Overview #39: Kisses

Ah, but this was a difficult challenge for me, despite the fact that I picked it. I think I came up with a fairly solid arc, that began with The Mission and ended with The Mission as well. It felt like the posts I was more comfortable writing were the heartbreak posts, the ones that usually involved Clay feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. I wanted all four brothers to get in on the action without making poor Carolyn too Mary Sue and having all the boys like her, and I think I did all right. In some posts, the kiss was definitely the main point of the plot, and in others, sometimes a kiss was sort of there and just incident to the entire thing. (Drafting the "Wide-Eyed and Lovely" scene for Bob and Carolyn in the middle of Advanced Con Law was a serious study in awkwardness, by the way.) I liked getting Dan's perspective back in on things, since he's the only brother who's really aware (and only peripherally at that) that Carolyn's not a normal teenage girl. My sense of romance might have been improved, if I hadn't detracted from my romantic progression by throwing down some Clay-angst and a scene loaded with killing. Urgh. I wanted to stray from my comfort zone, but then I was afraid of getting too mushy on my readers, which really defies the purpose of this exercise, which is to write to improve.

NOTE: This week's winner is Madness! So, post a reply in the comments to this post and claim your prize. The rules have been altered thusly:

The winner shall be chosen by whoever issued a challenge in a given week (since it'd be lame if I picked myself as a winner one week when the challenge was not issued by me). Challenge issuers should take into account the creativity of the manner in which the challenge was answered, the timeliness of posts, and the helpfulness of feedback. Carry on writing, friends!

Overview #39: Kisses

Wow, it's been a while since I have done a proper overview. I really enjoyed this week. The firsts and the lasts that come with kissing, a piece of your soul given away, as it were. I still have things to work on, like not repeating myself and trying to use stronger images. I think it was mentioned once or twice about the scene feeling rushed, so I should work on that too. I was glad to read how other people wrote their kisses, ranging from passionate to sweet and gentle.

It feels good to be writting again!

As I Say

They huddled in an alley, listening to sirens wail in the background. Scott could still smell burning smoke from the explosion that had rocked the hotel just as they were ducking out the basement.

“Remember,” Carolyn said, “if you want to stay alive, you have to do exactly as I say when I say it. You listen to me, or you listen to John.”

John was crouched behind Dan, armed with a machine gun and scanning the shadows warily. Dan was clutching Carolyn’s handgun too tightly, and his face was pinched with tension, but he seemed the most calm. Clay had a death grip on one of Bob’s arms and refused to let go, which meant that Carolyn had to shield both of them at all times.

“What’s the plan?” John asked. “Combat command is down.”

“The Agency is sending in an retrieval team. We head to the rendezvous point and make sure The Carrier stays alive,” Carolyn said. She kept her voice low. Scott couldn’t help but stare at her bloodstained hands, at her casual grip on the machine gun she’d taken from one of the corpses in the hotel room.

Footsteps in the distance sounded like they were coming closer.

“Get back,” Carolyn hissed. “Scott, you stay with me.”

Bob tugged Clay backward into the alley, and John moved to guard them.

Carolyn set down the machine gun very carefully, and then she stood up. Scott rose with her, and together they crept toward the mouth of the alley.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked. Carolyn spun around and shoved him up against the wall, pressed herself against him and kissed him.

He froze, but she had one hand in his hair, and he could feel the stickiness of drying blood, and Bob was going to kill him, but then a voice broke the moment.

A uniformed man, dressed just like one of the corpses in the hotel room, spoke in rapid German. Carolyn pulled back, spoke in flawless German in reply, and the man nodded. Scott straightened up and scrubbed a hand over the back of his mouth, keeping his gaze averted while Carolyn and the soldier spoke.

Then the soldier said, in English, “You kids should get home.”

Scott nodded cautiously. “Yes, sir.”

The soldier leveled a machine gun at him. “We found one!”

Carolyn spun into action. She wrenched the gun out of his arms with a sickening crunch; she must have broken several of his fingers. A sweeping kick brought the man to the ground, and Carolyn shot him. Other soldiers must have heard his cry, and they charged up the street. Carolyn cut them down with a hail of bullets. Scott remained against the wall, hand pressed to his mouth, horrified by the utter blankness of her expression.


Deeper in the alley, someone threw up. It was probably Clay.

Carolyn set down the machine gun, stole another from a corpse. “Let’s move.”

(488 words)

Like That Before

Bryan was under his car again, it was one of his favotite places to be. He grinned at the throaty roar from the engine above him, head nodding to the beat of the radio. Mark always teased him that he could feel the sould of a car just from listening to it.

Bryan was jut finishing for the day when he fet a tap on his foot.

"Just a sec," he called and wiped the grease from his hands as he scooted out from underthe body of the car. Bryan smiled widely when he saw it was Beth.

"Hey pretty lady, how are you doing?" he asked with a wink.

"I'm doing great," Beth said as she reached out to wipe a bit of grease from Bryan's cheek.

Bryan sat up on the rolling platform and scooted closer to his girlfriend. He leaned in closer and gave her a passionate kiss.

Beth's brow forrowed in confusion as she pulled back, breath coming in gasps, "you didn't kiss me like that before," she said.

"When was that?" Bryan asked.

"Yesterday," Beth said.

Bryan had to swallow his laughter, he knew perfectly well what had happened. "Well maybe there are two sides to me," he said and kissed her gently.

Don't Want

Another night, another country, another city, and the same crowded club with the same faceless people. Sometimes all it took was catching a brief scent of perfume or the way a girl tossed her head as she danced under the flashing lights and he was hooked. Every time, he managed to get her alone in the shadows in the back of the room, arms around her waist as he closed his eyes and lost himself in the taste of her. He liked the ones who were quiet and tasted like whiskey or bourbon, but every now and again he’d find himself with an armful of a pretty redhead who’d had one too many pink Cosmos.

It didn’t matter that she probably wished he was Scott or Dan, because Scott was somewhere darker and more dangerous away from the dance floor, and Dan was back at the hotel playing cards with Michael and the crew. Clay was the one right here, right now, nibbling on her earlobe and pressing her against the wall. Every moan and sigh was a golden prize, and he pressed his lips against her throat, desperate for another. She reached up and twined her fingers in his hair, dragged him closer, and he obliged, pressing close so he could feel her heartbeat against his.

He skated his hands down her ribs, felt her arch up into his touch.

“Do you want me?” he breathed into her ear.

She bit her lip, moaned again. “Yes.”

“I don’t want you to,” he said, and captured her mouth in a kiss. It was hard, almost bruising, lips and teeth and tongues, and then she spun them around, slammed him up against the wall and did her best to pin him there while she marked a blazing trail down his neck to his collarbone.

He let her trap him, reveled in the heat of her skin and the softness of her mouth, and when she kissed him again, it was softer, almost affectionate.

“I know which one you are,” she whispered, “and you’re the one I want.”

He kissed her back. “Tonight,” he said, “you’re the one I want. For the sake of manners, my name is Clay.”

She smiled and leaned in so their foreheads were touching. “My name is Carol.”

His blood went cold, and he pulled back before she could kiss him, straightened up.

Confusion flared in her eyes. “What?”

