Help is on the way

(the song should be low in the background. I know it may be a bit dramatic, but....I needed something foreboding...Skip forward to about the 1 minute mark)



"Lieutenant Blackwood." Steve answered the phone.

"Steve!" A panicked voice came over the line."

"Rachel?" Steve was surprised to hear his sisters voice.

"Steve, you've got to help me." Rachel's voice quiet, as if afraid someone would overhear her.

"Rachel, what's wrong? Where are you?" Steve was starting to get more than a little worried. His normally unflappable sister sounded on the verge of a panic attack.

"I don't know where I am. Please you have got to find me." Rachel sounded like she was almost in tears.

"Okay, Rachel, calm down. Where were you last? Where is Mom and Dad?" Steve was kicking into operation mode, trying to get all the facts.

"I was out with some friends, We were going to a bar at the edge of town. I don't know where Mom and Dad are."

"Okay Rachel. I want you to stay calm. I'm coming to find you." Steve said, reassuring his sister.

"Please hurry Steve, I'm scared."

"Hey, have I ever let you down?" Steve asked in a lighter tone, trying to dispel some of her anxiety.

"No," Rachel whispered.

Steve was loathed to hang up on his sister when she needed him, but he had to find her as fast as possible.

Steve tore into the bunk room, grabbing clothes and equipment and stuffing them into a duffel bag. The rest of the team were standing in surprise at the state of the normally calm First Lieutenant.

Steve was running out the door when he ran into David.

"Commander, I have to leave. My sister is in trouble. I have to help her." Steve spoke very fast, trying to edge around his leader.

David nodded, "Let's go men, grab your gear and we will be out in two minutes."

Steve looked at David with gratitude. "Thank you Major."

"Your family is my family Steve," said David, as the team jogged out of the barrack and down the hall towards the aircraft hanger.

An Interlude

She wasn’t sitting alone on the bench today. Instead of loitering in the break room for the entirety of her lunch hour, Jamie had wandered out of the building, down the street, into a cab, and into Central Park. She honestly hadn’t planned on seeing Miles, but she couldn’t deny the fact that she had been grinning so hard it hurt since the moment she saw him.

He was petting his dog affectionately and not saying much. Jamie wasn’t sure if it was out of shyness or if he felt uneasy around her. They were still in the stranger lingering on acquaintance stage. What did she expect?

“So, what’s your dog’s name? She really is a cutie.” Jamie looked over at Miles tentatively.

Miles chuckled. “He, actually. His name is Bruiser. Tough name, but he really is a softy. You can pet him, he doesn’t bite. He’s great around strangers.”

Strangers.

Jamie reached over and pet Bruiser on the head. He panted happily and Jamie smiled.

“So,” Miles began, “you said you were on your lunch break, right? Where do you work?”

“I write a column for the New York Times… it’s in the Arts section. I write about different restaurants in New York, the culinary world. I like food.” Obviously, Jamie, or you wouldn’t write a column about food, she thought to herself.

Miles laughed again. His eyes seemed to dance.

“Well, Jamie, writer for the Times who likes food and my dog… I need to get going. I work from home… I’m a writer too, actually, and I feel the need to work all of the sudden.”

“You’re a writer too?” She didn’t want to seem too eager, but the fact that they had something as big as their careers in common was an excellent place to start.

“Yeah…” Miles seemed to clam up. “It’s kind of complicated. But hey, uh… I’m probably going to walk Bruiser around this time tomorrow too if you feel the need to see Bruiser’s smiling face…” He scratched his head nervously.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He walked away, Bruiser almost pulling him along trying to get him to keep up. Jamie sighed, looked up at the clear blue high noon sky, and out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Miles glancing back.

(386 words, Ben Folds - Before Cologne)

In Five Years

If Kevin caught them, they’d be in massive trouble, but the summer night was warm and the glow from the candles made everything gold, and it was easy not to care.

“Where do you think you’ll be in five years?” Bob asked. He had his trig textbook open on his lap and a notebook full of half-finished problems next to his knee, but he was lying back on the bed, hands tucked under his head.

