Clay sat back. “What else does she know?”
“The day I’m going to die.”
(451 words)
Thursday, May 14, 2009
New Day
The world turned. Years flowing into each other; the seasons flickering past -winter, spring, summer, fall- in the blink of an eye.
Garain had not paid attention to the world in a long time, not in many ages, for there were none now alive that remembered her. Pale and insubstantial, Garain ghosted in the world. Unable to leave the world, she was the Goddess of Nature. The peoples of the world now attributed nature to science; and when they stopped believing in her, she became a shade of her former self. Still her work continued, rain and sun alike came by her will, but she paid scant attention to it.
Garain floated far above the world. Watching as one day turned into another.
Garain had not paid attention to the world in a long time, not in many ages, for there were none now alive that remembered her. Pale and insubstantial, Garain ghosted in the world. Unable to leave the world, she was the Goddess of Nature. The peoples of the world now attributed nature to science; and when they stopped believing in her, she became a shade of her former self. Still her work continued, rain and sun alike came by her will, but she paid scant attention to it.
Garain floated far above the world. Watching as one day turned into another.
Witching Hour Minus 300
“We’re moving out now? Are you insane?” Henry cast a look between the two brothers, but they were silent, unmoving, staring each other straight in the eye. Anyone else would have thought it was CT using his mind magic, but Henry knew it was something deeper, more intrinsic - they were twins, after all.
CT tore his gaze away from Robbie and said, “We’re moving out now. We have to draw the Chantry forces away from this place while J and the Technocrats find the Book.”
“It’s just now midnight - that’s three hours till the Witching Hour. That’s three hours until we’re at full potency,” Henry said. He sighed and tugged at the strap of his goggles. “Look, I’m just a minor matter mage - what could I possibly do that you two want my help this much?”
CT said, “That doesn’t matter. We’re going. Now. Rob - you’ll hold them off, right?”
Robbie nodded once, sharply, and summoned his spellbook off a nearby shelf. Henry shook his head in disbelief.
“Do you ever speak? I know CT’s the older one and twins have telepathy or whatever, but we might die tonight, and all you can do is look for one of your mouldy old spells?”
“Hey,” CT began, sharply.
But Robbie opened his mouth. “I can speak,” he said. “Unlike some, however, I keep my mouth shut unless I have something useful to say. Gushing sentimentalities to a man who knows half of my soul is of no use, for if he dies, I will follow soon after and will not suffer a lifetime of regret as you think I might. When he dies, our patterns will merge, and we will shine in the umbra for all to see.”
Anyone else might have been horrified by the coldness of Robbie’s words, but he was Verbena, and they were uncanny when it came to death and souls, more so than the Euthanatos at times. Henry was horrified not by Robbie’s words but by the way Robbie spoke, by the black ink that flashed between Robbie’s parted lips.
Someone had tattooed the Triangle of Solomon on his tongue.
Robbie must have realized Henry noticed, for he smiled, then, a full-on, bared-teeth smile that was too lifeless and vicious to be a real smile. “Now leave,” he said, “and make sure the Chantry doesn’t come near here, or you’ll regret it. For eternity.” Then, with a single, casual motion, he slashed open his own wrist.
(412 words)
CT tore his gaze away from Robbie and said, “We’re moving out now. We have to draw the Chantry forces away from this place while J and the Technocrats find the Book.”
“It’s just now midnight - that’s three hours till the Witching Hour. That’s three hours until we’re at full potency,” Henry said. He sighed and tugged at the strap of his goggles. “Look, I’m just a minor matter mage - what could I possibly do that you two want my help this much?”
CT said, “That doesn’t matter. We’re going. Now. Rob - you’ll hold them off, right?”
Robbie nodded once, sharply, and summoned his spellbook off a nearby shelf. Henry shook his head in disbelief.
“Do you ever speak? I know CT’s the older one and twins have telepathy or whatever, but we might die tonight, and all you can do is look for one of your mouldy old spells?”
“Hey,” CT began, sharply.
But Robbie opened his mouth. “I can speak,” he said. “Unlike some, however, I keep my mouth shut unless I have something useful to say. Gushing sentimentalities to a man who knows half of my soul is of no use, for if he dies, I will follow soon after and will not suffer a lifetime of regret as you think I might. When he dies, our patterns will merge, and we will shine in the umbra for all to see.”
Anyone else might have been horrified by the coldness of Robbie’s words, but he was Verbena, and they were uncanny when it came to death and souls, more so than the Euthanatos at times. Henry was horrified not by Robbie’s words but by the way Robbie spoke, by the black ink that flashed between Robbie’s parted lips.
Someone had tattooed the Triangle of Solomon on his tongue.
Robbie must have realized Henry noticed, for he smiled, then, a full-on, bared-teeth smile that was too lifeless and vicious to be a real smile. “Now leave,” he said, “and make sure the Chantry doesn’t come near here, or you’ll regret it. For eternity.” Then, with a single, casual motion, he slashed open his own wrist.
(412 words)
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Vigil
The room was silent except for the quiet beeping of medical machines. The clock on the wall read past midnight. Joseph leaned back in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his eyes. They felt gritty from lack of sleep; he was sure they didn't look any better than they felt. Yawning, Joe shifted in the narrow hospital chair, his clothes felt stiff from several days of wear. He was sure that they could get up and walk away on their own.
Joe shook his head briskly and stood up. If he didn't get moving he would fall asleep. That was something he would not risk. Joe looked at the hospital bed. Tubes and hoses wound around the body like a cocoon; a constant, rhythmic hissing assuring Joe that his brother was still breathing.
Joe approached the side of the bed and gently squeezed the hand lying on the sheets.
"Come on Alec, wake up..."
Joe turned at a rustling behind him. A nurse coming to check on Alec's vitals. She smiled, "haven't you had any sleep?"
"No. He might wake up," Joe said, moving out of her way.
A smile ghosted over her face, but it was just to hide the truth. She knew that Alec would not make it, but it was not her place to quash hope. Any hope. His vitals were low, his brain activity nearly nonexistent. It wold not be long. Only the machines were keeping him alive now.
"Have you been talking to him? Sometimes it helps," Jen offered. She finished checking his tubes and fluids.
"Yes," Joe said sadly. He looked up at the nurse, "Jen, is there any hope? Please tell me." Tears stood in his eyes, "is he even still here? Please, tell me the truth."
Jen bit her lip, her breath catching in her throat at the emotion she could see and hear. She hesitated to say anything. Seeing the pleading in Joe's eyes, she opened her mouth; but nothing came out. The carefully rehearsed cheerfulness, the constant stream of hope that she was always required and willing to give was stopped up in her throat.
Jen swallowed, "No. He's not here anymore.
Joe squeezed his eyes shut, nodding once.
Jen was not sure what to do to comfort the young man. She took half a step towards him and hesitated.
Joe turned and wrapped his long arms around Jen, tears falling from his eyes, his body shaking with silent sobs.
Jen patted him on the back, muttering nonsense words, trying comfort the grieving boy. She brushed his hair back from his face, his breathing slowly normalizing.
"Thank you, Jen, Thank you for telling me the truth. I would like to say goodbye to Alec," Joe finally said.
Jen nodded and backed out the door, her last view of the young man was him leaning over his brother, kissing him goodbye.
"Goodbye, Alec, my brother," Joe whispered, a single tear falling.
Joe shook his head briskly and stood up. If he didn't get moving he would fall asleep. That was something he would not risk. Joe looked at the hospital bed. Tubes and hoses wound around the body like a cocoon; a constant, rhythmic hissing assuring Joe that his brother was still breathing.
Joe approached the side of the bed and gently squeezed the hand lying on the sheets.
"Come on Alec, wake up..."
Joe turned at a rustling behind him. A nurse coming to check on Alec's vitals. She smiled, "haven't you had any sleep?"
"No. He might wake up," Joe said, moving out of her way.
A smile ghosted over her face, but it was just to hide the truth. She knew that Alec would not make it, but it was not her place to quash hope. Any hope. His vitals were low, his brain activity nearly nonexistent. It wold not be long. Only the machines were keeping him alive now.
"Have you been talking to him? Sometimes it helps," Jen offered. She finished checking his tubes and fluids.
"Yes," Joe said sadly. He looked up at the nurse, "Jen, is there any hope? Please tell me." Tears stood in his eyes, "is he even still here? Please, tell me the truth."
Jen bit her lip, her breath catching in her throat at the emotion she could see and hear. She hesitated to say anything. Seeing the pleading in Joe's eyes, she opened her mouth; but nothing came out. The carefully rehearsed cheerfulness, the constant stream of hope that she was always required and willing to give was stopped up in her throat.
Jen swallowed, "No. He's not here anymore.
Joe squeezed his eyes shut, nodding once.
Jen was not sure what to do to comfort the young man. She took half a step towards him and hesitated.
Joe turned and wrapped his long arms around Jen, tears falling from his eyes, his body shaking with silent sobs.
Jen patted him on the back, muttering nonsense words, trying comfort the grieving boy. She brushed his hair back from his face, his breathing slowly normalizing.
"Thank you, Jen, Thank you for telling me the truth. I would like to say goodbye to Alec," Joe finally said.
Jen nodded and backed out the door, her last view of the young man was him leaning over his brother, kissing him goodbye.
"Goodbye, Alec, my brother," Joe whispered, a single tear falling.
Barely After Midnight
Dan and Scott froze like deer in headlights.
“Who is it?” Bob called out, trying to sound as normal as possible. “We don’t have to be at the airport until three.”
A woman replied, “You won’t be going to the airport tonight, Mr. Summers.”
And then Clay said, “Carolyn?”
There was a buzz and whir, and the door swung open. The girl who stood in the doorway was Carolyn. She hadn’t aged a day, still looked a spry seventeen, but was dressed from head to toe in black and looked as though she were armed to the teeth.
Clay couldn’t begin to guess how she got past the concierge. She stepped into the room and pushed the door closed.
“Carolyn was a temporary identity while we assessed one of you for fitness as an agent,” she said, though she sounded distracted.
“The war’s begun,” Bob said. He sounded confused. “Shouldn’t you be back in Mongolia with the rest of your sector -?”
“My lieutenants are capable strategists and can handle a few stray bombs without me.” To Bob’s brothers, she said, “You can call me Asia. If you want to live through the next twenty-four hours, do everything I say.”
Bob shook his head. “I don’t understand - I’m just a civilian connection. You can’t possibly find me so useful that you’d step away from the main battlefield just to come get me.”
Asia smiled, though the expression was faint. “I promised each of my agents one civilian rescue before this started. What’s the point of winning a war if we’re the only ones left after?”
“And you chose me? But Josh -”
“Isn’t a civilian and gets one rescue of his own. Now hurry - Keith and Angel can only keep Hagalaz busy for so long.” Asia turned to Scott. “Get dressed. All of you. Which one of you is competent with a firearm?”
“Lady, we’re musicians,” Scott said.
“Who can use a firearm besides Bob?”
Scott blinked. He wasn’t used to being dismissed like that. “Hey -”
“I’m all right with a Glock nine millimeter,” Dan said.
Clay and Scott stared at him.
Dan shrugged uncomfortably and said, “Joey taught me.”
“Who’s Joey?” Scott asked.
Clay reached for a t-shirt and tugged it on. “That doesn’t matter right now, Scott. What matters is getting the hell out of here. Right, Carolyn?” Clay studied her face and wondered how he had ever thought she was just a teenaged girl.
“Right.” She looked, for one second, sad at being called Carolyn, but then she was barking orders, telling them what to pack and what to leave. She handed Dan a handgun and asked, “You still keeping up with your karate?”
“I’m probably the most competent out of the four of us. Except maybe Bob.” Dan cast a look at his elder brother and wondered how much he didn’t know about the quietest of them all. Maybe that’s why he’d been chosen for this...whatever.
Clay had his bag packed he fastest and was pulling on his shoes when the first shot was fired. There was a faint ping and a shattering of glass and then he was on the floor, Asia’s foot on his chest. Blood dripped from a wound on her arm, but she didn’t even seem to feel it.