Hot shame began to curl through his veins, and he pushed her away, stepped around her. He took two steps into the crowd and was gone.

(428 words)

Desperation

Joe stood in his brothers hospital room, watching as the machines kept him alive. He blinked, long and slow, trying to rally his thoughts, emotions. It was the last time that he would see his brother in some semblance of life. Joe could feel his eyes tearing up again; red and sandy raw from all the tears already shed, and the sleepless nights.

Jen hovered in the background, anxious for Joe, she had come to care for him in the short time that Alec had been in her care. The decision to take Alec off of life support had been made, and she wanted to be there for him, to offer what comfort she could. She knew that she should keep the professional distance. She knew that she was too involved, that she would end up being hurt and most likely hurting Joe as well, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't stop herself from feeling and from caring.

Joe had told her that he wanted to be there when it happened, that he would feel more closure that way.

"Are you ready Joe?" Jen asked.

Joe nodded mutely as tears tracked down his face and his body shuddered with repressed sobs. The air machine stopped hissing, and they could hear Alec's heartbeat slow, then flat line. Jen finally reached out and turned off the heart monitor, trying to swallow back tears.

Turning, Jen found herself in Joe's arms.

Joe wrapped his long arms around Jen, holding her tight against his body as he buried his face in her neck. He felt Jen rubbing his back and murmuring nonsense comfort words. He felt like his heart was being torn in two. Without thinking, Joe sought out Jen's lips, crushing them beneath his own, desperate to feel something beside the pain in his heart.

Jen, for a few brief moments allowed herself to be unthinking, to just react as Joe's tongue moved against hers, twining, desperate, and urgent.

Jen began to pull back as her professional self began to reassert itself.

Joe opened his eyes, but didn't release Jen, "please," he begged, and Jen could see the raw pain in his eyes.

Jen knew that she would perhaps regret her actions later, but she didn't care at the moment. She twined her arms closer around Joe, and welcomed him in.

Taking Shape

The bottle of wine had been empty for quite some time. I kept glancing at it every few minutes, as if Bacchus himself was going to descend from the heavens and fill the bottle to the brim. No such thing happened, unfortunately. Instead, I sat on the couch, hands folded neatly in my lap. I heard music playing softly from the kitchen, and deciphered the lyrics that were drifting my way.

The moonlight

Shines down interstellar beams

And the groove tonight

Is something more than you’ve ever seen

He stumbled out of the bathroom and over to the couch, sitting right next to me, but for some reason it wasn’t close enough. I felt like I was internally combusting. My skin was on fire and screaming for something. I was pretty sure I knew what my body wanted, but my brain had a drunken, yet firm lock on any and all lost impulse controls. For now, everything was in order.

“So.” He glanced around the room idly and finally his eyes landed in my general direction.

“Do you have anything else to drink?” That was my temporary solution to the problem, just to get more alcohol into my system. I couldn’t tell what outcome I was fighting for, since getting more drunk seemed counterproductive to the whole self control thing.

“Nope, I only had the wine this time around—“

And suddenly the grip I had on my control was lost and my lips found his in all haste. At first his body was stiff with shock, but the longer I kissed him, the less tense he got. Soon, we were an inebriated tangle of tongues and touching.

It was messy, in more ways than one. But as each hazy second passed, the consequences seemed to matter less and less. It was no longer a matter of wanting, but of needing.

Stars and planets taking shape

A stolen kiss has come too late

(323 words)

Last Kisses

David could vividly remember the last time he had kissed his mother. It had been at her funeral, years and years after the accident that had claimed her life. He was not sad then. Daddy had said that mom would be an Angel, and that it was not sad for her to go; that she would be watching over him. David remembered looking up at the moon at night, trying to see if he could find his mothers face in the contours of that celestial body.
***

The last time he had kissed his father was just before his fathers plane was due to take off. His father had promised to see him in a few days. But he never came. David cried for days.
***

When David met Ariana he had started smiling again. Not the false smile to placate people in general- especially his aunt and uncle who would have sent him to a therapist- but the true smile that he could remember from his early youth.

David was lost in his own thoughts, the plane ride was monotonous, and all he could do was think and remember. Letting his eyes slide closed, David allowed himself to remember the feeling of Ariana's lips against his, a whole world of sensation that was now a faint memory. He allowed briefly his mind to turn to the last time that he had kissed her. The scene played out in his mind like a film, slightly worn and faded.

It was raining, but that was not new; it always rained in Seattle. Ariana had told him that she wanted to pick up a new book, and not to wait for her, she would see him later that evening. She leaned in and gave him a brief but passionate kiss, one that held all the promise of the future. She waved as she got into her car and drove away.

David smiled at the memory and tried to pull his mind back, but could not stop the other memories from following. David winced visibly as he was forced to remember. Remember everything.

Ariana not picking up her phone, searching for her, finding her dying in that stinking alley.

David forced his eyes open, letting the memory fade, like his heartbeat, to a faint echo. He forced his mind back to the mission at hand.

One brief though flashed through his mind before he locked away all errant thoughts and memories.

That was the last time he had ever kissed anyone.

Said It Back

(continued from this post)

“Are you going to stand there all night and just watch?” Dan asked.

Carolyn was leaning in the doorway of the boys’ hotel room, watching while Scott, Clay, and Bob tried to hash out a math problem.

“Like you’ve never done the same thing with Michael.” She smiled faintly at Bob’s antics as he tried to jab Clay with his pencil.

“Yes, well, you can kiss Bob and tell him you love him.” Dan shoved his hands into his pockets.

Carolyn didn’t move.

Dan studied her out of the corner of his eye. Something about her expression was - off. She didn’t look angry or frustrated, so she and Bob hadn’t fought. She looked utterly exhausted. The line of her shoulders and the way she rested against the doorframe spoke of a bone-deep tiredness that not even a good night’s sleep would cure.

“Is everything all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Dan glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot, then lowered his voice. “I mean, is everything all right?”

Carolyn turned to him sharply. “What makes you ask?”

“You look - like a soldier who’s just waiting for the enemy to come and kill him.”

“They don’t want to kill me,” she said, turning back to watch the other three.

Dan straightened up. “Are they coming to kill him?”

Carolyn sighed, pushed herself upright. “You should get your homework done. I’ll see you in the a.m.” She started forward, but Dan caught her by the arm.

“Are they coming to kill my brother?”

Something in Carolyn’s eyes fractured. “No, no. They don’t want to kill him. They want to take him. It’s my job to stop them.”


“And if they do take him?”

“Good night, Dan.”

Carolyn stepped into the room, and her entire posture changed. The weight of the world she’d been wearing slipped off her shoulders. The other three looked up, distracted from their squabble, and Dan saw Bob’s face light up.

“Hey Caro,” Scott said. “You’re a genius - settle this math problem for us.”

Clay waved weakly, avoided her gaze.

Carolyn laughed. “I would, but I’m under strict orders from Shelley not to interfere with your homework. I just came to say goodnight - we’re pulling out early tomorrow.”

“How early is early?” Scott asked.

“You four will get all your beauty sleep, so don’t worry.” Carolyn leaned over and kissed Bob on the cheek, the gesture discreet, but Clay and Scott turned away politely anyway. “See you tomorrow, Robbie.”

“’Night, Caro,” he said.