Carolyn had a secured transactions textbook propping up her feet, and she was stretched out on the bed opposite Bob so her head was beside his. “As soon as I’m old enough I’m taking the bar, remember? So I’m probably going to be a lawyer.”

Bob turned his head and nuzzled her hair, felt her smile against his shoulder. “Every now and again I forget how smart you are.”

“Not smart,” Carolyn said, like she always did. “Just lucky. Besides, you’re the musical prodigy, not me.”

“Hardly a prodigy.” Bob closed his eyes and shifted closer to her, felt her tuck herself against him. Her skin was soft, always had been, even back when she’d been a staff-wielding tomboy who put all four brothers to shame during karate training. Some days he wondered what the hell he’d done to deserve her. His friends back in Tennessee were fond of reminding him that she was worthy of more than his lame home-schooled self, but then he was sixteen and on top of the world. “I just play in a band.”

“To stadiums full of thousands of screaming girls every night.” Carolyn laughed.

“You know there’s only one girl who matters,” Bob said, and Carolyn shoved his shoulder.

“Hello Hollywood cliché!”

He silenced further argument with a slow kiss.

Carolyn was smiling as she pulled back. “Well put, Mr. Summers.”

“I learned from the best,” he said, and couldn’t help but smile.

Carolyn reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “What about you? Where will you be in five years?”

“Probably still performing and recording with my brothers.” Bob shrugged. For some reason, it seemed like a bleak future, even though when he was younger it had been the greatest dream in the world, to always make music. If he was always on the road, how would he see Carolyn, who’d be a partner in some fancy law firm in some big city far away?

“Where do you want to be in five years?” Carolyn asked.

Bob closed his eyes and sighed. She knew him too well. “In five years, I want to be just like this, only no textbooks and no homework, no parents just down the hall ready to boot one of us out the window for breaking curfew.”

As if on cue, there was a thump at the door, and Scott said,

“Shelley wants to check your math!”

Bob swung around and tugged Carolyn into his arms for a kiss. Around them, the candles guttered out.

(500 words - "So New" by Cillian Murphy)

A Vow

David woke up in his bunk, his blankets tucked tightly around him. He blinked back the pain from his hangover. He only vaguely remembered Steve and the others finding him the the warehouse. There was a light coming from off to his right and behind him. Slowly he turned his head to look around; the room spinning around him. His eyes at last landed on Steve.

Steve looked down at him when he saw the movement, "Hey boss," He said quietly.

David blinked, not sure yet if he could speak.

"Rough couple of days sir?" Steve picked up a glass of water and held it to his commanders lips. David sipped at it for a second.

Memories played in David's mind like a bad film that he could not get rid of. Men dying, men that he had killed. "I killed them Steve," David said at last. "I knew every single one of them, and I don't know why I was ordered to terminate them." David could see their faces, see their eyes as the light went out of them. "They had families, people who loved them. They were just boys."

Steve sat in silence, waiting for his commander to finish speaking.

David drew in a shaky breath. "Do you ever stop to ask yourself, why we supposed to kill them? I never used to ask why. But in those faces, I could see the faces of everyone I love. You. Joe. The twins. All the men I have served with."

"You did what you were ordered to do sir," Steve said at last when it seemed David had no more to say.

"I made a vow to myself Steve," David said quietly, almost inaudibly. Steve had to lean close to hear what he had to say. "I vowed I would protect my men, protect my family, the only family I have now.

David turned into the wall and Steve stood to leave.

"I killed them all to save my own," David whispered into the dark.

The Turn

She sat alone on a park bench, a warm box of Chinese takeout in one hand, a pair of wooden chopsticks in the other. She ate absently. Her mind was on other things - like, the parking ticket she’d gotten earlier that day, how her boss had harped on her for nearly an hour about an upcoming deadline, and…

And there he was.

She had seen him around Central Park a few times, walking his dog. He was alone now, which seemed slightly odd to her. He was beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, a simple yet stunning smile. They had nodded hellos to one another before, but she hadn’t really talked to him.

Her chopsticks scraped the bottom of the cardboard container. She hadn’t even noticed that all her food was gone. She didn’t feel full.

And he was about to pass her by, again.

