It came to him on random nights, when he least expected it, the journey into hell.
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Where Lovers Meet
David became aware of the warmth of a body beside him; a long slender figure curling into his side; arms wrapping around his chest.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
At the End of the Day
At the end of a long, hard day at the office, Carolyn wanted to punch something. Or cry.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
Trying to Remember
Alastrina dreamed about the bar that night. Heard his voice in her sleep. It was if he was right there, singing her softly to sleep. She could only see his eyes and his smile, just as in life. Her unconscious mind wanting to fill in the blanks.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
Dreams or Visions
"I had a dream last night," Steve said.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
Monday, June 15, 2009
First Unlocking
Dreams were the key to unlocking his mind, opening doors to places he never even knew he had. Naoya closed his eyes and dreamt of vengeance, tucked under a threadbare blanket in his corner of the dorm room. The other boys threw rocks at him, called him a freak.
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Project Assignment # 31 - Dreams
Dreams are very useful in fiction, as well as fun to write. They are a part of life. They can also be used to show a character's mood or even to make a point, as a sort of allegory in the mind of a character. Write a dream for a character.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
Okay, I had a few bump this week. I found that the songs that I chose for the piece didn't always fit, or I would start them at the wrong point. I also found that I need to expand my music collection.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
So this assignment ended up being better and worse than I thought it would be. It was better because by the end of the week, I had a series of key scenes that could realistically be turned into something in the way of a novel. I'd have to pick a better starting point, and I'd have to develop background and conflict more (what was so important about Bob anyway, right?), but it could be done. All summer I've felt like all I've been writing are tiny pieces that end up being nothing and that my ability to complete a work has gone down the drain, since I skip straight to the fun scene and don't work at the nuts and bolts. But this could be something, and who knows what it would be.
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
Slapstick
Mark settled into his seat in the darkened theater just as the beginning credits were starting to roll. Wednesday was his favorite night to go to the movies. Old black and white and silent films were the best. Grinning from ear to ear Mark popped a a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth the antics started.
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
All For You
“All this. All for me?” Bob gestured a the fallen bodies, the charred buildings.
Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.
“All my life was for you.”
Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”
Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.
She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.
Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”
Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.
Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”
Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,
“Agent Pierce!”
And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.
Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.
“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.
“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”
“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.
“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.
Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”
(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)
Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.
“All my life was for you.”
Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”
Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.
She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.
Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”
Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.
Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”
Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,
“Agent Pierce!”
And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.
Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.
“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.
“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”
“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.
“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.
Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”
(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)
On Our Own
Scott was sure this was a nightmare. He’d had one just like it as a child. He’d wake up in his bedroom and find his brothers slaughtered in bed beside him, throats dripping with blood. Only he was in a hotel room this time, and his brothers were yelling at the sight of black-uniformed men sprawled across the beds and floor, throats cut. Carolyn stood in the doorway, holding a knife. Her hands were covered in blood. She cast the knife aside and drew a gun from somewhere beneath her jacket, and then she shouted for Bob.
“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”
He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.
“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.
“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”
An explosion rocked the building.
The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”
John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”
Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.
Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”
Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”
The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.
John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”
The only response was static.
John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”
Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”
(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)
“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”
He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.
“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.
“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”
An explosion rocked the building.
The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”
John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”
Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.
Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”
Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”
The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.
John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”
The only response was static.
John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”
Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”
(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)
Internet Phenomenon
Bryan sat typing rapidly at his computer. Nothing seemed to be going right today. Bryan glanced up at the clock again and sighed. He knew he was not going to be able to leave for another forty-five minutes. He was going to be late for his date.
Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.
Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.
Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.
Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.
"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.
"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.
"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.
"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.
Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.
Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.
Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.
Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.
"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.
"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.
"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.
"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
What You Seem
Dan leaned in the doorway and watched Carolyn kick her duffel bag under the bed. She was good, and no one had noticed that it wasn’t the same duffel bag where she kept her books and CDs, but Dan was more observant than his brothers usually gave him credit for. Carolyn went to tug the gun from its holster in the small of her back, and then she turned.
“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.
“No one else has noticed,” he said.
She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”
“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”
Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”
“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”
Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”
That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you done what you’ve done?”
A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”
Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.
But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”
“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.
“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.
Dan felt his throat close. “I --”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.
Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever can.”
(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)
“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.
“No one else has noticed,” he said.
She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”
“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”
Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”
“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”
Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”
That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you done what you’ve done?”
A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”
Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.
But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”
“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.
“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.