Dan watched the entire exchange, horrified by Carolyn’s deception in a way he never had been before. Would Bob even have a tomorrow?

Bob glanced at his other two brothers, who were suddenly very involved in their math, and then he tugged Carolyn in for a real kiss. When they parted, Dan saw his brother mouth the words,

“I love you.”

Dan wasn’t sure whether Carolyn said it back.

(489 words)

Your Sympathy

I picked up my guitar and wandered out to the balcony. Everyone else was asleep; however, I had slowly traded the day for the night. The stars were comforting because they had nothing left to do but shine. They would listen when no other would.

I strummed aimlessly, trying to find a song inside of me that matched how I felt in that moment. What did I feel? Hopeless. Estranged. Careless. Alone.

It was strange, the way he silently sympathized from across the room - how we could lock gazes and instantly know what the other was thinking. It was frightening sometimes, because usually he was the last person I wanted inside my head. It was a bizarre camaraderie, neither of us getting what we wanted.

A song came, then.

Stranger than your sympathy

And this is my apology

I’m killing myself from the inside out

And all my fears have pushed you out

I continued to sing, but with every phrase I carried out, the tears threatened to take my voice away. I had become so lost in the words that I hadn’t heard him open the sliding door. I didn’t recover until I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He really looked at me then, noticing the wetness on my face. His brow furrowed with concern, and I turned away.

“I think you know.” That was all I could manage at this point. My hands were shaking and I felt him move closer and closer.

“Will you finish your song?” He smiled at me, in the way he knew struck me at my very core. I gripped my guitar and kept playing.

Stranger than your sympathy

All these thoughts you stole from me

I'm not sure where I belong

Nowhere's home and I'm all wrong

I let the last chord speak for itself. I turned to look at him and suddenly his lips were on mine and the whole world had been turned upside down. I felt the blood rush through my veins, my entire body now shaking with adrenaline. Our lips parted, but we lingered a little longer than we should have.

“Why did you…” That was the only question I had left.

He looked at me, smiling, but his face was tainted with sadness. “I just wanted to know what it felt like.” He stood up without another word and went back inside.

This was the end.

(403 words)

All Gone

Days off mid-tour were heaven-sent. As much as Bob and the others loved playing live, the constant energy necessary for photo shoots, interviews, appearances, and concerts was draining. Tomorrow meant twenty-four hours of freedom, and Bob planned on savouring every one.

“We’re going to a club. Wanna come with?” Clay paused by the door.

Bob flopped back on the bed. “I’m beat. I don’t know how you two do it.”

“Scott and I are love machines, man.” Clay grinned and flashed him a thumbs up. “See you in the morning!” And he left.

Dan poked his head into the room. “I’m going to the lobby to do my homework. Later.”

The lobby had a baby grand piano. Bob knew precisely what kind of ‘homework’ his brother was doing. He closed his eyes.

“You look tired,” Carolyn said. She was leaning against the doorframe, still in her crew uniform.

Bob lit up. “Not too tired for company. Wanna watch a movie?”

Carolyn kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto the bed beside him. “You speak German?”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You could translate for me.”

She wound an arm around his shoulders, kissed him back. “I could. But that’s no fun.”

“I sing for you sometimes,” Bob pointed out.

Carolyn kissed him again. “Now that sounds fun.”

“I’ve been singing all night.”

"I've been translating all night."

“Touché.”

“And here I thought you were learning Spanish.” Carolyn smiled.

Bob wrapped an arm around her waist, tugged her back against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder so he could whisper in her ear.

“It’s just us.”

She whispered back. “I know.”

He sang softly, "Baby, let’s do something we’ve never done. We’ll break a few rules and we’ll bend some.”

Carolyn turned to look at him. Her dark eyes were wide. “Robert?”

He wound his other arm around her waist and kissed her again, soft, questioning. Carolyn pulled back, searched his gaze. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her throat. Her breath hitched, and he could feel her pulse fluttering.

He whispered against her skin, “We can take our time, take it on, take it all in till it’s all gone.”

She turned and pressed herself against him. They kissed, deeply, all open mouths and twining tongues.

Bob reached out and fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand. “All gone,” he whispered, and the light went out.

(408 words; I confess, I don't always go for the subtle undertones of a song)

Escape

Steve whistled aimlessly as he sauntered down the hall in the science building, he had a few hours before his next class and he was just killing time. He didn't notice the pretty girl with pale blond hair hurrying down the hall towards him, darting glances behind her. He was pulled off balance as the girl grabbed his arm, tugging him along with her.

"Hey," Steve began, but was cut off when the girl backed him up against the wall and glued her face to his. Shocked, Steve pushed her away from him, "now wait a second," he tried to get out.

"I'll explain in a muinute," the girl said quickly and kissed him again.

Steves mind fuzzed and seemed to go blank, all that was preasant was sensation and he began to kiss her back, quickly warming to the situation.

The girl broke off the kiss the second time, pulling away and smiling shyly, "I'm sorry, I needed to get away from someone. I thought that if he saw me kissing someone else, he would leave me alone," she finished, turning a brighter red.

Steve swallowed hard, trying to reorder his thoughts. "Well, anytime you need to escape, just let me know," he finally said, a silly grin spreading across his face.

"Thank you," she paused to wait for his name.

"Steven," Steve said.

"Steven," She nodded, "thank you Steven."

"You're welcome,"

"Bethany," The girl said.

"It was nice to meet you Bethany," Steve said as he pulled out a piece of paper from his binder. He quickly wrote down his number and handed it to Bethany.

"Thank you again Steven," Bethany said as she turned away. She would be keeping his number and if she ever got over her embarrasment, she would be giving him a call.

The Best Morning

It wasn’t the first time we had slept in the same bed. We had spent countless nights on his twin-sized bed in his old apartment, cramped and clinging to one another so one of us wouldn’t fall to the floor in the middle of the night.

Our first real purchase as a couple was a queen-sized mattress. We were too poor to afford a frame, so it simply laid on top of a box spring on the floor. I had put brand new red cotton sheets on it, and it had been there waiting for us once night came.

That morning, I woke up and rolled over to find him soundly sleeping. For a few minutes, all I could do was just stare in amazement. This morning, this bed, this apartment meant so many things to me. It was the beginning of our life. We were no longer separated by hers and his. Everything was now ours.

I put my arm around his sleeping form, which made him stir. He was always a light sleeper. He opened his eyes and smiled at me. I smiled back, moving closer. He mumbled, “Good morning,” in his still sleepy voice.

It was then that I leaned in and kissed him, trying to put all of my hope and joy into that one intimate detail. I pulled away slowly, and replied, “Yes. It is.”

(231 words)

Isn't About That

Clay didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was natural to pay attention when one heard one’s name. He paused beside the instrument rig, curious.

“Are you sure Clay’s not the one?” It was Carolyn speaking. There was no reply, and then she said, “No reason. It’s just - I want to be sure. Because I’m committed to Bob, but if there’s a chance that Clay -- all right. If you’re sure.”

Clay’s hands curled into fists, and he swallowed hard. Impossible. She didn’t feel anything for him; that was damned obvious, given how she rarely talked to him and spent every moment she could beside Bob, protective and possessive and -- Clay shook his head and started to turn away.