“Get up and let’s go. I’ll cover your rear. Bob, you’ll have to take point.”
Clay lay there a moment longer, staring at his watch. It was barely after midnight.
“Who is it?” Bob called out, trying to sound as normal as possible. “We don’t have to be at the airport until three.”
A woman replied, “You won’t be going to the airport tonight, Mr. Summers.”
And then Clay said, “Carolyn?”
There was a buzz and whir, and the door swung open. The girl who stood in the doorway was Carolyn. She hadn’t aged a day, still looked a spry seventeen, but was dressed from head to toe in black and looked as though she were armed to the teeth.
Clay couldn’t begin to guess how she got past the concierge. She stepped into the room and pushed the door closed.
“Carolyn was a temporary identity while we assessed one of you for fitness as an agent,” she said, though she sounded distracted.
“The war’s begun,” Bob said. He sounded confused. “Shouldn’t you be back in Mongolia with the rest of your sector -?”
“My lieutenants are capable strategists and can handle a few stray bombs without me.” To Bob’s brothers, she said, “You can call me Asia. If you want to live through the next twenty-four hours, do everything I say.”
Bob shook his head. “I don’t understand - I’m just a civilian connection. You can’t possibly find me so useful that you’d step away from the main battlefield just to come get me.”
Asia smiled, though the expression was faint. “I promised each of my agents one civilian rescue before this started. What’s the point of winning a war if we’re the only ones left after?”
“And you chose me? But Josh -”
“Isn’t a civilian and gets one rescue of his own. Now hurry - Keith and Angel can only keep Hagalaz busy for so long.” Asia turned to Scott. “Get dressed. All of you. Which one of you is competent with a firearm?”
“Lady, we’re musicians,” Scott said.
“Who can use a firearm besides Bob?”
Scott blinked. He wasn’t used to being dismissed like that. “Hey -”
“I’m all right with a Glock nine millimeter,” Dan said.
Clay and Scott stared at him.
Dan shrugged uncomfortably and said, “Joey taught me.”
“Who’s Joey?” Scott asked.
Clay reached for a t-shirt and tugged it on. “That doesn’t matter right now, Scott. What matters is getting the hell out of here. Right, Carolyn?” Clay studied her face and wondered how he had ever thought she was just a teenaged girl.
“Right.” She looked, for one second, sad at being called Carolyn, but then she was barking orders, telling them what to pack and what to leave. She handed Dan a handgun and asked, “You still keeping up with your karate?”
“I’m probably the most competent out of the four of us. Except maybe Bob.” Dan cast a look at his elder brother and wondered how much he didn’t know about the quietest of them all. Maybe that’s why he’d been chosen for this...whatever.
Clay had his bag packed he fastest and was pulling on his shoes when the first shot was fired. There was a faint ping and a shattering of glass and then he was on the floor, Asia’s foot on his chest. Blood dripped from a wound on her arm, but she didn’t even seem to feel it.
“Get up and let’s go. I’ll cover your rear. Bob, you’ll have to take point.”
Clay lay there a moment longer, staring at his watch. It was barely after midnight.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Evening Run
Rain misted out of the dark sky. The cool dampness of the night air keeping his body from overheating. Trees grew wild along the path.
Steve breathed evenly as he ran though the night. He placed his fingers against his throat and looked at his watch as he took his pulse. 160. It was almost midnight.
He preferred to run at night; it was quiet and there was no one around. The rhythm of his pounding feet hypnotic as the miles rolled past. Body moving in perfect harmony.
Steve slowed to a stop near his home, breathing the heavily moist air. He braced himself against a tree, stretching his legs. Steve drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Come new day..."
Steve breathed evenly as he ran though the night. He placed his fingers against his throat and looked at his watch as he took his pulse. 160. It was almost midnight.
He preferred to run at night; it was quiet and there was no one around. The rhythm of his pounding feet hypnotic as the miles rolled past. Body moving in perfect harmony.
Steve slowed to a stop near his home, breathing the heavily moist air. He braced himself against a tree, stretching his legs. Steve drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Come new day..."
Only Midnight
“Hey, check this out.” Dan gestured to the television screen.
Clay, who’d been tying his shoelaces, turned to see what his brother was looking at. “What is it?”
“On the news - there’s some kind of terrorist organization that set off a bomb in the desert or something,” Dan said. “The terror alert’s on high and the Department of Homeland Security and Interpol and everyone else has gone nuts.”
Scott frowned. “Are they going to cancel our flight home?”
Bob stepped out of the bathroom. He still had a towel around his waist and a razor in one hand, but he ignored both as he watched the screen. The anchorman was grim-faced and deep-voiced, and then pictures of suspected terrorists flashed across the screen.
“This is a joke, right?” Clay asked. “Aren’t those two guys in boybands or something?”
Bob felt his blood run cold when a picture of Hagalaz appeared in the corner of the screen. He used the edge of his towel to scrub off the last of the shaving cream, and then he said,
“We have to go. Now.”
“What? But it’s only midnight. We don’t even have to be at the airport until three,” Dave said. They’d learned long ago, when in Europe where the most fans were, that red-eye flights were the safest.
Bob was tugging on clothes and throwing spare clothes, a water bottle, emergency supplies into his duffel bag. “We have to get out of here, and we have to go now.”
Scott was on his feet. “What the hell are you saying, Bob? It’s just the government being paranoid -” He stopped short when Bob reached under his bed and drew out a handgun.
Bob checked the clip, then felt along the edge of the bed for his spare clips. He shoved the gun into his waistband, the clips into his pockets, and began loading more emergency supplies in his duffel bag.
“Bob,” Clay said, voice careful and even, “when did you start carrying a gun?”
Bob met his brother’s gaze, willing him to understand the truth of what he was about say. “I’ve been carrying a gun since I was fourteen. Those terrorists you saw on the television - they’re very real, and if the government has spotted explosions in the desert, that means a war has begun, and both sides are going to start picking off each other’s numbers.”
It was Dan who believed first. “Are you saying that you’re a terrorist?”
“No. I’m just an informer. If we hadn’t been brothers and I weren’t sick, they might have trained me, but as it is, I’m in danger, and so are the rest of you by association. And we have to leave. Now.” Bob tugged on his shoes and wished he’d thought to pack combat boots. He’d learnt a lot from Asia, but now he wished he’d learned more.
Scott shook his head and threw his hands up. “What you’re saying is completely insane. Let me get Dad on the phone and -”
“That news story started three minutes ago,” Bob said. “We have another ninety seconds before one of their agents knocks on the door.” He drew his gun and took aim for the door. “Get moving. All of you - warm clothes and good running shoes. We might have to sleep under the stars.”
Clay started moving first.
And then someone knocked on the door.
(565 words)
Clay, who’d been tying his shoelaces, turned to see what his brother was looking at. “What is it?”
“On the news - there’s some kind of terrorist organization that set off a bomb in the desert or something,” Dan said. “The terror alert’s on high and the Department of Homeland Security and Interpol and everyone else has gone nuts.”
Scott frowned. “Are they going to cancel our flight home?”
Bob stepped out of the bathroom. He still had a towel around his waist and a razor in one hand, but he ignored both as he watched the screen. The anchorman was grim-faced and deep-voiced, and then pictures of suspected terrorists flashed across the screen.
“This is a joke, right?” Clay asked. “Aren’t those two guys in boybands or something?”
Bob felt his blood run cold when a picture of Hagalaz appeared in the corner of the screen. He used the edge of his towel to scrub off the last of the shaving cream, and then he said,
“We have to go. Now.”
“What? But it’s only midnight. We don’t even have to be at the airport until three,” Dave said. They’d learned long ago, when in Europe where the most fans were, that red-eye flights were the safest.
Bob was tugging on clothes and throwing spare clothes, a water bottle, emergency supplies into his duffel bag. “We have to get out of here, and we have to go now.”
Scott was on his feet. “What the hell are you saying, Bob? It’s just the government being paranoid -” He stopped short when Bob reached under his bed and drew out a handgun.
Bob checked the clip, then felt along the edge of the bed for his spare clips. He shoved the gun into his waistband, the clips into his pockets, and began loading more emergency supplies in his duffel bag.
“Bob,” Clay said, voice careful and even, “when did you start carrying a gun?”
Bob met his brother’s gaze, willing him to understand the truth of what he was about say. “I’ve been carrying a gun since I was fourteen. Those terrorists you saw on the television - they’re very real, and if the government has spotted explosions in the desert, that means a war has begun, and both sides are going to start picking off each other’s numbers.”
It was Dan who believed first. “Are you saying that you’re a terrorist?”
“No. I’m just an informer. If we hadn’t been brothers and I weren’t sick, they might have trained me, but as it is, I’m in danger, and so are the rest of you by association. And we have to leave. Now.” Bob tugged on his shoes and wished he’d thought to pack combat boots. He’d learnt a lot from Asia, but now he wished he’d learned more.
Scott shook his head and threw his hands up. “What you’re saying is completely insane. Let me get Dad on the phone and -”
“That news story started three minutes ago,” Bob said. “We have another ninety seconds before one of their agents knocks on the door.” He drew his gun and took aim for the door. “Get moving. All of you - warm clothes and good running shoes. We might have to sleep under the stars.”
Clay started moving first.
And then someone knocked on the door.
(565 words)
Monday, May 11, 2009
Caught
"Shh, you'll wake them up," Mark hissed in the dark.
"You will if you don't shut up." Brian countered.
The twins crept through the darkened corridor of the military base. Barrack doors were on either side of the hall. The dim red emergency lights were enough to light the way. They were out of bed way past curfew. It was almost midnight.
"Why did I let you talk me into this Brian?" Mark asked as he stumbled in the dark.
"I didn't talk you into anything. I know you wanted to also. You just needed a push in the right direction," Brian whispered loftily.
"If we get caught I'm blaming you." Mark warned as they drew near their destination.
"Fine, fine, whatever. All my fault. Forced you at gunpoint." Brian rolled his eyes at his brother.
"Here it is," Brian said, edging open a door. Stainless steel reflected back the ambient light from the hall. It glistened off of sharp edges and glass and chrome.
Brian pulled open a door and retrieved their stash, sinking to the floor beside his brother.
"Do you have it?" Brian asked
"Of course," Mark said, pulling out two bits of metal.
The two officers froze as the lights were flicked on, nearly blinding them as the light bounced from all directions. In the doorway stood Major Cole. Brian tried to hide their contraband behind them, but at a look from Major Cole, they knew that he knew.
"Well, I see we have a bit of a dilemma," David said as he moved towards them. "Do I ignore what you are doing or do I call you on it."
"You see Major, it was like this..." Brian started. David held up a hand to silence him.
David held out his hand for the metal object in Brian's hand. Reluctantly Brian handed it over. David considered the metal for a few seconds before handing it back.
"Dig in." David said. "And I'll be back with a spoon too. Did you know that Chocolate is my favorite ice cream?"
"You will if you don't shut up." Brian countered.
The twins crept through the darkened corridor of the military base. Barrack doors were on either side of the hall. The dim red emergency lights were enough to light the way. They were out of bed way past curfew. It was almost midnight.
"Why did I let you talk me into this Brian?" Mark asked as he stumbled in the dark.
"I didn't talk you into anything. I know you wanted to also. You just needed a push in the right direction," Brian whispered loftily.
"If we get caught I'm blaming you." Mark warned as they drew near their destination.
"Fine, fine, whatever. All my fault. Forced you at gunpoint." Brian rolled his eyes at his brother.
"Here it is," Brian said, edging open a door. Stainless steel reflected back the ambient light from the hall. It glistened off of sharp edges and glass and chrome.
Brian pulled open a door and retrieved their stash, sinking to the floor beside his brother.
"Do you have it?" Brian asked
"Of course," Mark said, pulling out two bits of metal.
The two officers froze as the lights were flicked on, nearly blinding them as the light bounced from all directions. In the doorway stood Major Cole. Brian tried to hide their contraband behind them, but at a look from Major Cole, they knew that he knew.