Dan felt his throat close. “I --”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.
Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever can.”
(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)
First Solo
Joe fidgeted with the zipper on his jumpsuit. His body made jerking movements as if he was not sure if he wanted to run, or if he was just eager to get started. Joe was dressed in a one piece jumpsuit, his helmet on the ground beside him. His fingers twitched as he mentally checked off procedures in his head.
"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"
Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."
Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."
"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.
"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.
"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.
"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.
"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.
Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.
David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.
"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.
Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.
The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.
Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.
Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.
Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.
Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.
David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.
As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.
"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.
"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.
"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.
"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"
Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."
Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."
"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.
"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.
"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.
"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.
"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.
Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.
David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.
"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.
Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.
The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.
Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.
Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.
Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.
Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.
David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.
As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.
"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.
"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.
"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Caught
Walking was the only way to properly digest a heavy Italian meal. It hadn’t been horrendous, by any means - just heavy in the way that made you want to curl up on any semi-soft surface and go to sleep. Heavy, but content.
So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.
“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.
“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.
He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.
“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”
Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.
“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.
“You know the answer… don’t you?”
He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.
(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)
So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.
“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.
“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.
He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.
“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”
Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.
“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.
“You know the answer… don’t you?”
He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.
(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)
Alive Beside Carolyn
(play it low)
“Hey, wake up.”
Clay hated waking up like this. Carolyn’s voice was soft and gentle, and Clay knew if he opened his eyes he’d see her kneeling beside Bob’s side of the bed, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. Everyone thought Bob was such an early riser because he was disciplined or some kind of morning person, but Clay knew that Bob was out of bed first so he could have fifteen minutes alone with Carolyn in the kitchenette while she fixed breakfast for the rest.
Clay kept his eyes closed, and anyone looking at him just then would’ve thought he was still deep in sleep and not listening to Carolyn and Bob share a brief, sweet good morning kiss. Anyone who looked closer would see Clay had one hand curled into a white-knuckled fist from the effort of staying still.
Two sets of footsteps faded, and Clay finally opened his eyes, rolled onto his back. Their dad insisted that none of them date so they weren’t lying when reporters asked the damned girlfriend question, but hell if everyone didn’t know that Carolyn was the default girl, the one each of them were supposed to fall in love with so they’d stay out of trouble. And hell if it hadn’t worked.
Clay had seen Carolyn deep in conversation with Dan after a long day of press work, heads bent close while Dan dealt cards and Carolyn swindled him out of pocket change. No one knew what they talked about, but every now and again Carolyn would make a casual comment and then she and Dan would share a secret smile. And Scott - even though he professed grand detachment from Lady Caro, he’d hover over her whenever she wanted, showing her how to hold his favorite guitar, lacing his fingers with hers to show her how to lay a chord. At best, Carolyn smiled at Clay once in a while, teased him about flirting with girls on venue crews, and Clay smiled back, because it was all he could do. But she never talked to him like she talked to the others, and he was lucky if he could earn more than a passing glance in a single day. He felt utterly helpless whenever she looked at him, and he wondered how he’d missed it when they were children, when it was still all right to tackle her in a flying leap and pin her to the grass, tickle her till she shrieked with laughter.
Scott and Dan woke themselves up because they smelled food, but they wouldn’t bother to try to wake Clay. Everyone thought he was the late sleeper. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep - he was steeling himself for another day of being alive beside Carolyn without living with her, without really being in her life.
(472 words - "Who Do You Love" by The Moffatts, and yes, Clint totally sings lead on this one - apropos, I thought)
“Hey, wake up.”
Clay hated waking up like this. Carolyn’s voice was soft and gentle, and Clay knew if he opened his eyes he’d see her kneeling beside Bob’s side of the bed, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. Everyone thought Bob was such an early riser because he was disciplined or some kind of morning person, but Clay knew that Bob was out of bed first so he could have fifteen minutes alone with Carolyn in the kitchenette while she fixed breakfast for the rest.
Clay kept his eyes closed, and anyone looking at him just then would’ve thought he was still deep in sleep and not listening to Carolyn and Bob share a brief, sweet good morning kiss. Anyone who looked closer would see Clay had one hand curled into a white-knuckled fist from the effort of staying still.
Two sets of footsteps faded, and Clay finally opened his eyes, rolled onto his back. Their dad insisted that none of them date so they weren’t lying when reporters asked the damned girlfriend question, but hell if everyone didn’t know that Carolyn was the default girl, the one each of them were supposed to fall in love with so they’d stay out of trouble. And hell if it hadn’t worked.