“It’s just...” Carolyn sighed. “There’s a good chance he’s the one, and if he is, I don’t want to mess things up.”

Clay dug his nails into his palms and took a deep breath, forced himself to turn around. He had to walk away now before he did something stupid and hurt one of the most important people in his life.

But there’s a chance, something in him insisted. With the girl you love.

And he waited. Heard Carolyn say goodbye and hang up. He waited a beat longer to make sure no one else was around, and then he poked his head into the instrument rig.

“Hey, Caro.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Clay. What brings you slummin’ with the crew?”

“I needed to talk to you, but we have warm-ups in five, so I figured I’d swing by and see if I could secure some of your time post-show.” He sounded far more confident than he felt.

Carolyn nodded. “Sure. I’ll be helping John.”

Clay swallowed and attempted to smile. “Thanks. See you then.”

* * *

He’d rehearsed all through warm-ups what to say, what to do, every gesture and every breath. Now that he and Carolyn were standing behind a stack of backdrops, alone and cut off from the rest of the crew, every thought but one had vanished.

“Look, Clay, if this is about the other night, when I walked in on you and that girl, don’t worry. I’m not going to tell your Dad,” Carolyn said.

“This isn’t about that,” Clay said. His heart was hammering away at a mile a minute, and he was sure Carolyn could hear it.

“Oh. Then...what’s up?”

Clay caught her by the wrists, tugged her close, and kissed her. His eyes slid shut as soon as their lips met, and then a hand on his shoulder yanked him back.

Clay’s eyes flew open, and he saw Bob standing in front of Carolyn, protective, fierce. She had one hand pressed to her mouth and looked utterly shocked.

Bob’s hands curled into fists. “Clay Timothy Summers. What the hell?”

A lump rose in Clay’s throat, and tears welled in his eyes before he knew what was what. He pushed past his brother and ran.

(495 words)

Those Three Words

Ariana had waited patiently for the right moment; the right moment say those three important words to David, the right moment to show him how much she cared. It was a delicate balance that she tried to strike, clearly showing interest, while at the same time not making him feel trapped or pressured.

"Hey David," Ariana started, and hesitated.

David looked up from the History textbook that they were studying from. "Hm?"

Ariana took a deep breath and leaned forward, and gently brushed her lips against his. "I love you David," she whispered into the silence that followed.

David blinked in surprise, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He leaned forward and kissed her back, lips soft and gentle. "I love you to Ari."

Mistake in Identity

Bryan looked up from where he was lying prone on the floor, half under his car, as Mark walked through the front door. He couldn't help but laugh at the funny expression on Mark's face, kind of dazed and shocked at the same time.

"What happened to you? You look like you just won the lottery or something," Bryan said as he scooted out from under the car, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. He looked at Mark, a little concerned when he didn't respond. Bryan waved one hand in front of his brothers face, "hello. Earth to Mark."

Mark blinked and looked at his twin, as if just realizing where he was.

"Seriously man, what's wrong with you?" Bryan asked.

Mark licked his lips and then pressed them together, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. Finally he focused on his brother, "you know, we really should do something so that people can tell us apart. Different colored wristbands or something."

Bryan laughed, "why's that? Did someone think that you were me?" he asked

Mark swallowed and nodded.

"Who?" Bryan pressed.

Mark looked a little guilty as he glanced at Bryan, "Sara," he finally said.

"Sara? What did she do?" Bryan asked, looking Mark up and down, wondering what his girlfriend had done to make his brother so flustered.

"She..." Mark began.

"Wait," Bryan said, realization dawning, "she kissed you didn't she."

Mark nodded mutely.

Bryan looked his brother up and down again, taking in how uncomfortable he looked, and started laughing.

"It's not funny Bryan," Mark said, looking more ill at ease.

"Oh my brother, it's hilarious!" Bryan said and threw an arm around Mark's shoulders, "Come on, you can tell me all about it."

Mission Compromised

“Hey, Carolyn.”

“Hey, Robbie. What’s up?” She shoved her hands into her pockets and gazed up at him, curious. He’d sought her out while she was eating dinner with John, Nurse Marie, and Captain Lyle in the instrument rig, asked to talk to her after the concert, so here she was, standing in one of the backstage nooks and crannies.

Bob shifted nervously from foot to foot, and Carolyn noticed vaguely that he was still wearing his gloves. She was hyperaware of the noise around them, cataloguing who was running back and forth and where all the exits were.

“So, I wanted to talk to you.” Bob dragged a hand through his hair, and Carolyn realized he looked very nervous.

“Is something the matter?” Her job was to keep him safe, and she had to be aware of any situation that might compromise his safety. Her attention span kicked into overdrive, and she scanned her surroundings once more. Was someone following him?

“I really, really like you,” Bob said.

Carolyn smiled tightly. “That’s great, Robbie. I like you too. But you know that. We’re friends.” She glanced over her shoulder when an unfamiliar man wearing a venue security shirt walked by, and then she felt a hand on her arm.

“Carolyn.”

She turned to look back at Bob. He was looking back down at her, and something about his expression was odd. His eyes were dark, so dark they were almost black, and wide, as if he were afraid, but something about the set of his jaw was serious, determined.

He squeezed her arm gently, and said, “I really, really like you.”

She smiled again, more brightly this time. “I like you too.” Why was he repeating himself?

Bob slid his hand tentatively up her arm, and he was smiling, but his hand was shaking. “You really are still a tomboy, sometimes, despite the new skirts.” He stepped closer. “I like you, Carolyn Pierce.”

Two seconds before he leaned in and kissed her, Carolyn realized what he meant. Her first thought was, Oh no. Mission compromised, followed by, That feels good. Bob’s mouth on hers was warm and soft, and when Carolyn closed her eyes all she knew was the sensation of lips pressed against lips, her heart trying to climb out of her ribcage, the rough nylon and soft leather of Bob’s gloves where his hands were curled around her elbows to tug her close.

Bob pulled back, and his eyes were wide, full of anticipation. And fear.

Carolyn gazed at him for a long moment, scrambling to find words, but she must have waited for too long, because he started to pull away. She reached out, caught his wrist.

“Hey Robbie,” she said. “I like you too.” Her every instinct screamed for her to stop, but she leaned up on her toes and kissed him. He slid his arms around her waist, and for the first time, she felt like she’d come home.

(495 words)

I Could Save You

It was the third day.

We’d been locked inside the small room for that long. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept. I couldn’t sleep anymore. Not when the zombie apocalypse was a real thing, instead of something that only happened in my dreams.

I sat in front of the door, next to the young man that had helped us all to safety. The door was barricaded of course, but how long could a rusty metal pole hold out? We were the first line of defense, and I wasn’t sure if that scared me at this point.

The old man stood up, suddenly, making me jump. The boy (because that’s really all he was, a boy) didn’t move, but his grip on the shotgun in his hands instantly became tighter.

“Let me out.”

“Jerry, you know I can’t do that.” That was the old man’s name. I had forgotten.

“Well, why not? We’re not lasting long in this dung heap, and there are better places to be, like that big department store across town. At least they have food.”

“You know as well as I do that you’ll get shot the moment you approach that place. That’s why none of us went there.”

“Boy, if you don’t let me out of this room, I’ll kill you myself before they even get their hands on you.”