"Well, I see we have a bit of a dilemma," David said as he moved towards them. "Do I ignore what you are doing or do I call you on it."
"You see Major, it was like this..." Brian started. David held up a hand to silence him.
David held out his hand for the metal object in Brian's hand. Reluctantly Brian handed it over. David considered the metal for a few seconds before handing it back.
"Dig in." David said. "And I'll be back with a spoon too. Did you know that Chocolate is my favorite ice cream?"
Real Boys
“I was watching you today out there on the range with some of the other boys,” Sgt. Kennesaw said.
Christian lifted his head from where he’d been resting his chin on his knees and peered at the soldier. “Pardon?” It was almost midnight by his estimation. Nick and the others were probably asleep. He should have been asleep, too, but when he had a chance to be alone, he took it.
“When the other boys were showing your little friends how to work their way around an assault rifle.” Kennesaw’s dark gaze bored into Christian, but Christian had seen scarier men, had known more forceful drill sergeants.
“Kevin’s pretty handy with a gun,” Christian said. “We used to shoot his daddy’s rifle when he was a kid.”
“I’ve no doubt your country cousin knows his way around a Kentucky rifle,” Kennesaw said, “but I was watching you, too. And most boyband boys wouldn’t know their way around an M16 to save their lives. You handled that thing better than most of my men do.”
“I know my way around a Kentucky rifle, too,” Christian said. He kept his voice low, used Brian’s soft drawl. “Saw one of my cousins blow his own foot off because he hadn’t paid attention during my uncle’s gun safety lesson. Can never be too cautious with one of those things.”
Kennesaw shook his head. “I saw you drop your shots out there, too.”
Christian arched one eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning. Sometimes Yank slang still gets the better of me.”
“You could probably hit a dime from two-hundred yards away, but you let your shots spray wide.” Kennesaw leaned closer, lowered his voice to a growl. “You’re not a real boyband boy, are you?”
“I don’t know that any of us are real, Sergeant.” Christian tipped his head back and gazed up at the stars.
“I never told you my rank. I didn’t know boyband boys could read chevrons in the dark,” Kennesaw said.
Christian searched for the constellation Draco, idly wondering what one of his teammates would do. Gabriel would wipe the memory, but that wasn’t an option for him. Angel would get the man so drunk he wouldn’t remember a thing. Tobias would have spun an elaborate lie - perhaps witness protection? And Keith. Keith always did like fire a little too much.
“If I’m as good at all this as you think I am, do you really think you could stop me from doing whatever it is you think I might do?” he asked finally.
“Are you here to do anything, kid?”
“I’m here to sing, sir. And dance. Be a little patriotic for my homeland.”
“Where did you learn to do what you do?”
“The same place I learned to sing and dance.” Christian hauled himself to his feet.
“Why would they teach that sort of thing to you boys?”
Christian headed back toward the tent he was sharing with Dwayne and AJ. “Someone’s gotta watch their backs. You never know what screaming teenage girls can do.” But it wouldn’t be the screaming teenage girls he’d deal with tomorrow night. “Good night, sergeant.”
Quislai didn’t really need to sleep, either.
Christian lifted his head from where he’d been resting his chin on his knees and peered at the soldier. “Pardon?” It was almost midnight by his estimation. Nick and the others were probably asleep. He should have been asleep, too, but when he had a chance to be alone, he took it.
“When the other boys were showing your little friends how to work their way around an assault rifle.” Kennesaw’s dark gaze bored into Christian, but Christian had seen scarier men, had known more forceful drill sergeants.
“Kevin’s pretty handy with a gun,” Christian said. “We used to shoot his daddy’s rifle when he was a kid.”
“I’ve no doubt your country cousin knows his way around a Kentucky rifle,” Kennesaw said, “but I was watching you, too. And most boyband boys wouldn’t know their way around an M16 to save their lives. You handled that thing better than most of my men do.”
“I know my way around a Kentucky rifle, too,” Christian said. He kept his voice low, used Brian’s soft drawl. “Saw one of my cousins blow his own foot off because he hadn’t paid attention during my uncle’s gun safety lesson. Can never be too cautious with one of those things.”
Kennesaw shook his head. “I saw you drop your shots out there, too.”
Christian arched one eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning. Sometimes Yank slang still gets the better of me.”
“You could probably hit a dime from two-hundred yards away, but you let your shots spray wide.” Kennesaw leaned closer, lowered his voice to a growl. “You’re not a real boyband boy, are you?”
“I don’t know that any of us are real, Sergeant.” Christian tipped his head back and gazed up at the stars.
“I never told you my rank. I didn’t know boyband boys could read chevrons in the dark,” Kennesaw said.
Christian searched for the constellation Draco, idly wondering what one of his teammates would do. Gabriel would wipe the memory, but that wasn’t an option for him. Angel would get the man so drunk he wouldn’t remember a thing. Tobias would have spun an elaborate lie - perhaps witness protection? And Keith. Keith always did like fire a little too much.
“If I’m as good at all this as you think I am, do you really think you could stop me from doing whatever it is you think I might do?” he asked finally.
“Are you here to do anything, kid?”
“I’m here to sing, sir. And dance. Be a little patriotic for my homeland.”
“Where did you learn to do what you do?”
“The same place I learned to sing and dance.” Christian hauled himself to his feet.
“Why would they teach that sort of thing to you boys?”
Christian headed back toward the tent he was sharing with Dwayne and AJ. “Someone’s gotta watch their backs. You never know what screaming teenage girls can do.” But it wouldn’t be the screaming teenage girls he’d deal with tomorrow night. “Good night, sergeant.”
Quislai didn’t really need to sleep, either.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Progression
David tried to ignore the incessant tapping on his window, squeezing his eyes closed and rolling towards the wall. Cracking one bleary eye, David squinted at his digital clock on the table next to his bed. The red numbers told him it was five after midnight. Rubbing his eyes David stumbled across the floor to the window, pulling up the blinds and opening the window wide. He could barely make out the person below his room; there was no moon to brighten the night. The scent of freesia and lilac drifted up on a puff of breeze. Arianna.
"Ari, what are you doing?" David's words were still slightly slurred from sleep.
"Come down. I want to show you something," Arianna said, whispering in the dark.
"Ari, it's midnight," David said.
"I know that. Just come down," Arianna said; laughter in her barely audible voice.
"Alright, let me get dressed," David said, pulling his head back in the window.
"No David, now," Arianna said, "just put on your shoes."
"Okay," David's voice drifted through the window.
David opened his closet and pulled out a pair of old shoes and slipped his feet into them. Being careful not to wake his Uncle and Aunt, he eased open his door and crept down the hall to the stairs. David was sure to skip the seventh stair from the top.
Arianna was waiting by her car when David stepped out of the front door.
"Alright Ari, what is it that you want to show me?" David asked, shivering slightly in the breeze.
"It's not here, come on, I'll show you," Arianna said as she opened her door and slid behind he wheel.
David shrugged and slid into the car beside her. "Where are we going?" David asked.
"It's a surprise." Arianna said, smiling in the dim glow of the dashboard.
"Do I get a hint or should I close my eyes," David teased, now fully awake.
"No hint," Arianna said, "and no don't close your eyes, you'll fall asleep again."
They drove in silence for a while, passing out of the city limits and into the country. The blackness grew deeper as the left the city behind. After another twenty minutes Arianna pulled off the main road and onto a narrow dirt path. The car bounced and rattled over the rough road. Eventually Arianna pulled the car over and cut the engine.
David followed Arianna out of the car and through thick, tall grass. Arianna carried a flashlight, it's beam illuminating a short distance ahead. After a short walk David found himself standing beside a telescope. Confused he looked at Arianna.
"Tonight is the night that we are able to see Halley's comet the clearest." Arianna motioned to the telescope. She also pointed to the sky above them. David could see a bright comet crossing the sky.
Grinning, he stepped up to the telescope and looked through the eye piece. The comet came into focus, large and beautiful.
"Wow."
Arianna came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it. It's amazing. I can't believe I've never looked at one before." David turned and smiled at Arianna. "Thank you."
"Your welcome David," Arianna said, leaning over and kissing him."
After Arianna had watched the comet, David pulled her over to the grass and lay down with her, watching the stars and the progression of the comet.
They awoke as the sun was cresting the horizon.
"Ari, what are you doing?" David's words were still slightly slurred from sleep.
"Come down. I want to show you something," Arianna said, whispering in the dark.
"Ari, it's midnight," David said.
"I know that. Just come down," Arianna said; laughter in her barely audible voice.
"Alright, let me get dressed," David said, pulling his head back in the window.
"No David, now," Arianna said, "just put on your shoes."
"Okay," David's voice drifted through the window.
David opened his closet and pulled out a pair of old shoes and slipped his feet into them. Being careful not to wake his Uncle and Aunt, he eased open his door and crept down the hall to the stairs. David was sure to skip the seventh stair from the top.
Arianna was waiting by her car when David stepped out of the front door.
"Alright Ari, what is it that you want to show me?" David asked, shivering slightly in the breeze.
"It's not here, come on, I'll show you," Arianna said as she opened her door and slid behind he wheel.
David shrugged and slid into the car beside her. "Where are we going?" David asked.
"It's a surprise." Arianna said, smiling in the dim glow of the dashboard.
"Do I get a hint or should I close my eyes," David teased, now fully awake.
"No hint," Arianna said, "and no don't close your eyes, you'll fall asleep again."
They drove in silence for a while, passing out of the city limits and into the country. The blackness grew deeper as the left the city behind. After another twenty minutes Arianna pulled off the main road and onto a narrow dirt path. The car bounced and rattled over the rough road. Eventually Arianna pulled the car over and cut the engine.
David followed Arianna out of the car and through thick, tall grass. Arianna carried a flashlight, it's beam illuminating a short distance ahead. After a short walk David found himself standing beside a telescope. Confused he looked at Arianna.
"Tonight is the night that we are able to see Halley's comet the clearest." Arianna motioned to the telescope. She also pointed to the sky above them. David could see a bright comet crossing the sky.
Grinning, he stepped up to the telescope and looked through the eye piece. The comet came into focus, large and beautiful.
"Wow."
Arianna came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm glad you like it."
"Like it. It's amazing. I can't believe I've never looked at one before." David turned and smiled at Arianna. "Thank you."
"Your welcome David," Arianna said, leaning over and kissing him."
After Arianna had watched the comet, David pulled her over to the grass and lay down with her, watching the stars and the progression of the comet.
They awoke as the sun was cresting the horizon.
Breaking Curfew
“Where have you been?” Scott’s voice was low, hostile.
Bob stood just inside the hotel room, backlit, a black silhouette. “Out.”
“Without security?”
“We’re in America. We don’t need security.”
“It’s midnight. We have to be at the studio in four hours. You’re going to look like an insomniac and Frank will notice. I won’t be defending you if he lays into you.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to loom over Bob. It was difficult to loom over someone who looked like he just didn’t care.
Bob stepped forward so the moonlight caught his face, and he raised his eyebrows. “When was the last time you defended me when he laid into me anyway? I can take care of myself. Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you’re the only one who’s competent.” He shrugged off his jacket and laid it across the back of one of the chairs, toed off his sneakers.
“Bob, you’re sick.”
“I know that.”
“You can’t go out alone at night when you’re sick.”
“I’m sick, Scott, not weak.” Bob skimmed down to his boxers and crawled into bed next to Clay, who was snoring like a freight train. He and Dan slept the deepest, and neither of them had been awakened by the argument.
Scott shook his head. “I don’t know you anymore.” He climbed back into bed next to Dan and tugged the covers up, rolling so his back was to Bob.
Bob sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t know who he was anymore either.
(257 words)
Bob stood just inside the hotel room, backlit, a black silhouette. “Out.”
“Without security?”
“We’re in America. We don’t need security.”
“It’s midnight. We have to be at the studio in four hours. You’re going to look like an insomniac and Frank will notice. I won’t be defending you if he lays into you.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to loom over Bob. It was difficult to loom over someone who looked like he just didn’t care.