Clay had seen Carolyn deep in conversation with Dan after a long day of press work, heads bent close while Dan dealt cards and Carolyn swindled him out of pocket change. No one knew what they talked about, but every now and again Carolyn would make a casual comment and then she and Dan would share a secret smile. And Scott - even though he professed grand detachment from Lady Caro, he’d hover over her whenever she wanted, showing her how to hold his favorite guitar, lacing his fingers with hers to show her how to lay a chord. At best, Carolyn smiled at Clay once in a while, teased him about flirting with girls on venue crews, and Clay smiled back, because it was all he could do. But she never talked to him like she talked to the others, and he was lucky if he could earn more than a passing glance in a single day. He felt utterly helpless whenever she looked at him, and he wondered how he’d missed it when they were children, when it was still all right to tackle her in a flying leap and pin her to the grass, tickle her till she shrieked with laughter.
Scott and Dan woke themselves up because they smelled food, but they wouldn’t bother to try to wake Clay. Everyone thought he was the late sleeper. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep - he was steeling himself for another day of being alive beside Carolyn without living with her, without really being in her life.
(472 words - "Who Do You Love" by The Moffatts, and yes, Clint totally sings lead on this one - apropos, I thought)
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.
"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.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
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)
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)
“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.
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.
Monday, June 8, 2009
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)
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.
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)
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.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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)
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)
Saturday, June 6, 2009
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
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.)
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.
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.
Friday, June 5, 2009
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)
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.
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)
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)
Thursday, June 4, 2009
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)
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.
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)
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)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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)
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.
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)
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)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
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)
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)
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.
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.
Monday, June 1, 2009
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)
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.)
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)
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)
Sunday, May 31, 2009
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!
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.
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 2.1 - 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.
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)
(123 words)
Friday, May 29, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
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.
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)
(grr... Writers block)
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
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)
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...)
(Okay, a bit lame, but I was stuck...)
Monday, May 25, 2009
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."
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."
Sunday, May 24, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, May 22, 2009
And The Torch Went Out
“Now, pretty boy, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at DJ with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
DJ sat calmly back in the chair and watched the man with hooded blue eyes. “How much of my blood do you think you can shed before I take you apart?”
“I’d like to go for all six quarts, if that’s all right with you.” The man grinned, expression wicked, cruel. He reached out, used the dull edge of the blade to trace DJ’s jawline. “I could slit your throat, but then you couldn’t talk, so maybe I’ll save that till last. It’ll be fun, though, messing up your pretty face.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Hagalaz says you’re one of the famous Sector Five, that you have everything he wants to know, about your commander, his plans -”
“Hagalaz doesn’t know much, then.” DJ’s tone remained flat, impassive. “My commander is a woman. Of course, Hagalaz is a little too sexist to think that far outside the box.”
The man’s grin widened. “So you are protective of your pretty face.”
“Not as such, no.” DJ tilted his head to the side, watched the light flash off the man’s knife. “Did you know that Hagalaz isn’t a man’s name at all, but the name of an old Norse Rune?”
“His name doesn’t matter so long as he pays me and lets me have my fun. Sector Five, pretty boy. Before I gut you.” The man jabbed playfully with the knife, but his eyes were dark, hungry.
“You know what’s also a rune? Inguz.” And the entire room went black.
There was a pause, and then the man said, “What the hell?”
“Magic and electricity don’t go well together,” DJ said, and all the man could see was a pair of blue eyes in the darkness. They came closer, closer, and then there was a whisper, a hiss, and DJ was standing over him holding a torch. And a sword. “Now, precisely how much of my blood did you say you wanted?”
The man swore and scrambled backward, but DJ was on him before he could get out of the chair. He caught the man by the hair and wrenched his head back, slid the blade of the sword against his throat.
“I’d ask you to deliver a message, but you’re probably too busy peeing your pants to remember a word I say, so your body will have to leave a message for me.”
And the torch went out.
(459 words)
She's a Great Kisser
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Chase with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Chase closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d been trained for this at the academy, had trained on both sides of the scenario, and right now he had to get away. Escape. Flee as far from this place as possible, and as far into the depths of his mind as he dared, lest he lose all contact with the outside world.
His lips moved, formed words. “I’ll say nothing.” He was far enough gone that the words came out tinged with the Parisian accent he’d worked so hard to force away. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t see the man’s eyes narrow, calculating.