I had to dive out of the way as the struggle broke out. Everything was happening so fast. The shotgun flew across the room, going off and blowing a hole in the roof. Attracting noise. Jerry removed the barricade and was gone. The uproar was deafening. They had been waiting. Searching for us. Now they knew where we were.

The boy shut the door, but he forgot to get the barricade. It was too late. They were coming. Jerry had to have been dead by now. He had ruined any chance of us getting out alive.

The strange thing was, neither of us searched frantically for another exit, or screamed hysterically. It didn’t seem necessary. We were just staring at each other, huddled in the back corner of the room. I grabbed a hold of his hand.

“What was your name again?”

“Gabriel.”

“Gabriel.” I said it, letting the name roll off my tongue and hang in the stale air, because I knew it might be the last thing I ever said. The door was caving in by now, and there were so many. We didn’t have much time.

Gabriel turned my face towards his, almost as if we were in a movie. How ironic. The first one was getting through - I could see it out of the corner of my eye.

“Goodbye Maxine.” He had remembered my name.

“Goodbye Gabriel.”

He kissed me slowly, gently, and we savored the last few seconds of our lives. They were beautiful.

As we held on to one another, the world went dark.

(487 words)

Project #39: Kisses

Ah, here it is, the dreaded romance moment. I confess, I'm terrible at romances, and let's face it, usually the most awesome-tacular part of a romance movie or novel is when the leading man and leading lady have their first kiss. So, let the kisses abound! They can be first kisses, last kisses, experimental kisses, save-me-I'll-explain-later kisses, or whatever you want them to be. (Like that manly-kingly kiss Viggo Mortensen gave a playing-dead Sean Bean in Fellowship of the Ring.) 100-500 words. Write away!

Rules 3.0

First, let us give a big modly welcome to Awed Awake, who has joined our hapless game.

Now, onto the new rules:

This is both a writing exercise and a game. And, since we do not hold to the socialist/communist/military model of games where we are a team and we are as fast as the slowest of us, I have decided to institute a prize. That's right - a prize. If you keep with the challenge during the week and get in all six days in a timely fashion (this does not include a mass-posting session at the end of the week followed by a load of back-dating posts) then you will win a 500-word ficlet from me, the Mod, to be hosted at the Little Shop of Horrors, containing the fandom, ship, plot-kink, or whatsoever of your choice (but do check the Little Shop posting restrictions).

There you have it. A prize.

Also, when the game goes dead for a week like it has, we will simply wait and reset at the beginning of the next week with whoever has that week's challenge. So far, the challenge rotation is as thus: Nagi, Awed Awake, Madness, Jaded Chaos. Feel free to switch weeks with each other if something comes up, and I know school/new jobs/new housing is coming up for people, so the game will be in upheaval, but try to keep up with your weekly project assignment.

Don't forget to use appropriate tags on your entries.

Happy writing!

Overview #38: Food attack!

So this was an interesting challenge for me, given that I care little for food or its preparation. I went through and had to reread it a few times before I really thought I filled out all aspects of it. I think I did well - I had eating posts (the brothers Summers and their late-night jet-lag snacking habits, Carolyn eating after wet-work), a whole lot of cooking posts (Clay being a lame cook while older, Bob being a lame cook as a teenager, Tobias being the most awesome cook ever), and one hunting post (Tobias catching deer for some civilians). Overall, it was an interesting exploration that forced me to think of life in a new way and consider my characters more, consider angles of them that I usually didn't care about or made little note of. Fun times.

Chokecherries and Deer

“So...we’re stuck out here for a week until some nutjob behind a camera in Mongolia decides we’re no longer a threat?” Alex’s expression spoke of deep-seated skepticism.

“A week at the most,” Angel said smoothly. “Our commander assures as that she’ll be able to soothe Hagalaz’s wounded ego and it’ll be safe for you to return home.”

Alex studied the burned-out trees and the mushy undergrowth of the forest. “So...we just set up camp out here until your boss gives you the all-clear?”

Gabriel ground his teeth. He was starting to tire of the way Alex started every sentence with an interjection. “That’s the idea, yes.”

Alex glanced at his friends. “So...how do we make camp?”

“There’s a cave a few hundred yards into the trees.” Keith pointed. “If you just hole up there, it’ll keep you safe from the elements.”

Kevin studied the terrain for a long moment, expression thoughtful. “What kind of food will we have?”

“Do you have a stash of food in the cave?” Nick added.

Angel arched his eyebrows, cast Gabriel a look.

“Did we bring food?”

“I didn’t,” Gabriel said. He nudged Keith. “Did you?”

Alex’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “You bundled us out here in the middle of the night like fugitives and you forgot to pack food? What are we going to eat?”

Tobias tapped his chin thoughtfully. “There are chokecherries that grow locally. Bears like them, but humans can eat them just fine.”

Kevin dragged a hand through his hair. “This is a national park. We can’t exactly hunt here, even if we had brought rifles.”

Keith spread his hands wide to show he was rifle-free.

Tobias sighed. “Well, the rangers won’t question it if one of the gray wolves brings down a deer, will they?”

“You think you can fight off a wolf to bring us a deer carcass?” Kevin asked.

Gabriel remembered, belatedly, that Kevin was the outdoorsy one.

Tobias shook his head. “No. But I bet I can bring down a deer.” And he marched off into the trees.

“What’s he going to do, wrestle one with his bare hands?” Alex demanded.

“Just head for the cave,” Angel said, tone soothing. He cast Kevin a look. “I take it you can prepare a deer for human consumption?”

“If I have a decent hunting knife, sure.” Kevin looked at Keith.

Keith sighed and unstrapped the knife from his belt. “Here. Use it well.”

“Will Tobias be all right out there?” Nick asked.

Angel smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Tobias will be perfectly fine.”

An hour later, Tobias returned with a deer carcass in his arms. He set it at Kevin’s feet and sighed at the blood on his shirt. Kevin knelt and checked the carcass.

“Blood’s warm. This is a fresh kill. Looks like a wolf got at its throat. How are you still alive?”

Tobias’s grin was wicked. “How do you know I wasn’t the wolf?”

(498 words)

Cooking with Tobias

Cooking with Tobias was always a trip and a half, and the others loved it. It always started out innocuously, because none of them actually needed to eat, but Tobias would go off grid for an hour, and then Gabriel would worry. That would send of a chain reaction of panic across the web, carefully blocked from the Commander, and by the time the rest of the team was searching high and low for their beloved Intelligence officer, he’d be home, swanning into the kitchen loaded with paper bags full of fresh food.

“Dude, why did you buy food?” DJ would ask, but then the Sinatra or Glen Miller would kick up in the kitchen, and the answer made itself apparent.

DJ, Keith, Gabriel, Angel, and Christian would hover in the doorway, curious, drawn by the scents, and watch as Tobias turned the kitchen into an utter disaster. He was everywhere at once, chopping vegetables at the counter, mixing sauces at the island, Lindy-hopping from the microwave to the stove, jitterbugging in the corner, beatings eggs while tapping a swing rhythm with one shoe.