Bob stepped forward so the moonlight caught his face, and he raised his eyebrows. “When was the last time you defended me when he laid into me anyway? I can take care of myself. Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you’re the only one who’s competent.” He shrugged off his jacket and laid it across the back of one of the chairs, toed off his sneakers.
“Bob, you’re sick.”
“I know that.”
“You can’t go out alone at night when you’re sick.”
“I’m sick, Scott, not weak.” Bob skimmed down to his boxers and crawled into bed next to Clay, who was snoring like a freight train. He and Dan slept the deepest, and neither of them had been awakened by the argument.
Scott shook his head. “I don’t know you anymore.” He climbed back into bed next to Dan and tugged the covers up, rolling so his back was to Bob.
Bob sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t know who he was anymore either.
(257 words)
Rules v1.4
All right, another update to the rules. When a challenge is issued and there are no takers, it will run for the week-long period anyway before a new challenge is issued. No need to go wasting good challenges. Also, if one writer is down, the other writer can and should, if at all possible, keep up with the challenge anyway. Technically no man gets left behind, but really, if one is down and the other is capable of writing, we should have someone minding the store, as it were.
On you marks, get set...write!
On you marks, get set...write!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Stake-out
"I'm bored."
"To bad. The major says to stay, we stay."
"He's been gone over an hour."
"Shut up Joe."
"Bite me."
"Knock it off you two."
"How much longer do you think he'll be?"
"As long as he needs to be."
Sigh, "I'm hungry."
"Check your pack for a power bar."
"How about a game?"
"How about not."
"Hey Brian, I spy with my little eye something that begins with D."
"Dust. Achoo!"
"Bless you."
"Hurry up David."
"To bad. The major says to stay, we stay."
"He's been gone over an hour."
"Shut up Joe."
"Bite me."
"Knock it off you two."
"How much longer do you think he'll be?"
"As long as he needs to be."
Sigh, "I'm hungry."
"Check your pack for a power bar."
"How about a game?"
"How about not."
"Hey Brian, I spy with my little eye something that begins with D."
"Dust. Achoo!"
"Bless you."
"Hurry up David."
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Project Assignment # 26 - Moments at Midnight
This week is to capture a moment at midnight. Any story, any character, any situation. Keep it simple since it is finals week. If you don't get to posting then it is understandable. School comes before writing.
Overview # 25 - Dialogue
The dialogue challenge was fun. I liked remixing lyrics and other things. Songs that had completely different meanings or themes would come together to form interesting exchanges. I also enjoyed writing straight dialogue. It was almost as if I was looking in on a conversation that was happening.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Scott Meets Carolyn
“Hey there.”
“Hi!”
“I just - I heard your guitar and thought I’d come investigate, meet a fellow musician.”
“Me, a fellow musician? Hardly. I’ve barely got three chords to my name.”
“I could, uh, teach you if you like.”
“Really? I’m sure you have something better to do.”
“No, it’s a nice day. What better way to spend my time than in the sun in the park playing music?”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am. My name is Scott, by the way.”
“I’m Carolyn. It’s good to meet you.”
“So have you been playing the guitar long?”
“No. This is my dad’s baby. I’m a drummer by trade.”
“A drummer, eh? So you’ve got music in your veins.”
“I like to think so.”
“Drummers are cool - one of my brothers is a drummer. So, show me what chords you’ve got.”
“I’ve got C, A, and G. Maybe also D, D minor, and E minor.”
“That’s more than three.”
“I just can’t do bar chords worth beans. My hands are so small.”
“They’re not too small. Here, try this. Lay this finger down first, turn your wrist a bit -”
“Oh. Oh! Hey wow! I’ve got a bar chord.”
“Nice job. Easy as pie, right?”
“My sensei says something easy as pie never tastes as good as pie.”
“Sensei? You do karate?”
“Yup. Train out here in the park sometimes.”
“That’s - wow. What other amazing stuff do you do with your spare time?”
“I don’t know that it’s amazing as much as boring, but - poetry. Since I’m an English major.”
“Ah. Hence the volume of Millay.”
“Yeah. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a guitarist in a band.”
“Hence your rockin’ guitar skills. Very cool.”
“Yeah. My band is playing a gig down at the riverfront tomorrow. Seven. You should come watch.”
“Really? That’d be awesome. How many bands are playing a the river?”
“How many? What do you mean?”
“A couple of other friends invited me to watch their bands play down by the river too. I didn’t realized the musical scene in this town was so vibrant.”
“...Neither did I. Well, good luck with those chords, Carolyn.”
“Thanks, Scott. See you tomorrow night!”
(364 words)
“Hi!”
“I just - I heard your guitar and thought I’d come investigate, meet a fellow musician.”
“Me, a fellow musician? Hardly. I’ve barely got three chords to my name.”
“I could, uh, teach you if you like.”
“Really? I’m sure you have something better to do.”
“No, it’s a nice day. What better way to spend my time than in the sun in the park playing music?”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am. My name is Scott, by the way.”
“I’m Carolyn. It’s good to meet you.”
“So have you been playing the guitar long?”
“No. This is my dad’s baby. I’m a drummer by trade.”
“A drummer, eh? So you’ve got music in your veins.”
“I like to think so.”
“Drummers are cool - one of my brothers is a drummer. So, show me what chords you’ve got.”
“I’ve got C, A, and G. Maybe also D, D minor, and E minor.”
“That’s more than three.”
“I just can’t do bar chords worth beans. My hands are so small.”
“They’re not too small. Here, try this. Lay this finger down first, turn your wrist a bit -”
“Oh. Oh! Hey wow! I’ve got a bar chord.”
“Nice job. Easy as pie, right?”
“My sensei says something easy as pie never tastes as good as pie.”
“Sensei? You do karate?”
“Yup. Train out here in the park sometimes.”
“That’s - wow. What other amazing stuff do you do with your spare time?”
“I don’t know that it’s amazing as much as boring, but - poetry. Since I’m an English major.”
“Ah. Hence the volume of Millay.”
“Yeah. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a guitarist in a band.”
“Hence your rockin’ guitar skills. Very cool.”
“Yeah. My band is playing a gig down at the riverfront tomorrow. Seven. You should come watch.”
“Really? That’d be awesome. How many bands are playing a the river?”
“How many? What do you mean?”
“A couple of other friends invited me to watch their bands play down by the river too. I didn’t realized the musical scene in this town was so vibrant.”
“...Neither did I. Well, good luck with those chords, Carolyn.”
“Thanks, Scott. See you tomorrow night!”
(364 words)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Chemistry or Chemistry... You decide.
"Do you have the history assignment done David?"
"Yes."
"Can I take a peek?"
"No, do your own work."
"Please..."
"Nope."
"But..."
"No, Ari."
"I hate History."
"I know."
"Sigh. Is there anything I can do to get you to change your mind?"
"I'm sure I could think of a few things, but you still have to do your own work."
"I'm tired of homework. School is almost over; isn't it an inalienable right to slack off at the end of the year."
"Not if you want good grades."
"I'm hungry. Let's take a break."
"Ari..."
"Yes?"
"Finish your history and I'll make us some food."
"Okay! I want Indian food."
"Okay."
~~~
"Hey, that smells good."
"Thanks. Ari, didn't I tell you to leave my work alone."
"Aw, come on."
"No work no play."
"Fine."
~~~
"Food is ready."
"Good. I'm done, no thanks to you, and I'm starving."
"Dig in."
"This is great! What should we tackle next?"
"How about Chemistry."
"My thoughts exactly."
(I should get a label tag going for these stories....)
"Yes."
"Can I take a peek?"
"No, do your own work."
"Please..."
"Nope."
"But..."
"No, Ari."
"I hate History."
"I know."
"Sigh. Is there anything I can do to get you to change your mind?"
"I'm sure I could think of a few things, but you still have to do your own work."
"I'm tired of homework. School is almost over; isn't it an inalienable right to slack off at the end of the year."
"Not if you want good grades."
"I'm hungry. Let's take a break."
"Ari..."
"Yes?"
"Finish your history and I'll make us some food."
"Okay! I want Indian food."
"Okay."
~~~
"Hey, that smells good."
"Thanks. Ari, didn't I tell you to leave my work alone."
"Aw, come on."
"No work no play."
"Fine."
~~~
"Food is ready."
"Good. I'm done, no thanks to you, and I'm starving."
"Dig in."
"This is great! What should we tackle next?"
"How about Chemistry."
"My thoughts exactly."
(I should get a label tag going for these stories....)
Poetry, Brian?
"Brian, is this yours?"
"What?"
"What is this?"
"What is what?"
"This!"
"Oh that. That's nothing."
"When to the cessation of sweet thought..."
"Alright Mark, hand it over."
"Poetry? That's never come up before."
"Look just because you're uncultured doesn't mean that I am."
"Give it here."
"No."
"I warned you."
"Hey! Let go of my leg."
"Not until you give it to me."
"Ow! Aright, take your book."
"Thank you."
"What?"
"What is this?"
"What is what?"
"This!"
"Oh that. That's nothing."
"When to the cessation of sweet thought..."
"Alright Mark, hand it over."
"Poetry? That's never come up before."
"Look just because you're uncultured doesn't mean that I am."
"Give it here."
"No."
"I warned you."
"Hey! Let go of my leg."
"Not until you give it to me."
"Ow! Aright, take your book."
"Thank you."
Scott Cross-Examines Dan
“Hey Dan, what’s for lunch?”
“Whatever you make for yourself.”
“What, no love for your elder brother?”
“Sorry. All my love is reserved for the womb-mates, if you know what I mean.”
“I hate that joke, I’ll have you know. Everyone makes such a big deal about you three being triplets, like it’s never happened before.”
“You’re just jealous because our birthday party is always bigger than yours.”
“Shut up and pass the mayo.”
“Here.”
“...Are you humming? Sinatra?”
“Am I not allowed to hum? There’s this weird thing where I’m a musician, and so I constantly have music running through my mind --”
“Sinatra? ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? I thought you hated Sinatra.”
“Apparently whatever you had for breakfast has given you weird delusions, like you can read my mind or something. Finish making your sandwich and go lie down - sounds like your sanity could use it.”
“A man only sings The Chairman when there’s a lady involved.”
“What? Why me? Ben and Clay told me that you’ve got some weird romance conspiracy going on.”
“So there is a lady involved.”
“Not like you’d think.”
“Then what is it like?”
“I ran into this girl at the park, and she was doing katas, and we sparred a bit. She was good.”
“You have a black belt.”
“And hardly any time on the road to train.”
“So...you gonna go tangle with her again?”
“Do you have to makes sparring sound so...insidious?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘insinuating.’”
“Oh, so you did do your English homework.”
“Is she pretty?”
“What matters is that she’s good. It’ll be good for me, to train against a superior fighter.”
“So she’s smokin’ hot.”
“And she could kill you with a popsicle stick.”
“So you are going to see her again?”
“Are you sure you weren’t meant to be a lawyer instead of a musician? Because that was such a leading question.”
“You are.”
“Down at the park tomorrow, before the river front gig.”
“Do I get to meet her?”
“In your gi, sure. Now eat your lunch. I’m going to train.”
“Good luck, lover boy!”
“I can still beat you any day.”
“Yeah, whatever - ow!”
(367 words)
“Whatever you make for yourself.”
“What, no love for your elder brother?”
“Sorry. All my love is reserved for the womb-mates, if you know what I mean.”
“I hate that joke, I’ll have you know. Everyone makes such a big deal about you three being triplets, like it’s never happened before.”
“You’re just jealous because our birthday party is always bigger than yours.”
“Shut up and pass the mayo.”
“Here.”
“...Are you humming? Sinatra?”
“Am I not allowed to hum? There’s this weird thing where I’m a musician, and so I constantly have music running through my mind --”
“Sinatra? ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? I thought you hated Sinatra.”
“Apparently whatever you had for breakfast has given you weird delusions, like you can read my mind or something. Finish making your sandwich and go lie down - sounds like your sanity could use it.”
“A man only sings The Chairman when there’s a lady involved.”
“What? Why me? Ben and Clay told me that you’ve got some weird romance conspiracy going on.”