“Hagalaz didn’t tell me you were French.” The man turned the blade in his hands, considering. “My old man died in Viet Nam, you know. Because of what you French did.”
“I’m sure Hagalaz doesn’t care about that,” Chase said.
The man backhanded him sharply. The pain stung, briefly, but Chase closed his eyes again, and he was...in a room. Black, lit with candles, lined with mirrors, and swaying to soft music. She was in his arms, pressed close, listening to the beat of his heart, her head tucked under his chin. When he bowed his head and buried his face against her neck, he could smell her skin, honey and jasmine.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Fire at his wrist dragged him back to the present. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t even cry out, but when he opened his eyes the skin at his wrist, just below his tattoo, was blistered.
The man had a blow torch.
“Hagalaz warned me you were one of the ranked agents, a commander even.” He was grinning, the expression distinctly cruel. “Wherever you thought you could run away to, you were wrong. Now - tell me about Sector Five Commander.”
Chase shook his head. “No.” He bit through his own lip to stifle a scream with the flame of the blowtorch hit his other hand. He’d probably never play piano again.
“Tell me!”
Chase closed his eyes, summoned the dark room again.
A jolt of electricity in his ribs forced him out of it.
“None of that, Frog. Sector Five Commander. Tell me!”
“No.”
The blow to his temple was fierce, left his head ringing. “Speak, dammit!”
Chase felt a smile, almost involuntary, curl his lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sector Five Commander - she’s a great kisser.”
(462 words)
Hayes get the news
Commander Hayes sat stunned in his office. Steve had just left to have his wounds tended in the infirmary after having told Hayes what had happened. Hayes was used to men not coming back from battle. He had lost many good men, men that he had trained, men that he had grown to respect. Of all the people that had died in the battles that had been waged across the world; the thought that David would not come home had never crossed his mind. David had seemed so strong. He knew that it would have been foolish to assume that David would never get hurt, but he was shocked all the same.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Hayes sucked in a breath at the pain in his heart. It was like loosing a son. Hayes had never had a son, only three daughters. Hayes thought back to when he first met David. He had received intel that a young man, with no family to speak of was bent on revenge; his girlfriend recently killed by a powerful man. Hayes had found the young man easily enough; watched him for a few days. He could see the light in his eyes gradually going out, and then replaced with a look that he knew well, the desire for revenge.
Hayes had stopped David the night that he would have exacted his revenge, showed him another path, set him on a course to become more than what he was. He had watched with pleasure as David grew into a accomplished soldier. Watched him on his first mission, given him his first command. He knew that they were warned about becoming to attached to their men, but Hayes had disregarded the advice, he had become quite fond of David.
Hayes could tell just from the state that Steve was in, that all the men of the team would be having a hard time. Making a call he requested that the base psychologist speak to the men of Commander Cole's team.
Hanging up the phone, Hayes poured himself a shot of scotch and raised it high. "To you David. Friend, commander, brother, and son." Hayes knocked back the shot and shuddered.
Hayes began to fill out the proper reports, stopping to dab his eyes from time to time.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Better Liar
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Bob with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
Bob studied the man’s face. It was familiar - the man was a marked agent, at the very least. But resignation had settled into his bones a long time ago, and he’d known from the beginning that he was going to die before he was thirty. Whichever took him first, the job or the disease, he didn’t know, but he’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
“If you plan on shedding my blood,” he said, “you’d better see about getting some plastic gloves or something. And hope you don’t have any open wounds. My blood is poison.”
The man’s expression went from smug to wary, blank. “What?”
“It seems counterintuitive, to pick the sick brother for selection,” Bob said, “but it makes sense. If I died on the job, well, I was going to die anyway.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, considered the man from behind the veil of his hair. He hadn’t hid behind his hair since he was a teenager, but then this was the first time he’d let it grow out again in years. “So really, slice away, but one wrong move, one artery nicked, and a good spurt will poison you for life. Which will suddenly be much shorter.”
It was a lie, and a good one - leukemia wasn’t contagious, but his blood was poison, was killing him, and Bob had been a better liar than his brothers ever knew.
The man twirled his knife and considered Bob for a long moment. “Hagalaz didn’t tell me that.”
“Probably because he didn’t know,” Bob said. He felt his lips curve in the faintest smile. “You have no idea how much he doesn’t know.”