A deep breath. A beat.

“Hello.”

She had said it loud enough that he glanced backward to see if he was the one being greeted, and when his eyes met hers, her heart leapt into her throat.

“Hi there.”

She stood up. She wasn’t sure what was sending the impulses to move her limbs, because it surely wasn’t her brain.

“Would you mind if I walked with you?”

He smiled. “No, I wouldn’t mind some company.” A pause. “I’m Miles.” He extended his hand.

She returned the gesture. “I’m Jamie.”

It was a perfect night in the city.

(243 words, Ben Folds - Lullabye)

A Promise Unkept

David stood on top of a hill outside of Rome; the setting sun painting everything gold and red. In the distance he could hear the bells of the many chapels in the valley below calling the faithful to come and worship at evening mass. A warm salty wind blew in off of the Mediterranean sea. David looked to his left and could see faintly the Coliseum on the horizon. A mission had brought him here, and a memory was keeping him here.

David closed his eyes and drew in the breeze, making it a part of himself for just a moment, his thoughts wandering far into the past.

Arianna's voice seemed to come to him on the wind. David's breath caught in his chest, her voice as clear as if she were standing right next to him. "I've always wanted to go to Italy. Let's go to Italy David. Let's just pick up and go to Rome."

He had promised that they would, that they would make it to Italy. He had promised, and she had died.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as the sun finished setting. "I'm so sorry Ari," David whispered into the growing dusk.

Contact Established

(click on the link to start the song at the appropriate time - best to open the song in another tab if you can)

There were many ways to make an entrance, and Carolyn was determined to make the best one. She lingered in the doorway of the diner, watching Scott and Clay squabble over their pool cues while Dan quietly cleared the table behind them. Scott looked different with short hair, older, but then they were all determined to look older than they were. They’d grown up too fast.

None of them were expecting that Carolyn had grown anything but taller. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothed down her blouse, and swiveled her hips to test the flare of her skirt.

Bob hovered over the jukebox, jangling quarters in one hand. He’d finally cut his hair so it didn’t look like a girl’s, and it wasn’t nearly as apt to get into his face while he was drumming.

Carolyn took a deep breath. Time to make her mark. She pushed open the door and strode across the diner. She kept her shoulders back and her chin up. Several heads turned as she passed, but she ignored them.

Clay and Scott’s argument came to an abrupt halt. Dan missed a shot, and Carolyn resisted the urge to smirk to herself. She’d waited a long time for this.

“Hey Robbie.” She kept her voice low, tapped him on the shoulder. “I thought your dad told me you’d meet me outside.”

Bob jumped and spun, one fist coming up, and that was good - he’d kept his alertness in the three years Carolyn had been gone. Surprise lit his eyes, and his lips parted, and then he said,

“Hello?”

Carolyn reached up - she had to reach up now - and ruffled his hair like she had when they were twelve. “Robbie, it’s me. Caro. Come on - you remember me?” She pretended to rabbit-punch him, and he blocked automatically, but his gaze was glued to her legs.

She shimmied her hips a little bit and saw him swallow hard. “I know, it looks so weird, but my mom’s been on me forever about not being a tomboy, so I figured if I wore a skirt in public just once she’d get over herself. How’ve you been? I almost didn’t recognize you - you’re so tall! Taller than Clay. I thought you were twins.”

Behind Bob, the jukebox player came to life. Boy With The Beat. Of course.

“We’ve -” his voice squeaked, and he turned bright red, coughed, “we’ve been good. Just got back from Hawaii where we were recording -”

Carolyn tugged on his wrist. “I love this song. You picked it - you have to dance with me.”


Bob allowed himself to be led out to the middle of the diner floor. Carolyn called out to his brothers and waved. They gaped. In the corner, John spoke into his comm.

Contact with targets established.

(466 words - "I Love Rock'n'Roll" by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts)

Overview #29 - Poetic Moments

Okay, so I couldn't get into my poetry groove this week. I don't really know what happened, but I felt like I was forcing it all week. Nothing wanted to come, or if anything did, it sounded juvenile and ridiculous. Normally poetry is one of my stronger points, and it was frustrating that nothing would turn out. I guess I have been writing prose for to long. Most of my poems this week turned out to be more prose-ish with line breaks. I also know that some kind of leave you hanging, but I thought better to end it than to try to carry on and make it horrible. This next week should be better.