“So there is a lady involved.”
“Not like you’d think.”
“Then what is it like?”
“I ran into this girl at the park, and she was doing katas, and we sparred a bit. She was good.”
“You have a black belt.”
“And hardly any time on the road to train.”
“So...you gonna go tangle with her again?”
“Do you have to makes sparring sound so...insidious?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘insinuating.’”
“Oh, so you did do your English homework.”
“Is she pretty?”
“What matters is that she’s good. It’ll be good for me, to train against a superior fighter.”
“So she’s smokin’ hot.”
“And she could kill you with a popsicle stick.”
“So you are going to see her again?”
“Are you sure you weren’t meant to be a lawyer instead of a musician? Because that was such a leading question.”
“You are.”
“Down at the park tomorrow, before the river front gig.”
“Do I get to meet her?”
“In your gi, sure. Now eat your lunch. I’m going to train.”
“Good luck, lover boy!”
“I can still beat you any day.”
“Yeah, whatever - ow!”
(367 words)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Scott Bothers Ben
“Hey Ben, give me the scoop on Clay’s new lady love.”
“Hmmm? Oh. Hey Scott. Clay’s new who?”
“You told me you saw him talking to some girl in town - a pretty girl. And I just caught him reading poetry instead of doing his math.”
“Poetry? Clay’s always the one who insists we rhyme ‘love’ with ‘above’.”
“He’s lovestruck, dude. It’s pretty pathetic. I want to hear every detail.”
“You’re really bored, aren’t you?”
“I’ll bet Shelley knows who she is. Shelley knows everyone in town.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I was trying to do my history.”
“You and Clay, always so studious. You make me and Dan look bad.”
“We’re twins. The world starts to rotate in reverse if we don’t do everything identically.”
“So...if both of you do everything identically, then you’re mooning over a girl too, right?”
“Don’t you have chemistry to do?”
“Not if you’ve got chemistry going on with a lovely lady. Tell Uncle Scott all about it.”
“Now you’re just being patronizing.”
“Oooh - big word.”
“I learned it doing my English homework. Which, according to Shelley, you still haven’t done. So buzz off.”
“Benny...”
“Don’t call me that.”
“C’mon, Benny, just --”
“All right, all right! Not the hair.”
“You’re so vain.”
“You’re the ones who whined when I cut my hair as short as Clay’s.”
“Why are we talking about hair when we could be talking about ladies?”
“Fine! I met her down along the river front. She was listening to music and I noticed her hands - she was playing the beat. She’s a real drummer. We got to talking, and - she was smart and funny and really, really pretty.”
“Did she recognize you?”
“I don’t think so. I mean - she didn’t go all nutty fangirl on me. It was nice to be treated like - like a real boy for once.”
“Keep up the honesty and you’ll turn into a real boy in no time, Romeo.”
“Get out of here. I don’t know why I tell you anything.”
(336 words)
“Hmmm? Oh. Hey Scott. Clay’s new who?”
“You told me you saw him talking to some girl in town - a pretty girl. And I just caught him reading poetry instead of doing his math.”
“Poetry? Clay’s always the one who insists we rhyme ‘love’ with ‘above’.”
“He’s lovestruck, dude. It’s pretty pathetic. I want to hear every detail.”
“You’re really bored, aren’t you?”
“I’ll bet Shelley knows who she is. Shelley knows everyone in town.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I was trying to do my history.”
“You and Clay, always so studious. You make me and Dan look bad.”
“We’re twins. The world starts to rotate in reverse if we don’t do everything identically.”
“So...if both of you do everything identically, then you’re mooning over a girl too, right?”
“Don’t you have chemistry to do?”
“Not if you’ve got chemistry going on with a lovely lady. Tell Uncle Scott all about it.”
“Now you’re just being patronizing.”
“Oooh - big word.”
“I learned it doing my English homework. Which, according to Shelley, you still haven’t done. So buzz off.”
“Benny...”
“Don’t call me that.”
“C’mon, Benny, just --”
“All right, all right! Not the hair.”
“You’re so vain.”
“You’re the ones who whined when I cut my hair as short as Clay’s.”
“Why are we talking about hair when we could be talking about ladies?”
“Fine! I met her down along the river front. She was listening to music and I noticed her hands - she was playing the beat. She’s a real drummer. We got to talking, and - she was smart and funny and really, really pretty.”
“Did she recognize you?”
“I don’t think so. I mean - she didn’t go all nutty fangirl on me. It was nice to be treated like - like a real boy for once.”
“Keep up the honesty and you’ll turn into a real boy in no time, Romeo.”
“Get out of here. I don’t know why I tell you anything.”
(336 words)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Scott Pesters Clay
“I know that expression, bro. Spill - what’s her name?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey - give me back my math book!”
“C’mon. You’ve been mooning at the back of Dan’s head all day. Ben told me he saw you talking to a hot chick yesterday.”
“Are you sure you didn’t mix me up with Ben?”
“Clay, you can’t lie to your big brother. I’ll give you back your math book if you tell me her name.”
“No.”
“At least tell me something about her.”
“She was nice, all right? Nice and smart and --”
“It sounds like love.”
“Shut up and give me my textbook.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Poetry, actually.”
“Poetry? You? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I can read, you know. And - her voice. It was...haunting. Shelley never sounds like that when she reads us poetry.”
“It really does sound like love. Is that why a volume of Millay is in the middle of your trigonometry?”
“Leave, Scott. Leave now and let me study.”
“I’m gonna go tell Ben about your lady poet love.”
“You do that.”
(182 words)
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey - give me back my math book!”
“C’mon. You’ve been mooning at the back of Dan’s head all day. Ben told me he saw you talking to a hot chick yesterday.”
“Are you sure you didn’t mix me up with Ben?”
“Clay, you can’t lie to your big brother. I’ll give you back your math book if you tell me her name.”
“No.”
“At least tell me something about her.”
“She was nice, all right? Nice and smart and --”
“It sounds like love.”
“Shut up and give me my textbook.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Poetry, actually.”
“Poetry? You? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I can read, you know. And - her voice. It was...haunting. Shelley never sounds like that when she reads us poetry.”
“It really does sound like love. Is that why a volume of Millay is in the middle of your trigonometry?”
“Leave, Scott. Leave now and let me study.”
“I’m gonna go tell Ben about your lady poet love.”
“You do that.”
(182 words)
Dark Waltz / Sway
"We are the lucky ones, we shine like a thousand suns, when all of the color runs together. I'll keep you company, in one glorious harmony. Waltzing with destiny forever."
"When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway. Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more."
"Dance me into the night, underneath the moon shining so bright, turning me into the light. Time dances whirling past, I gaze through the looking glass; and feel just beyond my grasp is heaven."
"Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me. Stay with me, sway with me."
"Sacred geometry, where movement is poetry; visions of you and me forever."
"Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have that magic technique. When we sway I go weak."
"Dance me into the night, underneath the moon shining so bright. Let the dark waltz begin. Oh let me wheel - let me spin, let it take me again. Turning me into the light."
"I can hear the sounds of violins, long before it begins. Make me thrill as only you know how; sway me smooth, sway me now. You know how, sway me smooth, sway me now."
"When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, make me sway. Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more."
"Dance me into the night, underneath the moon shining so bright, turning me into the light. Time dances whirling past, I gaze through the looking glass; and feel just beyond my grasp is heaven."
"Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with ease. When we dance you have a way with me. Stay with me, sway with me."
"Sacred geometry, where movement is poetry; visions of you and me forever."
"Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you. Only you have that magic technique. When we sway I go weak."
"Dance me into the night, underneath the moon shining so bright. Let the dark waltz begin. Oh let me wheel - let me spin, let it take me again. Turning me into the light."
"I can hear the sounds of violins, long before it begins. Make me thrill as only you know how; sway me smooth, sway me now. You know how, sway me smooth, sway me now."
Monday, April 20, 2009
Top 40 Break-up
“The last thing I want to do right now is read your stupid poetry. Why can’t you just tell me what you really want to say?” [1]
“We all have a weakness. Some of ours are easy to identify.” [2]
“Look me in the eye.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours first. Let’s compare scars and I’ll tell you whose is worse.” [3]
“Welcome to the planet. Welcome to existence.” [4]
“Painted a picture of how it’s supposed to turn out. Down in a cold dirty well and I cannot climb out.” [5]
“Everybody’s watching you now. What happens next?” [4]
“I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing.” [6]
“I dare you to move.” [4]
“Just prayed to a god that I don’t believe in.” [6]
“I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor.” [4]
“When a heart breaks, no, it don’t break even.” [6]
(139 words)
Lyrics from:
1 - Silhouette Serenade by Vendetta Red
2 - Dig by Incubus
3 - Swing Life Away by Rise Against
4 - Dare You to Move by Switchfoot
5 - Down A Cold Dirty Well by Justin Nozuka
6 - Break Even by The Script
“We all have a weakness. Some of ours are easy to identify.” [2]
“Look me in the eye.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours first. Let’s compare scars and I’ll tell you whose is worse.” [3]
“Welcome to the planet. Welcome to existence.” [4]
“Painted a picture of how it’s supposed to turn out. Down in a cold dirty well and I cannot climb out.” [5]
“Everybody’s watching you now. What happens next?” [4]
“I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing.” [6]
“I dare you to move.” [4]
“Just prayed to a god that I don’t believe in.” [6]
“I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor.” [4]
“When a heart breaks, no, it don’t break even.” [6]
(139 words)
Lyrics from:
1 - Silhouette Serenade by Vendetta Red
2 - Dig by Incubus
3 - Swing Life Away by Rise Against
4 - Dare You to Move by Switchfoot
5 - Down A Cold Dirty Well by Justin Nozuka
6 - Break Even by The Script
Annabelle Lee / I am going to the West.
"It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee."
"In this fair land, I'll stay no more; here labor is in vain. I'll seek the mountains far away, and leave the fertile plain."
"But we loved with a love that was more than love-- I and my Annabel Lee."
"You say you will not go with me, you turn your eyes away. You say you will not follow me, no matter what I say. I am going to the West."
"But our love it was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than we-- Of many far wiser than we-- And neither the angels in heaven above,
nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."
"I will journey to the place that was shaped by heaven's hand, and I will build for me a bower where angels' footprints mark the land. Where castle rocks in towers high
kneel to valleys wild and green. All my thoughts are turned to you, my waking hope, my sleeping dream."
"And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, in her sepulcher there by the sea, in her tomb by the sounding sea."
"Wind, my blanket. Earth, my bed, my canopy a tree. Willows by the river's edge will whisper me to sleep."
"In this fair land, I'll stay no more; here labor is in vain. I'll seek the mountains far away, and leave the fertile plain."
"But we loved with a love that was more than love-- I and my Annabel Lee."
"You say you will not go with me, you turn your eyes away. You say you will not follow me, no matter what I say. I am going to the West."
"But our love it was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than we-- Of many far wiser than we-- And neither the angels in heaven above,
nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."
"I will journey to the place that was shaped by heaven's hand, and I will build for me a bower where angels' footprints mark the land. Where castle rocks in towers high
kneel to valleys wild and green. All my thoughts are turned to you, my waking hope, my sleeping dream."
"And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, in her sepulcher there by the sea, in her tomb by the sounding sea."
"Wind, my blanket. Earth, my bed, my canopy a tree. Willows by the river's edge will whisper me to sleep."
Wanderlust/ Where are we going from here.
"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea."
"On a long road, miles to go, it's winding and cold and its covered with snow."
"It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-by."
"But I ask you what we all want to know; where are we going from here?"
"I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are, but man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide a star"
"We lose our way, trying to find, searching to find our way home."
"And there's no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard; for the river calls and the road calls, and oh, the call of a bird."
"Trying to find our way home."
"And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why, you may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and the sky!"
"As the day dies, with tears in our eyes, there's too few hellos and too many goodbyes."
"Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away."
"But who do you ask, when no one really knows where we are going from here."
"On a long road, miles to go, it's winding and cold and its covered with snow."