“Hmmm.” The man twirled the knife some more. “You’re right.” And he shoved the knife back into its sheath. “No blood, then. I can make you scream without it.” And he reached for a blow torch. “So, tell me everything you know about Sector Five.”
Bob’s response was classic. “Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
The man lit the torch, and for a moment Bob was dazzled by the blue core of the flame. “One more time, lad. Sector Five. Tell me all.”
“Robert Peter Summers, civilian connection, ranked with nine.”
Bob would rather die than scream.
(441 words)
AWOL Joe
Joe stood on the edge of the beach, staring out to sea, the wind fingering through his hair. Joe watched the sun set over the waves. It had been a week now since he had left the base; a week since David's funeral. It felt like he had walked around in a fog the week leading up to the funeral. The psychologist had tried to get him to talk. He had flatly refused.
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Even now, Joe could hardly bring himself to think of David's death. He had come to think of David as a brother. Alec could never be replaced, but it was like losing Alec again. David had always been there to help him, to be a friend. And now he was gone.
Joe reached into his pocket and drew out his phone when it went off. Glancing at the screen he saw that it was Steve. Drawing a breath, Joe accepted the call.
"Joe, where are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, if you are not back in two days, you will be labeled a deserter."
"I don't know if I want to come back."
"Joe, they will break up the team."
"Maybe that is for the best." Joe was finding it hard to care at the moment.
"Joe, please, come back. I want you to come back. You are family."
There was a long pause, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Thank you Joe."
Joe hung up the phone. He silently cursed the fates that had robbed him of two brothers.
(Joe is not cooperating today.)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Canadian National
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Scott with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Scott glared balefully at him. “I’m a Canadian National and I have rights. Let me go.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “What makes you think we’re in Canada, or that I give a damn about your rights?”
“Even if we’re not in Canada, what you’re doing is criminal, and when Interpol finally catches up with you, the result won’t be pretty.” Scott set his jaw stubbornly. He refused to be afraid of this monster. By now his brothers had noticed he was gone, and they were smart enough to go to the police.
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “If they do catch up to me, then maybe what happens won’t be pretty, but internationals are so tame these days. What won’t be pretty, however, is what I’m going to do for you if you don’t give me the information I want.”
“I don’t have any information,” Scott said.
“The boss says you do, and I answer to the boss.” The man twirled the blade casually, and for a moment Scott was dazzled by the way it flashed in the light. “Now...tell me where Sector Five is staging its first assault.”
“I don’t know what or who Sector Five is, and I’m demanding you let me go.” Scott leaned forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders, and caught the man’s gaze, held it.
“I know you’re lying to me,” the man said, and drove the knife into Scott’s thigh.
Scott let out a roar of pain and fury and lunged, sank his teeth into the man’s shoulder. The last thing he saw before he was knocked out was the man’s fist.
(343 words)
Fractured
Mark was hesitant to leave Brian's side in the hospital. He knew that Brian was in pain; both physically and mentally, but he was trying his best not to show it. Mark knew however. You can't hide anything from your twin.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Yawning, Mark stood up to relieve the kinks in his body. He had slept in the hospital chair again, even though Brian had told him to go home. Brian had even tried to order him to go get some real sleep; however, Mark was quick to point out that not only were they the same rank, and therefore he couldn't order him around, but Mark was the older by five minutes.
Mark yawned again, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had not been restful since before the mission two weeks ago. He kept feeling the ground shake with explosions; the heat from the blasts, searingly hot. He also couldn't get the image of David going down out of his mind. Mark's mind unwillingly played back over that night. Again and again. Brian was down with two bullets and losing blood fast, Joe was breaking through the lines to clear them an exit. Steve had come over to help carry Brian, and when Mark looked back at David, he had seen him jerk forward as a bullet took him in the back. He couldn't get David's face out of his mind.
The psychologist had tried to corner him, but he had sidestepped her, making an excuse and a vague promise to come to meet with her. Mark shook his head; he had no intentions of seeing her.
Mark took to pacing his brothers hospital room, his footsteps light and whisper quiet. He wished there was something he could have done. If he had been one second faster, one degree better, if he had gathered better intel on the op, David might still be alive today. They would still be a team. Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this had been his fault.