Project #30: Soundtrack

Write a scene, 100-500 words long, set to a particular song. Not a songfic, and don't include the lyrics. Just pick a song that has inspired you, the sort of song you envision as a backdrop to a scene you're writing as if that scene is from a movie instead of from a book or story, and write. Then post a link to the song (maybe a YouTube vid with the song as a background or something) so that your readers can listen to the song while they read what you wrote and run with it that way. It doesn't even have to be a modern song - it could be a classical or instrumental piece. Just pick a song that you'd love to have on the soundtrack of your "movie" and enjoy the ride.

Post the name of the song and the artist who sang it, if you please.

ETA: try not to use a song you used in a previous project.

Overview #29 - Poetic Moments

Oh, but this was a great challenge for me. First of all, having JadedChaos on board was fantastic and spurred me to leave better feedback than "oh, that was cute today!" So I'm glad to have her on board with this lovely thing we call the writing game of Master and Madness. This felt like a pretty successful week for me, too. I felt like I improved each day with each poem. I didn't improve much, but I improved enough that I felt as though my final poem for the week was much better than my initial poem.

Finding poetic moments in each day was enlightening as well - it taught me not to dismiss random moments as banal, but to treasure them and savor them and file them away for later. It also taught me to tap into the inspiration of a single moment and not shrug it off because I was in the middle of work. So far so good.

Overview #29 - Poetic Moments

Well, I had an excellent first week here. It feels good to be writing something, anything... especially when I am sitting down to do it every single day.

I think I had some good and bad days this week. My poetry tends to be very personal, and while some people may know what I'm talking about (Nagi) and understand my poems, others (Madness) may have absolutely no idea what the heck I'm trying to say. It's great to have both kinds of feedback, because it lets me know that I still need to work on making my poetry a little less cryptic, but still be able to talk about things that happen to me that have a personal enough effect to cause poetry.

Thanks you guys. Can't wait to see what the new challenge is.

The Storm Passes

The rain gives birth
to tiny blossoms
of thought,
growing in my brain
until
the petals float away.

I write letters to you
in my head,
beginning
ending
the same way
every time.

The rush of slick
freeway, the trickle
of man-made drain,
and I know the only way
to end
this feeling is to cut

myself off.
Forget, move on,
repress.
We could pretend,
but never commit
to the loss.

(72 words, sorry this is late)

Scars

Some wounds are just skin deep.
They scab and flake away,
a scar left behind.
An interesting story.

Some things pull upon your heartstrings;
so that you feel your heart should break.
Thick calloused scars,
buried deep in your soul

Craft

Rough and calloused hands smooth water across the surface of the leather.
The gentle scent of released tannins permeate the room.
Sure and steady fingers guide the knife as it cuts furrows into the surface;
delicate curves and sharp angles.
Gentle tapping echoes through the house, hour after hour.

Tap. Shift. Tap. Shift.

An image slowly surfaces as the mallet and tools move across the leather.
First an outline, then details are painstakingly added.
The artist breathing life into a piece of hide.



(This isn't the official one for today, I just had to get it out of my head so I could move on.)

Coming Home

Memory is never as sweet as
A first time.
The second bite
Doesn’t tingle with the same newness
As the first trepidation
Of closing lips over spoon
Or tentatively picking
At the first line of a novel,
Word by word
Like marbles from a dish.

Age dims youthful enthusiasm.
Dull shadows linger in
Corners of chapters where
Starlight and moonshine beamed.
Metaphors that tasted of gold
Tarnish to copper on the tongue.
Plot, a winding snake, is
Inexplicably a predictable pattern
Of endless scales, row on row.

But finishing a beloved book
Is stepping across a threshold
From winter’s chill
Into fire-lit warmth
And coming
Home.

Clocking Out

The forgetful delights
of a Friday night
stretch their lazy
and wild
possibilities before me.