"It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-by."
"But I ask you what we all want to know; where are we going from here?"
"I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are, but man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide a star"
"We lose our way, trying to find, searching to find our way home."
"And there's no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard; for the river calls and the road calls, and oh, the call of a bird."
"Trying to find our way home."
"And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why, you may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and the sky!"
"As the day dies, with tears in our eyes, there's too few hellos and too many goodbyes."
"Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away."
"But who do you ask, when no one really knows where we are going from here."
Sunday, April 19, 2009
An Edna St. Vincent-Millay Break-up
“The rain is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh upon the glass.”
“I shall forget you presently, my dear.”
“I would indeed that love were longer lived.”
“If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favorite vow.”
“I think I should have loved you presently.”
“You are betrayed. Here is no treasure hid.”
“Time does not bring relief. You all have lied.”
“This door you might not open, and you did.”
“And you no longer look with love on me.”
“I find this frenzy insufficient reason for conversation when we meet again.”
“Some sane day, not to bright and not too stormy, I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.”
“Let me make it plain: I must never more behold your face.”
“This now is yours. I seek another place.”
(140 words)
“I shall forget you presently, my dear.”
“I would indeed that love were longer lived.”
“If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favorite vow.”
“I think I should have loved you presently.”
“You are betrayed. Here is no treasure hid.”
“Time does not bring relief. You all have lied.”
“This door you might not open, and you did.”
“And you no longer look with love on me.”
“I find this frenzy insufficient reason for conversation when we meet again.”
“Some sane day, not to bright and not too stormy, I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.”
“Let me make it plain: I must never more behold your face.”
“This now is yours. I seek another place.”
(140 words)
Project #25: All Dialogue
I'll confess, this is pretty much a cheap shot for me, but finals are coming up. Write a scene that's entirely dialogue. Ernest Hemingway was famous for his long stretches of untagged dialogue, so go for it - untagged dialogue, 100-400 words. Think of funky ways to write the dialogue, like maybe make a conversation, that's comprised entirely of lines from different poems, or from different songs, or conversations from dialogue in a book you love, or just make it up. Have fun with it, jazz it up, and don't stress out.
Overview #24 - Random Words
It was fun to get to use the random word generator, at any rate. Mostly it felt like I was suffering from perennial writer's block, because I do just this, write little scenes that will go nowhere, whenever I'm trying to drive the writer's block away. Still, I had fun. I wrote a lot of randomness, some of it inspired by internet videos (Susan Boyle and Paul Potts) and some of it inspired by pictures. I did dip into fandom once, though it's on the darker edge of that fandom, and fairly obscure in its allusion to boot, but it was good times. I got to work on a bit of dialogue, a bit of micro plot, and it was fairly easy work, all things considered.
Nut
“If The Wordsmith ever finds out about this, he’ll do a nut,” Kory said.
Austin shooed him away with a gesture of her hand. “Smith won’t ever find out that I did this then, will he, Virtue boy?”
“Just because I’m in the Virtue Choir doesn’t mean you can call me -”
Austin leveled a glare at him. “I’m one of the Gregori for a reason, Kory, and it’s not because I care to argue with a misplaced Virtue.”
“Misplaced? You question The Authority?”
“Begone, Kory, before I have to file a collateral damage report,” Austin said.
Kory shook his head. “I’m just saying. The Wordsmith’s pretty fragile, and this could really be trouble. Not to mention if Garrow finds out what you did.”
“You underestimate Smith.” Austin tacked the poster to the cork board in the Virtue lounge and shuffled the stack in her folder. She had posters for every bunker in the Quire but the Gregori bunker, and she planned to use them well. “He’s not the sort to go running to Garrow.”
“Garrow, on the other hand, is just the sort to figure out what you did without The Wordsmith saying a thing.” Kory studied the poster. It was well-made. However Austin had found such a pleasant picture of The Wordsmith - dressed in a fluffy blue hoodie and smiling - Kory couldn’t begin to imagine, but the kid looked mildly attractive. That the poster was advertising The Wordsmith as a potential date and there were phone number tabs along the bottom was less impressive and more frightening.
Austin yanked off a couple of the tabs and shoved them into her pocket, then stood back to admire her handiwork.
“Do you know what’ll happen if you put that up in the Houri bunker?” Kory asked.
Austin’s smile said it all.
(301 words)
Austin shooed him away with a gesture of her hand. “Smith won’t ever find out that I did this then, will he, Virtue boy?”
“Just because I’m in the Virtue Choir doesn’t mean you can call me -”
Austin leveled a glare at him. “I’m one of the Gregori for a reason, Kory, and it’s not because I care to argue with a misplaced Virtue.”
“Misplaced? You question The Authority?”
“Begone, Kory, before I have to file a collateral damage report,” Austin said.
Kory shook his head. “I’m just saying. The Wordsmith’s pretty fragile, and this could really be trouble. Not to mention if Garrow finds out what you did.”
“You underestimate Smith.” Austin tacked the poster to the cork board in the Virtue lounge and shuffled the stack in her folder. She had posters for every bunker in the Quire but the Gregori bunker, and she planned to use them well. “He’s not the sort to go running to Garrow.”
“Garrow, on the other hand, is just the sort to figure out what you did without The Wordsmith saying a thing.” Kory studied the poster. It was well-made. However Austin had found such a pleasant picture of The Wordsmith - dressed in a fluffy blue hoodie and smiling - Kory couldn’t begin to imagine, but the kid looked mildly attractive. That the poster was advertising The Wordsmith as a potential date and there were phone number tabs along the bottom was less impressive and more frightening.
Austin yanked off a couple of the tabs and shoved them into her pocket, then stood back to admire her handiwork.
“Do you know what’ll happen if you put that up in the Houri bunker?” Kory asked.
Austin’s smile said it all.
(301 words)
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Swelter
It was sweltering outside, absolutely unbearable. The desert flowed on in every direction as far as they could see without any break. David and men lounged under the shade of the lean-to clad in loose trousers and long sleeved shirts. They had been assigned to keep an eye on a particular group of people. They had placed their surveillance and had retreated to a safe distance. Joe was on look out, the others were taking quietly or playing cards. Mark and Brian arguing over the relative value of different hands.
It was a quiet day in the desert.
It was a quiet day in the desert.
Fool
David realized his mistake to late. If he was lucky he would be able to get his men out alive. He had been a fool to think it was going to be easier than they had told him it would be, and now they might all die because of him.
"FALL BACK!" David shouted. "Regroup and rendezvous. Steve go with Joe, Mark and Brian you're with me. Move!" The five man team broke in two, shooting off in separate directions. David wound through the underbrush, keeping low and leading the two Second Lieutenants through the jungle. He knew that Steve would keep Joe safe.
Their mission had been a dangerous one to begin with, and now it was worse, they had been compromised and had not achieved their objective. David kept up a zigzagging path through the jungle , making sure that Mark and Brian were with him.
David and his men finally broke through the brush and ducked into a blind, waiting for Steve and Joe. The twins sat down heavily, trying to catch their breath. David paced back and forth in the small space, his face a thundercloud.
Ten minutes passes, twenty, and then thirty. David had just decided to go and look for his men when they came stumbling into the blind, Steve leaning heavily on Joe.
Joe eased Steve to the ground. There was a tourniquet at Steve's knee and another lower on his calf that was soaked in blood.
David crouched next to Steve and unwrapped the bandage. "Shot?"
"Yeah, they pegged me as we were hopping over a log." Steve winced as David started to clean the wound. "It's a damn good thing that they can't shoot," Steve joked. He sucked in a sharp breath as David pulled the slug from the wound.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant. This is my fault." David said, wrapping his man's leg again.
"Just get me back to base and we'll call it square."
"FALL BACK!" David shouted. "Regroup and rendezvous. Steve go with Joe, Mark and Brian you're with me. Move!" The five man team broke in two, shooting off in separate directions. David wound through the underbrush, keeping low and leading the two Second Lieutenants through the jungle. He knew that Steve would keep Joe safe.
Their mission had been a dangerous one to begin with, and now it was worse, they had been compromised and had not achieved their objective. David kept up a zigzagging path through the jungle , making sure that Mark and Brian were with him.
David and his men finally broke through the brush and ducked into a blind, waiting for Steve and Joe. The twins sat down heavily, trying to catch their breath. David paced back and forth in the small space, his face a thundercloud.
Ten minutes passes, twenty, and then thirty. David had just decided to go and look for his men when they came stumbling into the blind, Steve leaning heavily on Joe.
Joe eased Steve to the ground. There was a tourniquet at Steve's knee and another lower on his calf that was soaked in blood.
David crouched next to Steve and unwrapped the bandage. "Shot?"
"Yeah, they pegged me as we were hopping over a log." Steve winced as David started to clean the wound. "It's a damn good thing that they can't shoot," Steve joked. He sucked in a sharp breath as David pulled the slug from the wound.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant. This is my fault." David said, wrapping his man's leg again.
"Just get me back to base and we'll call it square."
Flawless
The plan was flawless. David had gone over it with a fine toothed comb. He couldn't think of anything that he had left out. Now all he had to do was wait. For him that was always the hard part, waiting. David glanced at his watch. Why does time always seem to creep when you are waiting for something. David sighed, wishing time would go faster.
David checked over the items again, making sure that he had everything, running through a mental checklist. David pictured just how it would play out.
Looking at his watch again David was surprised to find he only had a few minutes to go. Standing up he got ready, flicking a small flame to life, and listening for approaching footsteps.
As soon as he could hear steps David applied the flame to the wick, bringing it to life.
The door opened and the light flicked on.
David looked up and smiled, "Happy Anniversary Arianna."
David checked over the items again, making sure that he had everything, running through a mental checklist. David pictured just how it would play out.
Looking at his watch again David was surprised to find he only had a few minutes to go. Standing up he got ready, flicking a small flame to life, and listening for approaching footsteps.
As soon as he could hear steps David applied the flame to the wick, bringing it to life.
The door opened and the light flicked on.
David looked up and smiled, "Happy Anniversary Arianna."
Friday, April 17, 2009
Sale
“So you just got that piece on sale.”
“You’d be surprised at what you can find at an army surplus store.” Mike hacked at the rope on his wrists with the army knife he’d propped up between his feet.
“Some kidnapper,” Jake grumbled. “He knocks us out, ties us up, but doesn’t think to take your knife or your gun.”
“I’m guessing he miscalculated our weights in ratio to the tranquilizing agent in the tranq darts and assumed we’d still be unconscious when he got back,” Mike said.
“Or he’s strong enough and fast enough that it doesn’t matter if you’re awake, untied, and armed.” A shadow fell across the doorway, and for a moment both men couldn’t see.
Then their eyes adjusted, and they realized that their captor was a boy, no older than fifteen, slight of build and with features like a china doll. And a pair of bright, bright blue eyes.
“Why did you kidnap us?” Jake demanded.
The boy tilted his head to the side quizzically. “Who says I kidnapped you? It’s not as if I’ve asked your families for ransom.”
“Then why did you take us?”
The boy’s smile was slow and calm and utterly terrifying. “Jei wanted something to eat.”
(206 words)
“You’d be surprised at what you can find at an army surplus store.” Mike hacked at the rope on his wrists with the army knife he’d propped up between his feet.
“Some kidnapper,” Jake grumbled. “He knocks us out, ties us up, but doesn’t think to take your knife or your gun.”
“I’m guessing he miscalculated our weights in ratio to the tranquilizing agent in the tranq darts and assumed we’d still be unconscious when he got back,” Mike said.
“Or he’s strong enough and fast enough that it doesn’t matter if you’re awake, untied, and armed.” A shadow fell across the doorway, and for a moment both men couldn’t see.
Then their eyes adjusted, and they realized that their captor was a boy, no older than fifteen, slight of build and with features like a china doll. And a pair of bright, bright blue eyes.
“Why did you kidnap us?” Jake demanded.
The boy tilted his head to the side quizzically. “Who says I kidnapped you? It’s not as if I’ve asked your families for ransom.”
“Then why did you take us?”