Mark sighed, there was not even anyone in David's family that he could pay his respects to. David had no family. They, the team, was his family. And now it was fractured.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Brian is Stuck
Brian was stuck in the hospital. He hated hospitals. He especially hated being in the hospital for something that could have been avoided if he were more careful. Brian looked down at his leg and over at his bandaged shoulder. He had taken a shot in the leg that had shattered the femur, and a shot thorough his shoulder; the bullet ripping clean through; just under his collar bone. Mark and Steve had carried him to safety.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
Brian ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to be doing something, anything. He looked over at the sleeping form of his twin. Mark, he knew, was taking this really hard. Not only was he injured, but they were both dealing with David's death. They had only let him out of the hospital long enough to attend David's service.
Brian winced, any twitch of his body causing pain. Brian didn't call for more medication when his morphine wore off. He wanted to feel anything but the pain of loss, even the pain from his wounds. He knew that this pain would fade; but not the pain from David's death. He had looked up to David as another brother, as a leader, and a friend, both of them had.
Brian's vision blurred as he thought of David, his commander. The pranks that they had pulled, the council that he had given, and the laughter that they had shared. The psychologist had come to see him here in the hospital, but he had not felt like talking. The pain was still to fresh. The psychologist had left the room, shaking her head and making notes on a pad.
The Wrong Brother
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Clay with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Clay took a deep breath. “Before you start cutting me like an emo, girl, there’s one thing you should consider.” His mind raced - this wasn’t just an unfriendly crowd he was trying to win over, this was a professional psychopath. “I have a twin brother.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “Why should that matter to me?”
Clay met the man’s gaze squarely. “You should consider that you might have the wrong guy. Granted, we’re both in the rhythm section, but I’m the bassist and he’s the drummer. If you have the wrong guy, well, you’re not going to get anything from me but six quarts of mess, and whoever you work for won’t be pleased that you wasted all this time and effort for nothing.”
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “You make a fine point, you know. If you aren’t lying. They didn’t say anything about twins, they just said to a grab the boy from the band - and you’re a boy. From the band. But I don’t think I have the wrong brother.”
“I’m the wrong brother, I assure you.” Clay knew that much, but he didn’t know which of his brothers was the right one, which one he should protect or scream at.
“The wrong brother wouldn’t have known I work for anyone, and he wouldn’t be this calm in the face of interrogation,” the man said. His smiled widened. “The right brother would have been trained, however, for just this type of situation, and you, young sir, are very calm.”
“Maybe I’m just a talented performer,” Clay said. Between him and Scott, he was honestly the better charmer. “I can pretend to be calm. Have you ever been calm when ten-thousand thirteen-year-old girls are trying to pull your hair?” Maybe that was a stupid question, since the man was bald.
And he was full-on grinning. “Pretend away, then, son. Time for that six-quart mess.”
Clay passed out.
(397 words)
Clay took a deep breath. “Before you start cutting me like an emo, girl, there’s one thing you should consider.” His mind raced - this wasn’t just an unfriendly crowd he was trying to win over, this was a professional psychopath. “I have a twin brother.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “Why should that matter to me?”
Clay met the man’s gaze squarely. “You should consider that you might have the wrong guy. Granted, we’re both in the rhythm section, but I’m the bassist and he’s the drummer. If you have the wrong guy, well, you’re not going to get anything from me but six quarts of mess, and whoever you work for won’t be pleased that you wasted all this time and effort for nothing.”
The man tilted his head to the side and considered. “You make a fine point, you know. If you aren’t lying. They didn’t say anything about twins, they just said to a grab the boy from the band - and you’re a boy. From the band. But I don’t think I have the wrong brother.”
“I’m the wrong brother, I assure you.” Clay knew that much, but he didn’t know which of his brothers was the right one, which one he should protect or scream at.
“The wrong brother wouldn’t have known I work for anyone, and he wouldn’t be this calm in the face of interrogation,” the man said. His smiled widened. “The right brother would have been trained, however, for just this type of situation, and you, young sir, are very calm.”
“Maybe I’m just a talented performer,” Clay said. Between him and Scott, he was honestly the better charmer. “I can pretend to be calm. Have you ever been calm when ten-thousand thirteen-year-old girls are trying to pull your hair?” Maybe that was a stupid question, since the man was bald.
And he was full-on grinning. “Pretend away, then, son. Time for that six-quart mess.”
Clay passed out.
(397 words)
Monday, May 18, 2009
About Six Quarts
“Now, little man, you have one chance to talk.” The big, burly man swung his chair around so it was backward, then sat, rested his chin on his arms and gazed at Dan with frank eyes. He was holding a knife with a long, wickedly-curved blade. “If you decide not to take that chance, I’ll have to start shedding blood.”