As we near another
full moon
I breathe deep the scent of
summertime blues
and burning fires.

Loud music and
loud talk amidst
empty shot glasses
and cigarette ashes
call me.

This night will not
be one of vice
but of sly smiles
piano notes
and that beautiful disease

I call nostalgia.

(67 words)

Pace

I close my eyes,
and I can see your face.
My heart and mind vies;
which will dictate pace?

Heart begs to race,
mind pleads to wait.
Love will find a place;
by a twist of fate.

Have I asked to late?
I want to hear your call.
Hovering in an anxious state;
please. I'm ready to fall.

Let's take the chance.
Teach me to dance.

Short-Changing

The clock never says what I want it to,
And at ten p.m. in my mind
The giant, parchment-colored face
Points its hands solemnly at half past one
In the morning.

The alarm clock by the bed
Blinks malicious red numbers,
Six twenty-five instead of a glorious
Half past eight.

Sunlight through the window facing east
Is a traitor with its warm fingertips
Tracing lines across my skin,
Inches from slapping me into
Wide awake.

Sometime this season
Before the shadows lengthen and
The leaves begin to change I’ll stop
Short-changing myself of sleep.

(98 words)

A Vicious REM Cycle

An alternate universe
lies behind my eyes.

You are not with her,
I am not with him,
it is only us.
And it feels right.
Why, I could not say.
Our lips meet awkwardly.

Perhaps on another
plane of reality.
A strange affection
exists here and now,
from drinking buddies
to best friends

in one summer alone.
I wish I could stop

dreaming.

(63 words)

Maps

A map, a wonderful reminder hung on the wall;
a remembrance of good times and friendships.
Remember the bend in the river right here?
That's where I got my black eye.

That flight of locks, brutal,
but one of the best times I have ever had.
Plays, and long nights of laughter.
Ribbena and bangers and mash have become one of my favorite meals.

Two to Go

It’s the seventh inning stretch,
The victory lap after one thousand
Two hundred and
Sixty-one
Pages read.

It’s the slide of the rib cage,
The twist of the shoulders,
Circling the ribs and shimmying the hips.

It’s drums and zills
And imaginary coins,
An eight-eight masterpiece
To a woman wailing in Arabic.

It’s the best way to work out the
Kinks
After six hours of work.

Two to go.

(71 words)

Kairi

It was not long ago that
we waited together
in the hallway of a hospital,

getting a glimpse,
familiar to one,
unfamiliar to the rest.

He smiled, looked like
he had not slept for
days.

And then we saw her.
Someone so small,
and yet mattered so much.

I realized that life
had taken over, and that
soon this would be

just another memory.
And I will agree with Mister Folds
when he says,

"Everybody knows,
it sucks to grow up."
Well played, sir.

(84 words)

Keep Moving

If I keep moving, I might forget how much I cared.
It seems you already have; you've moved on yet again.
This is the third wedding you have planned on having me cater.
I'll do it because, despite the past, you are my friend.
Just don't expect me to be happy about it.

Do you know how much it hurt, having to smile when I wanted to cry?
I became really good at lying; I know you couldn't see it.
I smile though I am dying inside.

Day-breaking Addictions

Blue eyes, warm with romance or
Cold with malice.
A pair of drummer-dexterous hands and
A crooked, boy-sweet smile.
The lightning-speed of an IQ, 187,
And an indignant kitten glower.
Thrum-humming guitar notes in crystalline acoustic and
Soul-heavy distortion.
Color-bright images, inked onto a page -
Samurai-swift strikes, claw-and-fist fights -
And leaping off a screen,
Highlighted and subtitled.

All of these can break
A solid day’s
Work.

(75 words)

(cookies to those who can name my obssessions)

My Cup Runneth Over

Beads of salt water,
dripping off my face,
on to my pillow.

I believed once that I
could not cry.
That I had trained myself to
hold
back
the sadness.

Now the tears come,
and they will not stop.
I have years to make up for.

(46 words)

Concentration Check: Failed

A marching band on the brain stem
Winds its way across medulla oblongata
Step-stepping along the occipital lobe.
Stray colour guards spin their jewel-bright flags
Along nerve-endings and
Tap, tap, tap behind a pair of eyes.