Tobias was by far the most dramatic of the six, and whenever he cooked he was dressed to the nines in black-and-white spats, neat pin-striped slacks, a pristine button-down shirt, a matching waistcoat complete with shiny golden pocketwatch, and cufflinks made from the teeth of his first kill.

He was sentimental like that.

The kitchen always looked like a tornado had hit it, with flour and sauces splashed across every available surface, food spattered in random places where food ought not ordinarily be spattered. Tobias, on the other hand, remained pristine despite his refusal to wear an apron, and he would jive his way through the mess while pots on the stove bubbled and timers buzzed and the oven billowed smoke.

Somehow, by the time the last timer buzzed and the final burner was shut off, the kitchen was perfectly clean again, and a gourmet meal was laid out on the dining table.

Tobias would stand back and watch as the boys swarmed the table, and then he would shift into wolf form and clear the rabbits off the lawn.

(344 words)

Hungry After a Job

John sighed and shoved the paper bag back into his jacket. “How the hell can you eat after seeing that?”

Carolyn stepped over the remains of the latest agent who’d come seeking The Carrier and sheathed her knife. She held out one hand, and John fished the paper bag back out of his jacket, handed her the sandwich.

She unwrapped it and bit into it with a low moan of relief.

John winced and turned away. He hunted through the garbage until he found a couple of cardboard boxes he could flatten and throw over what was left of a human being.

Carolyn headed for the mouth of the alley. “C’mon - you have to be back with the instrument rig before soundcheck.”

John trotted to catch up with her. She’d wolfed down the entire sandwich and was licking the vinegar and mustard off her fingers.

“Bob’s not gonna kiss you, you know. You ask for the nastiest stuff on your sandwiches.”

“The boys are going out for sushi after the show, and as I recall, this time the Orphaneers had a back-up plan, so there won’t be any kissing for anyone tonight.” Carolyn tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can and fished in her pockets.

“Did you lose something?” John asked.

“No - there’s an ice cream vendor just up the way. I want dessert.”

“Seriously, how can you eat after a wet job?”

“I don’t eat before as a precaution, obviously - spewing mid-job leaves DNA evidence,” Carolyn said.

John cast her a sidelong glance.

“Think about how long I’ve been a wet worker, John.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say that sometimes they withheld food until I agreed to complete a task.” Carolyn smiled at the ice cream vendor and spoke in smooth, rapid Italian. Gelato was a heaven-send. “Now it’s something of an ingrained pattern - I’m hungry after a job.” She took her first lick of her chocolate treat, and her eyes slid closed. She hummed, pleased. “Sure you don’t want any? My treat.”

“I was an Army Ranger, and sometimes you scare the hell out of me.”

(354 words)

Got You Good

David grinned devilishly as he placed the pie on the table, the common area for all free food in the bunk house. It was after midnight and the others had long retired to bed. He snickered to himself as he walked away, waiting for the first victim.

Mark and Bryan stumbled out of bed the following morning followed closely by Joe as they groped for the coffee pot that Steve traditionally started in the morning. After the first few sips they were able to pry open their eyes a fraction, blinking at the bright morning light.

"So, breakfast?" Joe asked hopefully.

"I don't even want to think, let alone cook this morning," Bryan grumbled before taking another sip of the strong brew.

"How about pie?" Mark asked, gesturing towards the dessert in the middle of the table.

"Pie works for me," Joe said as he reached for plates and forks. Bryan cut the pie and dished out generous servings for the three of them, pushing the other two plates towards the others.

"Smells like banana pie," Bryan said as they all dug in.

Steve walked in just as the three younger men did a spit-take, gagging as they reached for glasses of water. Steve raised an eyebrow at their expressions, "That's what you get for having pie for breakfast," he said as he passed into the other room. He could still hear them gagging behind him and he cracked a faint grin.

"Where did that come from? It's disgusting!" Bryan asked loudly, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

"It tastes like someone mixed up salt with sugar in the recipe," Mark added, spitting again into the sink.

"Good morning everyone," David said as he came into the room, his face passive as he looked at the three youngest members of his team; they all still wore expressions of disgust.

"Do you know where this pie came from Sir?" Joe asked as he scraped the remainder of his pie into the trash.

"I made it. Don't you like it?" David asked innocently.

"Er," Joe hesitated, not wanting to embarrass David.

"Did you read the recipe right?" Mark finally asked after another long pause.

David's eyes sparkled with merriment as he looked at his men. "I just thought we should celebrate," he said, trying to contain his laughter.

"Celebrate what Boss?" Joe asked, clearly confused.

"Happy April Fools Day," David said and burst out laughing at the dumbfounded expressions on his men's faces.

Dinner

Ariana's eyes sparkled with excitement; tonight was going to go perfect, she just knew it. It had been a year since she and David had started dating, and she was planning something special for the occasion.

Carefully placing the finishing touches on the dessert for the night, Ariana stepped back to admire the effect. A small swirl of sweetened whip cream topped a sweet basil cream panna cotta with a passion fruit gelee; a delicate tuille cookie resting on the very top. Displayed in a martini glass the pale green and the bright orange complimented each other perfectly. Ariana smiled as she checked on the roast lamb in the oven, the scent of rosemary and garlic billowing into the air as she opened the door. It would be ready just as David arrived she decided. Ariana closed the oven door and checked the table to make sure that everything was right before going to get ready. She looked at the table with a critical eye, twitched one of the candles a fraction to the left, and adjusted the napkin at one of the settings. Soft guitar music played in the background.

Ariana was finishing her make-up when she heard the doorbell. She quickly walked down the stairs, pulled open the front door, and froze in wonder. David stood on the doorstep, deliciously handsome in black slacks and a black dress shirt. The only spots of color were his dark green tie and his bright blue eyes. David seemed just as speechless as she was. Ariana was draped in a flowing midnight blue dress; her hair pulled away from her face and tamed into curls.

David held out a single red rose to her. Ariana took the rose and blushed, holding open the door for him. "Happy Anniversary," Ariana said, and kissed him before leading him through to dinner.


(My muse needs a good talking to. I think my big problem is that I don't necessarily recognize when I make an error with misplaced modifiers. Now when I read two sentences side by side, I know which one is wrong. Strange. I can pick out the misplaced modifier, but can't always stop myself from doing it.)

Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress

Carolyn stood behind the camera next to Shelly and watched the four brothers hover over the stove. In the background, the kitchen staff looked equal parts horrified and amused.

“Whose idea was this again?” Carolyn asked.

Shelley winced when Scott cracked an egg directly into the pan. “Kevin’s. He’s always thinking up creative things for contests.”

Carolyn was of the general opinion that sending the boys out on dates with rabid fans wasn’t going to make up for their sheer lack of dating lives, and once they were old enough they would discover the grand rock’n’roll tradition of one-night stands.

Bob glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, then resumed cooking. Carolyn watched him pour milk into the frying pan and face-palmed. Clay and Bob attempted to get Scott in on their milk plan, whereas Dan, lactose intolerant and frequently mocked for it, was using liberal amounts of Clay’s tabasco sauce.

Dan turned to Shelley. “Hey, is this right?” He hefted the frying pan.

Carolyn would never tell Shelley that she’d been able to cook since she was seven. “No, look - do it like this.” Carolyn guided Dan, through a complicated mix of sign language and charades, to crack the eggs into a bowl, beat them with a fork, and then add the salt and pepper and milk there.