Dan took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything.” It was the truth - he was the youngest, and he didn’t know anything, never knew anything. Scott hardly trusted him, and then twins were locked in their own little telepathic world - he didn’t know anything. “I swear - I’m just a keyboard player in a band and I don’t know what’s going on.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “I know you seem like you’re just a keyboard player in your little boy rock band, and I seem like some random truck driver, but I work for a man who knows more about you and your world than you realize, and he knows that you’ve been two-timing your agent to run connections for Sector Five Commander.”
Sector Five Commander. Agent. Connections. Dan didn’t understand any of it. “I really am just a musician. Please - let me go! My father will pay whatever you want - there’s lots of money in the trust account - just --”
“It’s not money Commander Hagalaz wants. Just information. And you’re going to give it to him,” the man said.
Hagalaz. Dan didn’t even realize that could be a person’s name. He strained against the chains, felt them bite into his wrists. He was already bruised - what would more bruising matter? “I have nothing to give.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, and Dan felt his heart begin to pound madly in his ears. The man rose to his feet and brandished the knife so the blade glinted beneath the glow of the single bulb.
“You have lots to give, actually, lad,” he said. “About six quarts.” He drew the knife slowly, delicately, across Dan’s thigh.
Dan screamed.
(348 words)
Dan took a deep breath. “I don’t know anything.” It was the truth - he was the youngest, and he didn’t know anything, never knew anything. Scott hardly trusted him, and then twins were locked in their own little telepathic world - he didn’t know anything. “I swear - I’m just a keyboard player in a band and I don’t know what’s going on.”
The man smiled faintly, and something about his expression was dangerous. “I know you seem like you’re just a keyboard player in your little boy rock band, and I seem like some random truck driver, but I work for a man who knows more about you and your world than you realize, and he knows that you’ve been two-timing your agent to run connections for Sector Five Commander.”
Sector Five Commander. Agent. Connections. Dan didn’t understand any of it. “I really am just a musician. Please - let me go! My father will pay whatever you want - there’s lots of money in the trust account - just --”
“It’s not money Commander Hagalaz wants. Just information. And you’re going to give it to him,” the man said.
Hagalaz. Dan didn’t even realize that could be a person’s name. He strained against the chains, felt them bite into his wrists. He was already bruised - what would more bruising matter? “I have nothing to give.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, and Dan felt his heart begin to pound madly in his ears. The man rose to his feet and brandished the knife so the blade glinted beneath the glow of the single bulb.
“You have lots to give, actually, lad,” he said. “About six quarts.” He drew the knife slowly, delicately, across Dan’s thigh.
Dan screamed.
(348 words)
Steve Deals With It.
The pain of losing a friend, commander and a brother in arms was almost to much for Steve. It had been a rough few weeks; first David's death in the bunkers. Brian was still in the hospital, though he was able to attend the funeral. Joe had run off somewhere for a week and now would hardly talk to anyone; and Mark was as bad off as the rest of them.
Steve tried everything that he could think of to block out the pain of reality; exercising to the point of exhaustion, meditation, even hitting the bottle pretty hard. All he wound up with was a hangover, frustration, and sore muscles.
The psychologist had wanted to talk to all of them, but Steve was not really in a cathartic mood.
Coming back to his quarters one evening, Steve found an official set of orders.
ATTN: First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood
SUB: Disband
You are hereby notified that the team lead by the late Major David Cole is to be disbanded and reassigned to different teams.
Office of General Command.
Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jumping up from his bunk, Steve ran down the hall to Commander Hayes office and knocked on the door, not waiting for permission to enter.
"Commander."
Hayes turned in his chair to face Steve.
"Lieutenant," Hayes said, looking at the agitated man in front of him.
"What is this? Are you really splitting up the team?" Steve demanded, his voice bordering on belligerent.
When Hayes raised an eyebrow at his tone, Steve amended with a moderated, "Sir."
"Yes, lieutenant, I am splitting up the team. The cohesion of the group has fallen apart since the death of Major Cole."
"But sir, will all due respect, we are almost a family. Please, give me the chance to keep us together." Steve felt like he was pleading. Not that he minded, he would do anything to keep the group together.
Hayes considered the man in front of him. He knew all about Steve, and what he had been doing the last few weeks. He also had the Psychologists report on the mental state of the team. She had recommended the disbandment of the team; stating that they would do better if they were separated. But Hayes was a shrewd man; he could see what this would mean for the group.