A memo seethes, unwritten beneath fingertips
While a poem crawls itself to life.
Hands reach for - banana chips and a sip of water.
Every footstep, jangling of keys is an excuse to
Not write.
Not work.
Not concentrate.

The sergeants played a marching tune...

(83 words)

The Call

Seek here again O sons of earth
pipe and branch to lead the way.
At mothers call we all shall come
to guide our brothers and show our worth.

Misty mountains lay ahead
guarded by the winds.
The road stretches on behind
showing where we've been.

Walk the way of those before
guided by the call.
Find at last O sons of earth
the place where men stand tall.

The Kindness of Strangers

Thunk.
I heard it,
refused to stop.
I was almost home,
but my hands were
shaking and I
knew I had no choice.

The tire was worn down,
falling apart,
just like my life.
Another problem to add
to the list.

But that nice man,
he stopped.
He helped.
And I wonder how long
it will be until I
can be that stranger.
Until I can help.

(67 words)

Twisted Perceptions

Earth above and sky below;
Moonshine and the sunlight's glow.
Winters growth and Summers snow;
Rivers stop and Deserts flow.









(There will be more to this eventually, I just have to work it out first.)

Space of Human Minds

Between the voices of one or two women -
Director, secretary - arguing policy, procedure
Lingers golden light particles
Broken between smoke-black clouds.

Attention is the ticking of a watch
And the tap, tap of a benchmate’s pen.
Stardust is human thought
Hurtling through the space of imagination.

Staff meetings are
The best places for stories to be born.

(58 words)

Project Assignment #29 - Poetic Moments

That's right kids, in honor of me joining M&M, you get to write poetry ALL WEEK LONG!

Tee hee.

What do I mean by poetic moments? Oh, I don't know. I'm the kind of person that believes that there is a poem lurking in the corner of every day, whether it be simple or complex, an epic or a haiku. Just take something, anything from your day that made you stop and think, and try to explain or describe it in poetry.

Yeah, I couldn't think of anything else for an assignment. Let's keep them pretty short too... these are moments after all. How about a 200 word limit? It can be shorter than that though, if you want.

Good luck!

Overview #28 - Description

I really failed too. I realized the first day of the challenge, that even though I had issued the challenge, it was going to be no good for me this week. I am good at descriptions of places, but not necessarily objects. And more often than not I found myself in a blank, trying to think of anything; but nothing would really come, or to me it would sound pretty lame. I did sorta like a few that I posted, but on the whole, it was a bad week for me. Next week should be better.


Again, a hearty welcome to Jaded Chaos.

Mod Post and Rules 2.1

Let's give a big master and madness welcome to Jaded Chaos, the newest player in the game! She will join the challenge rotation between Madness and Nagi, so this week it's her turn to issue a challenge.

Rules 2.1 - New players must be apply/be invited by a current member and be screened by the admin (in this case: Nagi) before being allowed to join the game. Even though this is a free country, this corner of cyberspace is being guarded closely and the mods have discretion as to who is allowed to join the game.

Rules 2.0

First, check the project posted at the beginning of the week. Post questions in the comments of the weekly project post if any portion of the topic confuses you at all. A week begins on Sunday (with the posting of overviews from the previous week and the new assignment for the next week) and ends on Saturday. Challenges may only be reused once every six months and not more frequently, and the same challenge may not be used thrice in one year, so check back to see what previous challenges have been issued.

Second, try to write every day. Leave lots of constructive criticism in the feedback and do the best you can to help each other.

Third, your word limit is set forth in the weekly challenge. Look at the challenge and keep an eye on the word count. At the end of the post, add your word count so we know what gives. Never go under 100 words unless there's poetry invovled.

Fourth, label your posts. Can be anything from "random" to "Dagaz" (but really, only use that one if you must). Try to use a consistent system of labels, so check the existing list of labels before randomly slapping one on your post.

Fifth, there will be overviews. At the end of the week, we make our confessions - strengths, weaknesses. Posts of our own we liked most and liked least. Types of writing we found typical, we thought were experimental, we enjoyed doing or were like pulling teeth. Places we improved. Places we screwed up.