Dan glanced at Shelley for confirmation, who nodded and cast Carolyn a curious look.

“Kevin has good lawyers on retainer, right? Would getting food-poisoned by a boy you idolize constitute intentional infliction of emotional distress, do you think?” Carolyn asked.

Shelley blinked at her, and Carolyn realized that Shelley didn’t know Carolyn like Dianne had.

“I...wouldn’t know,” Shelley said. “Do you think about things like that often?”

“I want to be a lawyer when I grow up.” Carolyn watched Bob and Clay attempt to convince Scott to use milk again, to no avail, and then Shelley cried out.

“Bob! Your eggs are burning!”

All three triplets immediately joined the scramble to rescue Bob’s eggs, but it was too late.

“Milk burns, moron,” Scott said. And then he noticed Dan’s pan full of fluffy scrambled eggs. “When did you do that?”

Dan cast Shelley a look, and more sign language and charades ensued. Dan nudged Bob and said, “Hey, go get the bread rolls out of the oven.”

Bob slunk away, half-hidden behind his hair and blushing furiously.

Carolyn bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Shelley giggled behind her hand.

“I’ll teach those boys to cook yet,” she said.

“Maybe next time we should teach them before they’re set loose on poor, unsuspecting fangirls,” Carolyn agreed.

Shelley arched her eyebrow at the we, but then she nodded and smiled.

(455 words)

Sticky Rice

“What are you doing?” Bob lunged at the stove and turned the burner all the way down, but it was too late. Smoke billowed from beneath the lid on the pan.

Clay flung the window open and hung his head out, coughing.

Bob had one hand over his nose and mouth and was using an oven mitt to fan the smoke away from his face. Once he could see, he tugged the lid off the pan and stared at the charred remains of dinner. He glared over his shoulder at Clay, who was a distinct shade of green, and then he sighed, tossed the pan into the sink.

“Well, that was a bust.”

Clay opened a bottle of water and took a long pull. “I’m really, really sorry. I just thought that if I turned it up, it would cook faster.”

Bob scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed again. “I told you it’d be another ten minutes. Patience is a virtue, idiot.”

“I was hungry,” Clay said. “Ocras a bheith ar dhuine.”

Bob glanced at his watch, then out at the skyline. The sun was low on the horizon. “We won’t make it to the supermarket in time, and that was the last of the meat.”

Clay bit his lip, peered out the window. “If we hoofed it really hard...?”

Bob shook his head.

“Then...we’re gonna have to go into the market?”

Bob nodded. He reached for his wallet and the knife he always carried. Clay blamed that knife on Carolyn.

“What do you think we can get?” Clay asked.

“I pretty much only remember how to order that sticky rice. With the honey and condensed milk.” Bob gestured, and Clay stepped out of the apartment first.

‘Apartment’ was a generous word, given that there was one bed right next to the stove and only a few strategically hung sheets separated the bathroom from the rest of the world.

The old ladies in the village had a sixth sense about when the two of them were out and about - they’d initially been mystified by Bob’s bleached-blond hair - and they were huddled at the bottom of the stairs.

“Same same!” they crowed.


Clay bowed politely to fend them off. “Sa-wat-dee-kraup.”

Bob bowed as well, then tugged firmly on Clay’s elbow. Clay hated when Bob got all assertive like that - he was the younger one.

“C’mon,” Bob said. “Sticky rice it is.”

(407 words; I was mystified by the blond phase, too, but not in a good way)

Secret Pleasure

"That one," Steve pointed to his selection, glancing around furtively. The place was packed, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. His military mind kept scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary, pinpointing easy exits and strategic points of cover.

The man behind the counter placed Steve's purchase in a plain brown bag and handed it to him, accepting the money Steve gave him. Tucking the brown bag into his jacket pocket, Steve walked out of the shop without his change.

Outside the shop Steve walked quickly down the street, glancing behind himself from time to time, making sure he was not being followed. Steve approached the end of the block and turned north, heading towards a secluded spot along the river. The buildings gradually thinned behind him as he quickened his step in anticipation.

Reaching the river, Steve ducked behind a bush, tucking his long body into the small space. Placing his hand into his jacket pocket, Steve pulled out the brown bag and unwrapped its contents gently. He picked up one of the small objects, examining it for imperfections, scrutinizing it, before picking up the next.

Finally satisfied with his purchase, Steve picked up the first and bit into it. He sighed in ecstasy, reveling in the creamy, intense, raspberry center surrounded by dark chocolate.

Steve settled back against the dark green foliage, enjoying every bite of his chocolate truffles.

The Regular

There was no panacea for a bad day like a glass of cold beer and a few slices of hot pizza.

With the frequency of Mazey's bad days she had become a regular at Joe's, which was populated by men coming off a twelve hour shift at the refinery and a few haggard, anemic looking college students looking for cheap food on the cheaper side of town.

Her usual brew was waiting in her usual seat at the counter where she could both literally and metaphorically turn her back to the world behind her.

She didn't like the way most of the working men eyed her. The girl in her late twenties who moved around the refinery like a ghost. Touching nothing but changing seemingly pointless processes in their jobs.

She took a long swallow of beer and loosed the tortoise shell clip that kept her hair up. The fall of smooth brown that stumbled over her white t-shirt looked more unnatural to her than the ink well black she kept it before landing this respectable job.

Soon the E.P.A would be all over this “respectable” refinery. With the dozens of briefs and studies she'd done in the past year, the hammer was bound to drop soon. Maybe this week.

She smiled, impish, into her cup. Her boss thought that threatening her career was enough to keep her silent, and the hush money sat collecting dust in a separate account. They'd all be fairly surprised to find that not everyone could be bought.

Some people just wanted to fuck with the men who thought they were immune.

Her pizza steaming in front of her, she didn't notice the man sliding into the empty seat to her right. Or the way his eyes read her face, understood the verse hidden there, the strange, blind desire to hurt and heal.

“Can I get you anything?” Joe asked without looking up. He only had two hands but used them with the efficiency of an octopus with fingers.

“Jus' a beer.” His voice carried, like a splash of yellow in a black room.

His hand rested on the counter, a few inches from her elbow. That was the first part of him she fell in love with. Fine fingers, like fleshy bones, delicate the way they drummed on the counter top to a tune that she recognized as older her mother.

“Hows the pizza?” the man asked while Joe was away wrangling beer from a schizophrenic tap.

His face was like cold water that turned to steam indoors, with eyes pale gray as dawn and lips so red they seemed to have just been soundly kissed.

“It's...delicious.”

(448 Words)

First Night Home

Clay staggered into the kitchen. Even though all the clocks in the house said it was two a.m., his body was still convinced it was noon, and lunch time to boot.

He paused in the doorway of the kitchen and stared at the scene before him. Bob was quite literally elbow-deep in a massive tub of ice cream, and Dave’s face was smeared with sherbert, the rainbow kind.

They froze at the same time and looked at him with matching guilty expressions. Then Bob said,

“There’s Rocky Road in the freezer behind the turkey.”

Clay nodded and headed over to the pantry where Shelley’s giant freezer was. He figured it was just bad luck on her part, to marry into a family where all four boys were teenagers at precisely the same time. They couldn’t help it, though - they were growing, and they needed fuel.