The boy’s smile was slow and calm and utterly terrifying. “Jei wanted something to eat.”
(206 words)
Container
“Who’s that lass there?” Tom asked.
Phyllis glanced up from her knitting. “Pardon?”
“That girl, there, going to visit Paul.”
A young woman stood on the next door neighbor’s door step carrying a stack of plastic containers.
“That’s Sylvia, dear,” Phyllis said. “She comes by once a week to bring him food.”
“Oh.” Tom returned to the paper to search for football scores. Blackburn was doing terribly this year, so he’d pinned his hopes on Arsenal taking Man U down in the next match.
“Pardon me.”
Phyllis and Tom both looked up and saw Sylvia standing on the edge of their lawn.
“Hello - my name is Sylvia, and Paul’s one of my coworkers. I brought him some supper, but he’s not answering his door. I was wondering if you could just give this to him when he gets home.” She held out the stack of tupperware.
Phyllis set down her knitting and accepted the boxes from her. “Of course, dear. Do you know Paul well?”
“Well enough. He’s lonely is all.” Sylvia smiled, and Phyllis thought to herself that Sylvia was a very lovely girl to be spending time with a sourpuss like Paul.
“He’s a bit of a loud neighbor at times,” Tom grumbled from behind the paper. “Comes home every night and listens to an hour of opera. Like bloody clockwork, it is. Always the same bloke singing, too. You’d think he’d tire of the stuff.”
Phyllis flapped an impatient hand at her husband. “Don’t mind him. I enjoy opera, and I’m glad Paul is willing to share.”
Sylvia looked puzzled for a moment, but then she laughed softly. “Oh, no, Paul doesn’t listen to opera. He doesn’t have a radio or victrola or anything.”
It was Phyllis’s turn to look puzzled. “Then it must be Mrs. Barnham next door. She must turn it up very loud - she’s nearly deaf, the poor dear.”
Sylvia’s smile was enigmatic. “Perhaps it is Mrs. Barnham. Or perhaps Paul simply likes to sing.” And she walked away.
It wasn’t until Paul returned home later that evening and Nessun Dorma echoed from his open window did Phyllis realize what Sylvia had meant.
(359 words)
Phyllis glanced up from her knitting. “Pardon?”
“That girl, there, going to visit Paul.”
A young woman stood on the next door neighbor’s door step carrying a stack of plastic containers.
“That’s Sylvia, dear,” Phyllis said. “She comes by once a week to bring him food.”
“Oh.” Tom returned to the paper to search for football scores. Blackburn was doing terribly this year, so he’d pinned his hopes on Arsenal taking Man U down in the next match.
“Pardon me.”
Phyllis and Tom both looked up and saw Sylvia standing on the edge of their lawn.
“Hello - my name is Sylvia, and Paul’s one of my coworkers. I brought him some supper, but he’s not answering his door. I was wondering if you could just give this to him when he gets home.” She held out the stack of tupperware.
Phyllis set down her knitting and accepted the boxes from her. “Of course, dear. Do you know Paul well?”
“Well enough. He’s lonely is all.” Sylvia smiled, and Phyllis thought to herself that Sylvia was a very lovely girl to be spending time with a sourpuss like Paul.
“He’s a bit of a loud neighbor at times,” Tom grumbled from behind the paper. “Comes home every night and listens to an hour of opera. Like bloody clockwork, it is. Always the same bloke singing, too. You’d think he’d tire of the stuff.”
Phyllis flapped an impatient hand at her husband. “Don’t mind him. I enjoy opera, and I’m glad Paul is willing to share.”
Sylvia looked puzzled for a moment, but then she laughed softly. “Oh, no, Paul doesn’t listen to opera. He doesn’t have a radio or victrola or anything.”
It was Phyllis’s turn to look puzzled. “Then it must be Mrs. Barnham next door. She must turn it up very loud - she’s nearly deaf, the poor dear.”
Sylvia’s smile was enigmatic. “Perhaps it is Mrs. Barnham. Or perhaps Paul simply likes to sing.” And she walked away.
It wasn’t until Paul returned home later that evening and Nessun Dorma echoed from his open window did Phyllis realize what Sylvia had meant.
(359 words)
Lark
“She sings like a lark,” Joseph offered.
Timothy hid a grimace behind his cup of tea. “And she looks like a bag of boots.”
Marianne’s giggle was high-pitched and particularly annoying. She fanned herself with one of her kid gloves. “It wouldn’t be fair if God bestowed both beauty and such a magnificent voice on her, or one person’s greatness would encroach on Henry’s, and we can’t have that, can we?”
Henry stood in the corner of the parlor, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t appreciate the insinuations in your comments, Miss Marianne.”
Again with the giggle. Timothy resisted the urge to cover his ears.
“Oh Henry, don’t be so insensitive.” Marianne flapper her glove at him. “Now send the little songbird home and we can talk properly - about marriage and children and things.”
Henry straightened the lapels of his jacket and cast Marianne a cold look. “She’s not just a songbird, and I shall not send her home if I so choose. Good day Timothy, Joseph.”
Marianne could only squeak like a strangled canary when she saw Henry step into the garden to speak to the girl.
“She sings like a lark,” Joseph said again.
Timothy smirked behind his cup of tea. “And she has a brain.”
(210 words)
Timothy hid a grimace behind his cup of tea. “And she looks like a bag of boots.”
Marianne’s giggle was high-pitched and particularly annoying. She fanned herself with one of her kid gloves. “It wouldn’t be fair if God bestowed both beauty and such a magnificent voice on her, or one person’s greatness would encroach on Henry’s, and we can’t have that, can we?”
Henry stood in the corner of the parlor, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t appreciate the insinuations in your comments, Miss Marianne.”
Again with the giggle. Timothy resisted the urge to cover his ears.
“Oh Henry, don’t be so insensitive.” Marianne flapper her glove at him. “Now send the little songbird home and we can talk properly - about marriage and children and things.”
Henry straightened the lapels of his jacket and cast Marianne a cold look. “She’s not just a songbird, and I shall not send her home if I so choose. Good day Timothy, Joseph.”
Marianne could only squeak like a strangled canary when she saw Henry step into the garden to speak to the girl.
“She sings like a lark,” Joseph said again.
Timothy smirked behind his cup of tea. “And she has a brain.”
(210 words)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Horizon
"You can't go." Sarah stated.
"Why not? There is nothing to keep me here." Seth replied, his words bitter.
"I don't want you to go, that's why." Sarah replied, looking at him hopefully. Seth said that he was leaving. Sarah knew that he hardly ever changed his mind once it was made up.
"Don't you get it? I don't care anymore. Not about you, not about this place, nothing. There is absolutely nothing to keep me here in this place. The sooner I leave the better for everyone. Mostly the best for me." Seth carefully cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses and placed them on his nose. His motorcycle was propped on its kickstand beside him, waiting to take him away.
"Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?" Sarah asked, resigned to the fact that he was leaving.
"No. Nothing. Goodbye Sarah, I did enjoy knowing you. If we ever cross paths again, it will bring me pleasure." Seth mounted his bike and kicked it to life, it's throaty roar silencing further conversation.
Sarah watched Seth ride away.
"Bring me that Horizon," Seth said as he rode away from his life.
"Why not? There is nothing to keep me here." Seth replied, his words bitter.
"I don't want you to go, that's why." Sarah replied, looking at him hopefully. Seth said that he was leaving. Sarah knew that he hardly ever changed his mind once it was made up.
"Don't you get it? I don't care anymore. Not about you, not about this place, nothing. There is absolutely nothing to keep me here in this place. The sooner I leave the better for everyone. Mostly the best for me." Seth carefully cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses and placed them on his nose. His motorcycle was propped on its kickstand beside him, waiting to take him away.
"Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?" Sarah asked, resigned to the fact that he was leaving.
"No. Nothing. Goodbye Sarah, I did enjoy knowing you. If we ever cross paths again, it will bring me pleasure." Seth mounted his bike and kicked it to life, it's throaty roar silencing further conversation.
Sarah watched Seth ride away.
"Bring me that Horizon," Seth said as he rode away from his life.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Lesser
“Just because there’s a lesser of two evils doesn’t mean there’s a good choice,” I said.
Joanna sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is one of those horrible choices in life where you have to actually choose to do something, and no one wins in the end.”
“Except him.”
“He’s not really winning if he’s dead.”
“But Gray will be dead too.” I sank down on the window seat and stared at my hands. Every time I closed my eyes I could see Gray’s smile and his eyes and feel his lips against mine as he made me promise to see this through.
And then I could see Luke’s face overlaying his, the same features and wide smile, but with a cruel twist and with a dark glitter in his eyes, and I wanted to cry.
Joanna sat down beside me. “Emma, if what you say is true --”
I jerked away from her, rose to my feet. “You mean even now, you still don’t believe me?”
Joanna took a deep breath. She had that expression on her face, the one she wore the time she told me I’d completely botched my New Historicism essay. But this wasn’t a damned term paper.
“Look, I know you and Luke really, really don’t get along --”
“You don’t know Luke. You’ve never seen what he really is --”
“He’s the boss’s son and bratty, I get it --” Joanna began, and then a voice singing cut us both off.
Luke leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets, his smile too innocent to be sweet. The song was from Sweeney Todd. “I feel you...Johanna...”
Joanna cast him a dirty look.
“I’ll steal you...Johanna...”
I opened my mouth to offer the obvious riposte, but he beat me to it.
“Speak of the devil.”
(301 words)
Joanna sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is one of those horrible choices in life where you have to actually choose to do something, and no one wins in the end.”
“Except him.”
“He’s not really winning if he’s dead.”
“But Gray will be dead too.” I sank down on the window seat and stared at my hands. Every time I closed my eyes I could see Gray’s smile and his eyes and feel his lips against mine as he made me promise to see this through.
And then I could see Luke’s face overlaying his, the same features and wide smile, but with a cruel twist and with a dark glitter in his eyes, and I wanted to cry.
Joanna sat down beside me. “Emma, if what you say is true --”
I jerked away from her, rose to my feet. “You mean even now, you still don’t believe me?”
Joanna took a deep breath. She had that expression on her face, the one she wore the time she told me I’d completely botched my New Historicism essay. But this wasn’t a damned term paper.
“Look, I know you and Luke really, really don’t get along --”
“You don’t know Luke. You’ve never seen what he really is --”
“He’s the boss’s son and bratty, I get it --” Joanna began, and then a voice singing cut us both off.
Luke leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets, his smile too innocent to be sweet. The song was from Sweeney Todd. “I feel you...Johanna...”
Joanna cast him a dirty look.
“I’ll steal you...Johanna...”
I opened my mouth to offer the obvious riposte, but he beat me to it.
“Speak of the devil.”
(301 words)
Thingmabob
"You know, if you can't fix it with a hammer; you have an electrical problem." Brian piped up from beside the machine where his brother was working.
"Hand me that doohickey will you?" Mark asked, reaching out from under the machine.
"Which dojigger are you taking about?" Brian responded, sitting in the chair and looking at all the various tools.
"The doodad that is curved at the point," Mark replied, rolling his eyes even though his brother couldn't see it.
"Don't roll your eyes at me," Brian said, "There are six doodads with curved ends. Which one do you want?"
"Just hand me any widget, just make sure it's not to big," Mark said.
Brian handed Mark a tool that vaguely resembled a curved vice grip. "Here." Brian watched Mark struggle with it for a moment, "are you done yet?"
"Nope, we're missing a thingamabob." Mark said, crawling out from under the machine.
"What kind of thingamabob?"
"A switch type button thingamabob that will reset the unit." Mark made a vague motion with his hands to describe the piece.
"One like this?" Brian held up a bit of machinery.
"That's it!" Mark whisked the bit from his brother and crawled under the machine again. A few seconds later the machine gave a heave and rumbled to life.
"Hand me that doohickey will you?" Mark asked, reaching out from under the machine.
"Which dojigger are you taking about?" Brian responded, sitting in the chair and looking at all the various tools.
"The doodad that is curved at the point," Mark replied, rolling his eyes even though his brother couldn't see it.