Sixth, if you discover midweek that you're going a challenge alone, finish it out by yourself and then do your best to nudge the person whose turn it is to issue the next week's challenge.

Seventh, if for any reason life hits all the writers at once and a challenge is dead for an entire week, it is automatically renewed at the end of the week to run for another week so that no challenge is wasted.

Eighth, these rules ares subject to alteration and change as the game progresses.

In the meantime, game on.

Overview #28 - Description

I think I totally failed at this game. I did totally let loose as far as waxing a little purple on the lurid descriptions of whatever, but I don't know that my writing improved any. In fact, near the end of the week it seemed to devolve into fragments, lists, and run-on sentences. When I was trying to make a puzzle of what I was describing (save the entry inspired by Millay) my writing fell apart, but if I was pretty open about what was what, my writing was better. Of course, in a novel or short story one rarely plays hide the ball to quite this degree or one risks losing readers altogether. Still, it was fun to attempt to pick apart the details in daily objects.

Back Row All To Himself

Heartbeat. Military march. Machine guns. Swing dancing beneath candle light. Whiskey jazz in a smoky club. Punk and metal, pop and country, rockabilly and ska. All it took was solid rounded wood, smooth, sleek metal rounded into discs, plastic pulled taut over open mouths, hinges and screws galore, pedals and petals, a pair of nylon-head sticks and a pair of even better hands. He could play it all, was the backbone of a song, was the little row of pearls beneath blazing riffs and thumping bass, jumping from crash to ride to splash, from verse to chorus to bridge, and at the end of the day he could still hear himself play, the steady double thump-thump of a heart beating strong.

(123 words)

Six-String Shine

It could be distorted and heavy, like smoke on the water, or crystalline and clear, an old rock riff. Sometimes it was rhythmic and bouncing, a little jazz, a little ska. Other times it was jagged and steel, full of metal. On slow days in the sun it was wood and steel across a hollow box. It was always fast hands and callused fingertips, counting frets and beats under his breath while someone else led, because he was all about the rhythm, not the melody. A little Brian Setzer, a little Kurt Cobain, some Buddy Holly and *hide, whatever he felt in the mood for, as long as his hands could handle it.

Tonight, under the stars as the wind shivered through the leaves, it would be Meg and Dia and Justin Nozuka and maybe, before he fell asleep, just a little John Denver.

Smoke in the Night

Smoke curled out of the darkness. It was dark, but not quiet. Screams echoed in the night, masses of people crowding the night. Some were crying, some staring, others stood in disbelief of what was happening. Men in uniform were trying to keep order, and not managing very well against the surges of humanity. Lights flashed in the darkness, partially lighting the night. Smoke billowed thicker,the crowd's noise increasing. crackling could be heard, increasing in volume. Blinding floodlights illuminated the area and the first chords were struck.

Waves of Grain

Rise and fall, rise and fall, sweep and slide, sweep and slide, a lulling, gentle, rocking rhythm. Tiny particles, white and weightless, drifted in the weight of the wind, but the rest of the surface remained rolling and rollicking. If he tipped his head back he could pause and enjoy the spray, the scent, the way it tickled his face.

If he stretched out a hand, he could feel each blade and frond graze his palms, and he could imagine a girl holding his hand.

And then his father would glare and he'd lift his scythe and fall to reaping once more.

Mr. White Keys

Keys, black and white, so many to choose from, so many right or wrong or perfect, some standing alone or some running in harmonious twos, threes. He stared, hesitant, nervous to touch but desperate to find out which combination was the one. There was a perfect combination, or so the stories went, and he had to find it.

The right set of keys would open the door to her heart, but he had to find them. It was going to take a lot of work. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work, picking keys, scribbling their names down on a piece of paper whenever he struck upon a combination that would work.

Even if this isn't the food of love, he thought, I'm going to be playing on.

Whispering...

Bending and swaying it dances in the slightest gust of air, bowing low only to spring up again. It can be increased to a roar or reduced to a whisper. It can be snuffed out, only to have it's kin revive it. The air practically shimmers near it's core. It would give off a pure tone if it could be heard. Primal and essential, it is a building block of our world.