"Alright Lieutenant," Hayes said nodding, "I'll give you one month to pull your team back together. If in that time, you are not all functioning as a unit again, then I will disband the team."
"Thank you Sir," Steve said, saluting his commander. He walked out of the room. He knew that he could never be to the team what David was, but he would give it his best to keep them together.
Steve tried everything that he could think of to block out the pain of reality; exercising to the point of exhaustion, meditation, even hitting the bottle pretty hard. All he wound up with was a hangover, frustration, and sore muscles.
The psychologist had wanted to talk to all of them, but Steve was not really in a cathartic mood.
Coming back to his quarters one evening, Steve found an official set of orders.
ATTN: First Lieutenant Steven Blackwood
SUB: Disband
You are hereby notified that the team lead by the late Major David Cole is to be disbanded and reassigned to different teams.
Office of General Command.
Steve could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jumping up from his bunk, Steve ran down the hall to Commander Hayes office and knocked on the door, not waiting for permission to enter.
"Commander."
Hayes turned in his chair to face Steve.
"Lieutenant," Hayes said, looking at the agitated man in front of him.
"What is this? Are you really splitting up the team?" Steve demanded, his voice bordering on belligerent.
When Hayes raised an eyebrow at his tone, Steve amended with a moderated, "Sir."
"Yes, lieutenant, I am splitting up the team. The cohesion of the group has fallen apart since the death of Major Cole."
"But sir, will all due respect, we are almost a family. Please, give me the chance to keep us together." Steve felt like he was pleading. Not that he minded, he would do anything to keep the group together.
Hayes considered the man in front of him. He knew all about Steve, and what he had been doing the last few weeks. He also had the Psychologists report on the mental state of the team. She had recommended the disbandment of the team; stating that they would do better if they were separated. But Hayes was a shrewd man; he could see what this would mean for the group.
"Alright Lieutenant," Hayes said nodding, "I'll give you one month to pull your team back together. If in that time, you are not all functioning as a unit again, then I will disband the team."
"Thank you Sir," Steve said, saluting his commander. He walked out of the room. He knew that he could never be to the team what David was, but he would give it his best to keep them together.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Project #27: Characterization in an instant
You have 100-500 words to demonstrate characterization in a single instant. Start with a single, simple scenario and have one character's reaction to it. In the next post, have a different character (original character, of your own making) react to the same scenario. Take the opportunity to explore what each character would do, how each of them is formed, how they think and feel and what makes them act the way they do. Don't tell too much, don't overdo backstory and details - just show us, in a moment, what makes your character who he or she is.
Rules v. 1.5
Rest Days
It is my official decree that Sunday shall be a day of rest, a chance to post overviews and new project assignments or muse on one posted by another, but having to post two or three things in a day could be a challenge, since sometimes creating a challenge and then writing for it is difficult. From this week henceforth, Sunday shall be a day of rest - feel no need to post writing beyond minor admin stuff on a Sunday. There - take a load off and relax.
It is my official decree that Sunday shall be a day of rest, a chance to post overviews and new project assignments or muse on one posted by another, but having to post two or three things in a day could be a challenge, since sometimes creating a challenge and then writing for it is difficult. From this week henceforth, Sunday shall be a day of rest - feel no need to post writing beyond minor admin stuff on a Sunday. There - take a load off and relax.
Overview #25 and #26
So I failed a couple of overviews in a row. Them's the breaks, I guess. It was fun, cobbling together dialogue out of random things like song lyrics and poems. To make it really work, I'd have to fiddle with the quotes a bit, what I came up with from direct quotes worked pretty well. It was difficult to establish true character, but at least two subject positions could be clearly defined creating dialogue that way. As much as I love dialogue, writing so much of it here gets it out of my system, because in rereading some old online fiction, I've discovered that pointless dialogue for the sake of witty exchanges is a mark of immature writing. Still, sometimes, when practicing with a character, it's fun.
The midnight challenge was pretty good times. It reminded me of late nights with my friends and all the things you can say in the sombreness of darkness that no one dares breach during the day. It was also fun to let Bob and the boys out of their boxes a little more to explore the Dagaz universe and possibilities for Asia.
The midnight challenge was pretty good times. It reminded me of late nights with my friends and all the things you can say in the sombreness of darkness that no one dares breach during the day. It was also fun to let Bob and the boys out of their boxes a little more to explore the Dagaz universe and possibilities for Asia.
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