"Don't roll your eyes at me," Brian said, "There are six doodads with curved ends. Which one do you want?"
"Just hand me any widget, just make sure it's not to big," Mark said.
Brian handed Mark a tool that vaguely resembled a curved vice grip. "Here." Brian watched Mark struggle with it for a moment, "are you done yet?"
"Nope, we're missing a thingamabob." Mark said, crawling out from under the machine.
"What kind of thingamabob?"
"A switch type button thingamabob that will reset the unit." Mark made a vague motion with his hands to describe the piece.
"One like this?" Brian held up a bit of machinery.
"That's it!" Mark whisked the bit from his brother and crawled under the machine again. A few seconds later the machine gave a heave and rumbled to life.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Bookstore
“This is your ideal job? After all those years of school, you want to work in a bookstore?” Maria’s skepticism was completely understandable, but there was more to The Written Haven than a mere bookstore.
“First of all, I don’t work here - I’m technically in-house counsel.” Sarah knew her title didn’t mean much, especially as she was wearing jeans, a faded t-shirt, and her favorite, shapeless, dark green sweater. “The rules of professional ethics forbid me from being an actual partner in the corporation, but for all intents and purposes, I am. And it’s not just a bookstore - it’s also a publishing house.”
Maria prodded a volume of Harry Potter. “You saying you published these?”
Sarah swatted at her hand. “Of course not - we carry popular titles, obviously. But we also have a rare collection of first editions, and then those shelves over there --” they took up half of the store -- “hold everything we publish in-house.”
Maria wandered over toward the shelves, inspected covers and titles with the air of someone who was an expert. Sarah reminded herself that Maria thought Vogue was high literature and tried to smile.
“So...you publish poetry.”
“And novels, and non-fiction, and short stories. Also graphic novels.”
Maria’s eyes lit up. “How graphic?”
Sarah’s mouth twisted into a moue of distaste. “Not porn, Maria. Comic books. Only not superheroes.”
“What’s the point of a comic book without a superhero?”
“I had to learn that after all those years of school.” Sarah plucked a volume out of Maria’s hands and replaced it gently on the shelf. She’d worked hard, inking that volume. Mark had done the cover, and together he and Joanna had helped the writer get his art all picked out. It was one of their most popular titles to date.
And then Maria lit on the first volume of Numbers Untold. “You write anything sold on these shelves? Under a pseudo-whatsit - a pen name?”
Sarah smiled enigmatically. “Well, you’d have to read an actual book to find out.”
(340 words)
“First of all, I don’t work here - I’m technically in-house counsel.” Sarah knew her title didn’t mean much, especially as she was wearing jeans, a faded t-shirt, and her favorite, shapeless, dark green sweater. “The rules of professional ethics forbid me from being an actual partner in the corporation, but for all intents and purposes, I am. And it’s not just a bookstore - it’s also a publishing house.”
Maria prodded a volume of Harry Potter. “You saying you published these?”
Sarah swatted at her hand. “Of course not - we carry popular titles, obviously. But we also have a rare collection of first editions, and then those shelves over there --” they took up half of the store -- “hold everything we publish in-house.”
Maria wandered over toward the shelves, inspected covers and titles with the air of someone who was an expert. Sarah reminded herself that Maria thought Vogue was high literature and tried to smile.
“So...you publish poetry.”
“And novels, and non-fiction, and short stories. Also graphic novels.”
Maria’s eyes lit up. “How graphic?”
Sarah’s mouth twisted into a moue of distaste. “Not porn, Maria. Comic books. Only not superheroes.”
“What’s the point of a comic book without a superhero?”
“I had to learn that after all those years of school.” Sarah plucked a volume out of Maria’s hands and replaced it gently on the shelf. She’d worked hard, inking that volume. Mark had done the cover, and together he and Joanna had helped the writer get his art all picked out. It was one of their most popular titles to date.
And then Maria lit on the first volume of Numbers Untold. “You write anything sold on these shelves? Under a pseudo-whatsit - a pen name?”
Sarah smiled enigmatically. “Well, you’d have to read an actual book to find out.”
(340 words)
Welt
A welt was forming quickly where David had just taken a blow from a bokken, his arm had gone numb from the blow; but sensation returned rapidly, his arm protesting the abuse.
David had almost lost his grip on the practice sword, his palms slick with the sweat of exertion.
"You're getting better Dave," James said. He was rubbing at his shoulder as well.
"It reminds me of a dance," David said, taking his place again.
"Yes, the dance of death."
James whirled the bokken over his head and attacked again.
David blocked, flowing through the forms that were becoming second nature to him.
David had almost lost his grip on the practice sword, his palms slick with the sweat of exertion.
"You're getting better Dave," James said. He was rubbing at his shoulder as well.
"It reminds me of a dance," David said, taking his place again.
"Yes, the dance of death."
James whirled the bokken over his head and attacked again.
David blocked, flowing through the forms that were becoming second nature to him.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Bending
“If you keep bending that, it’ll break,” Carolyn said absently.
Greg looked mildly guilty and set down her metal bookmark. “Are you done yet?”
“You know I have a big case coming up. I need to prep.” Her desk was stacked with files and folders, some of which looked liable to topple off the edge at a sneeze.
“Right now it just looks like you’re cutting up important paperwork into tiny strips.” Maybe there was a reason she’d never had a long-term relationship. If she worked this hard when she was interested in dating, how hard had she worked before? No one else was in the office this late on a Saturday, not even his father, and he was one of the founding senior partners.
“This is my method. It worked in law school, it worked in my first trial, and it’ll work now.” Carolyn glanced up at him. “You’re bored.”
He nodded.
She studied for a long moment, then said, “There’s a digital camera and a spare cartridge in my away bag. I have one more hour of work. You have one hour to make a decent short film.”
Greg’s eyebrows went up, but her expression was completely serious. A grin spread across his face. “You’re on, litigator,” he said.
Her smile in return was radiant. “When I got done with work, you better be too.”
(228 words)
Greg looked mildly guilty and set down her metal bookmark. “Are you done yet?”
“You know I have a big case coming up. I need to prep.” Her desk was stacked with files and folders, some of which looked liable to topple off the edge at a sneeze.
“Right now it just looks like you’re cutting up important paperwork into tiny strips.” Maybe there was a reason she’d never had a long-term relationship. If she worked this hard when she was interested in dating, how hard had she worked before? No one else was in the office this late on a Saturday, not even his father, and he was one of the founding senior partners.
“This is my method. It worked in law school, it worked in my first trial, and it’ll work now.” Carolyn glanced up at him. “You’re bored.”
He nodded.
She studied for a long moment, then said, “There’s a digital camera and a spare cartridge in my away bag. I have one more hour of work. You have one hour to make a decent short film.”
Greg’s eyebrows went up, but her expression was completely serious. A grin spread across his face. “You’re on, litigator,” he said.
Her smile in return was radiant. “When I got done with work, you better be too.”
(228 words)
Moonshine
David sat on the dirty floor, knees pulled to his chest, arms resting on his knees. A bottle of clear liquid hung from one limp hand; the bottle bore the XX of an ancient bottle of liquor. David knocked back another mouthful of the homemade gin and shuddered, sucking in a sharp breath and exhaling; the liquor burning as it went down. The sun filtered dimly through a window thick with accumulated dust and grime. The air was almost as dusty as the window. Old wooden crates were stacked high in the abandoned warehouse, many of them full of the old moonshine that he was now drinking, bottle by bottle. More than a dozen bottles were strewn empty around him.
He had been hiding out here for a few days, not ready to face the world again, a face haunting his mind and soul. David neither knew nor cared anymore what day it was; it was hard to focus through the haze of alcohol, he didn't know if it had been two or three days. His gun was loaded on the ground beside him.
David pulled himself out of his stupor enough to recognize footsteps echoing through the warehouse and the soft whisper of voices.
"I'm pretty sure he's here," one voice said.
"Are you sure? It doesn't look like anyone had been in here for years." a second voice said.
"The dust near the door was disturbed." the first voice responded.
David picked up his gun. Even through the alcoholic haze his hand was steady, his aim sure; his other hand sill held a bottle of gin.
Through blurry eyes David saw two figures come around one of the stacks of boxes.
"Boss?" Steve whispered, shocked at the state he found his commander in. He exchanged a look with Joe.
David lowered his gun, "Hey Steve, how you doing?" He slurred. "Is that Joe with you? Hey Joe, where are the others?"
Steve waved Joe to take a perimeter. He approached David slowly and sat beside him, shaking his head when David offered him the bottle. Steve watched as David swallowed more poison, he reached over and gently took the bottle from David's hand.
David thought about protesting, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. He leaned his head back against the crate behind him, closing his eyes. He saw again the cooling body on the ground before him.
Steve watched his commanders body go limp as he passed out from the booze. He let out a breath and shook his head. He had never seen his boss like this. He didn't know what had driven his commander here, or what had happened, he just knew he had to get him back to the base.
"Joe!" Steve called to his subordinate, "let's go. Grab his knees." Steve grabbed David under the arms as Joe took his legs.
They carried him out of the warehouse and placed him in the back of the waiting van, Mark and Brian in the front. Mark stepped on the gas as the back doors closed.
(500)
He had been hiding out here for a few days, not ready to face the world again, a face haunting his mind and soul. David neither knew nor cared anymore what day it was; it was hard to focus through the haze of alcohol, he didn't know if it had been two or three days. His gun was loaded on the ground beside him.
David pulled himself out of his stupor enough to recognize footsteps echoing through the warehouse and the soft whisper of voices.
"I'm pretty sure he's here," one voice said.
"Are you sure? It doesn't look like anyone had been in here for years." a second voice said.
"The dust near the door was disturbed." the first voice responded.
David picked up his gun. Even through the alcoholic haze his hand was steady, his aim sure; his other hand sill held a bottle of gin.
Through blurry eyes David saw two figures come around one of the stacks of boxes.
"Boss?" Steve whispered, shocked at the state he found his commander in. He exchanged a look with Joe.
David lowered his gun, "Hey Steve, how you doing?" He slurred. "Is that Joe with you? Hey Joe, where are the others?"
Steve waved Joe to take a perimeter. He approached David slowly and sat beside him, shaking his head when David offered him the bottle. Steve watched as David swallowed more poison, he reached over and gently took the bottle from David's hand.
David thought about protesting, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. He leaned his head back against the crate behind him, closing his eyes. He saw again the cooling body on the ground before him.
Steve watched his commanders body go limp as he passed out from the booze. He let out a breath and shook his head. He had never seen his boss like this. He didn't know what had driven his commander here, or what had happened, he just knew he had to get him back to the base.
"Joe!" Steve called to his subordinate, "let's go. Grab his knees." Steve grabbed David under the arms as Joe took his legs.
They carried him out of the warehouse and placed him in the back of the waiting van, Mark and Brian in the front. Mark stepped on the gas as the back doors closed.
(500)
Project Assignment # 24 - Once Again with feeling.....One word Challenge
This week to keep it simple, I know that finals are coming up soon, we will use the One word Challenge. Any word you choose for seven days. Keep it under 500 words but no less than 100. This is to help get the creative juices flowing again. I know I sorely need that. Probably Nagi needs it less. And come hell or high water, I will write every day this week!
Overview # 23 Fanfiction remix
This week was harder for me than I expected. I like writing fanfiction but unfortunately, I am not very good at it. It took me longer to write these than some others. I also found that I do not know the characters as well as I might have liked. I know I slacked again. It seems like I can get out a few and then life takes over and I hardly can find time. This next week should be better though apart from Monday. I will be making a conscious effort to write everyday.
I found it tough to fit what I wanted into just ten words, but it is a good exercise in concise writing which I should be practicing. I also realized that I don't have a whole lot of fanfictions. Just a hand full of shows that I watch. I suppose I could have done books...
I found it tough to fit what I wanted into just ten words, but it is a good exercise in concise writing which I should be practicing. I also realized that I don't have a whole lot of fanfictions. Just a hand full of shows that I watch. I suppose I could have done books...
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