(grr... Writers block)

In the Sun 'Tis a Woe to Me

It was blue in the sun and black in the shadows, sleek like silk and as light and flowing as a waterfall. He watched it move in the breeze, saw deft but absent fingers lay it straight, and he wished he dared get close enough to touch.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the way it felt beneath his hands, the way it would smell as he leaned in, like strawberry or coconut.

Edna St. Vincent-Millay was right. In the sun ‘tis a woe to me. He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep on walking.

(101 words)

Bells on the Wind

Wind breezes through the night air, carrying music to the late night lovers. Delicate tones reverberate off of the walls of the wide balcony, each ping as soothing as the one before. All the notes are different, yet there is no discord in the music. There is no pattern to the music except the rustle of the tree branches outside. The notes blend randomly into a midnight serenade.


(Okay, a bit lame, but I was stuck...)

Play the Game

They trudged through the dungeon, motley assortment of weapons and armor slung over shoulders and cinched uncomfortably around ill-suited torsos. They were wary of each other, leery of backstabbing at any moment, of thieving and betrayal.

And then a door loomed ahead.

Someone said, "Kick it down."

No response.

"Kick it down, already. It's your turn, Chaz."

Chaz booted the door down with little enthusiasm. A small Mortal Kom Bat hovered, waiting to take him on. Chaz hefted his sword. "Anyone going to screw me over? Anyone? Anyone at all? I'm going to kill it in three, two, one..."

None of the others said a thing, and Chaz dispatched the creature quickly. He fished his reward off the pile with trepidation, and then the party erupted into laughter.

Someone said, "You should know better than to pick up a duck in a dungeon."

Overview #27 - Characterization in an Instant

This was fun. I'd always told myself that's what makes people people, how they react in a given situation, and that's what sets people apart, the way they act so differently in the same situation, and I wanted to try that out. I knew pretty much how the brothers Summers would act, up until Bob. In my head Bob has always been the shy one - he hides behind his hair, never says much in interviews, but he was also the one picked to be a connection, and I realized that had to impact how he acts in emergency situations. I wasn't sure who the last two should be, but I was glad I chose Chase, because I'm essentially rewriting a lot of his character, and this was a good chance to see it. As for DJ - I honestly wasn't sure what he would do. Each of the Sector Five boys is homicidal in his own way. I think I chose DJ because it would have been too easy for Keith, Gabriel, and Angel, each of whom have ranged talents that wouldn't require them to even break free of their bonds. Christian has had enough love lately, and I'll confess that I don't have quite the hold on Tobias that I'd like. And DJ - DJ has his own brand of cruelty, and I wanted to try it out, because with the way Chadstone rolled on Other Haven I was a little dissatisfied with what he has in him. I wanted to make sure he still had it.

Project Assignment #28 - Description

This weeks project is to take an object, concrete or abstract, and to describe it. The object of this exercise is to convey the essence of the object or idea without naming it. The other writers should try to guess in their comments. Hopefully by the way it is described, it should be, if not obvious, at least easier to guess what it is. Let's have fun.

Lets limit it to 200 words.

Overview #27: Characterization in an instant

I had fun this week working on each of the characters that had to deal with David's death. I must say this is the longest I have stuck with one universe, or the same characters. I have been enjoying discovering their personalities and their quirks.

I found that as I was working with them this week that often after I had written the piece that they decided to tell me more about what they were felling than they did at first. They like to hold out on me. Take Steve. Even as he wanted to keep the team together, I was not able to convey the deep sense of personal guilt on his part over David's death. He felt it was partly his fault. That in some way that he could have prevented it from happening.

I think i need to ponder more fully what is going on before I begin to write. This could greatly improve the consistency and quality of my writing. I think that on the whole that my writing has vastly improved since we began this project. I know my grammar is still probably lacking, but I plan on picking up a copy of the shrunk&white book.

Psychologist

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.

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)

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)

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.

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)

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.)

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)

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.

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.

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)

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)

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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.

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..."

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)

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?"

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.

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.

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)

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!

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."

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.