Clay plopped down at the table next to Bob and dug into the tub of ice cream. The cool chocolate hit his tongue and he smiled, pleased.

All three triplets froze when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Dad was a nutcase about staying in shape and healthy, and it usually took wheedling and a good dose of Shelley-persuasion before they could eat ice cream at all. Dan reached for the lid for the sherbert, and then Scott stood in the doorway.

His hair stuck up in all directions, and he looked disgruntled. He wagged a finger at Clay. “You’d better not have eaten the Black Forest.”

Clay waved his sticky spoon. “All yours, man.”

Scott grunted and shuffled into the pantry.

The first night home was always the longest.

(278 words)

Making a Mess

David looked around the kitchen, surveying the disaster from the door. Every surface was covered in a fine white powder, egg dripped from one counter and there were pots and pans everywhere. Standing in the middle of a pile of flour, David saw Mark and Bryan holding spatulas. Joe was hiding off to one side covered in flour, and Steve stood looking guiltier than the other three put together, smears of chocolate stained his otherwise spotless white t-shirt.

"What's going on in here?" David asked.

All three of the younger agents started to talk at once, trying to explain, trying to diffuse their commanders ire. Steve motioned them to silence, and like the good soldiers that they were, fell silent at the command.

"We got the munchies sir," Steve said, "and then we got a little silly," he finished, looking down.

David stepped into the room, looking around. He ran one hand over a counter, his palm coming away coated in flour. "And what did you make?" David asked.

"Brownies!" Joe piped up. Realizing he had drawn attention to himself as David glanced his way, he clamped one hand over his mouth and backed up a step.

"David stepped over to the oven and opened the door. The scent of warm chocolate drifted out of the opening. David grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the tray of brownies that were just done.

Holding it, he turned to his men, "clean this place up. I want it spotless in thirty minutes. Report when you are finished."

"Yes Sir!" his men snapped off a smart salute and began to clean.

David turned and carried the brownies away.

Joe and the twins whimpered as they watched it go. Steve called them back to work as he started to wipe down the counters.

Within 25 minutes they were finished and cleaned up, and they presented themselves outside of their commanders office. Steve raised his hand and knocked.

"Enter," David called.

Steve opened the door and stepped inside, followed by the younger men. "Finished Sir," Steve reported, saluting.

"Good. Now, come and eat this," David said, gesturing at the pan of brownies and a container of vanilla ice cream.

Joe and the Twins cheered and hurried over, Steve following them. They all sat at the table as David dished up the treat. They all dug in, grinning at the wonderful sensation of the icy treat and the warm chocolate.

"Just remember men," David said, "Next time, let's not make a mess."

"Yes Sir!" they chorused.

Project #38

Like most living humans I like absorbing calories. The process of making consuming and acquiring food have preoccupied people for the greater part of our history. So it follows that food has the ability to play a pretty big role in how characters interact with one another.

Your word max. word count is 500, and your mission? Write six scenes with cooking, eating, or even spearing a boar for a feast.

Have at it.

Overview #37: Four Seasons

I honestly had no clue what to do with this prompt, since there are six days in a Master & Madness writing week and there are only four seasons. About halfway through, I realized that I'd stumbled onto a pattern and a way to make things come full circle, and a structure emerged. There was some inconsistency as far as style, as Scott and Dave had no dialogue at all, and then Carolyn's final post was almost completely dialogue. Also, the timeline is pretty inconsistent from post to post, too, since Dan's post actually comes after all of the others.

But a structure emerged, and I'm pretty pleased with myself. The arc went from winter to winter, starting with Scott and ending with Carolyn. There was parallelism for Dan and Carolyn. Dan was finishing school in the spring and ready to start a new life; Carolyn was starting school in the fall and starting her new life, too, albeit in a very different way from Dan. Summer was the center and the crux and ran with the identical triplets (I honestly cannot figure out what to call them when they're not with Dan, because between the two of them they're twins, but if I call them twins then Dan, the third triplet, is all left out), in the same season on two ends of the world. I was happy, but not ecstatic about what I managed to do. I know different people have favourite seasons and associate different seasons with different things, and I tried to stay away from too many clichés about warm seasons=happy and cold seasons=sad.

Also, a modly welcome to Awed Awake, who will join us fully when her computer is up and running.

Go On Forever

Ariana was glad it was summer. The warm star filled night, and the long sunny afternoons suited her perfectly. It always seemed like summer would go on and on.

Ariana inhaled the air with her eyes closed, taking in all the scents around her. Smiling she poked her head out of the tent. There was a huge bonfire in the meadow clearing, wood smoke drifting lazily in blue clouds, rising on the slight breeze. Twilight was beginning to fall on their campsite, and Ariana was excited. It was the last night of their annual camping trip. Every year since she could remember her family had gone on a week long camping trips in the summer, high in the mountains where the air was still clear.

"Hey Dad! Is it time for s’ mores yet?" Ariana called, she was trying to slip her boots on while at the same time tying back her long hair.

"Almost honey, almost," her dad called back with a grin. "Get David. He won't want to miss what's next."

"Okay Dad," Ariana said as she finally managed to get her boots on. Pulling a sweater on she walked off toward the creek where David and her brother John were fishing. Her parents had relented and let her bring David as long as John and David shared a tent.

"Come on you two, it's almost time," Ariana called to them as she approached the river bank.

"All right!" John said, and began to reel in his line, "Let's go Dave!"

"Go where?" David asked in confusion as he began to roll in his line.

"To the fire," Ariana said, giving him a quick kiss, "trust me, you'll like this."

A few minutes later Ariana and David approached the fire, walking hand in hand and calling out greetings. David jumped back as a long column of flames erupted from the heart of the fire, shooting thirty feet into the air. Ariana laughed as his expression, "It's just gasoline in a bottle. Watch." Ariana grabbed a bottle that was capped and wrapped in duct tape. David could hear it sloshing with liquid. Ariana walked up to the fire and dropped the bottle into the middle of the flames as scooted away. Returning to David's side she took his hand and said, "now we wait."

It was about a minute later when the flames erupted from the fire again. David smiled and gave Ariana's hand a little squeeze. The others were gathering closer to the fire, all armed with long sticks and uncoiled coat hangers, tipped with marshmallows.

Ariana leaned over to David as he put a marshmallow on his hanger, "do you know what the best part of summer is?" she asked.

"What's that?" David asked.

"It feels like it can go on forever," she said.

Never Really Warm

“Can you believe it? It’s our last Christmas as law students.” Melanie’s voice was always bright and bubbly, and Carolyn couldn’t help but smile.

She shivered and blew on her hands, phone cradled against her shoulder. “I know - time has gone so fast.”

“I know the break is going to go so fast, and --” Melanie broke off, and then Carolyn heard her squeal.

She hadn’t realized humans could hear that pitch.

“Are you all right?”

“Pierce, you are not going to believe this.”

“Believe what?” At least Melanie was all right. She’d submitted to self-defense lessons easily enough, but she’d never developed the necessary aggression to actually win a fight.

“Four Times Summer is getting back together for the annual CTV Christmas concert! I know you love them too, right?” School-girl giggles erupted on the other end of the line.

Carolyn sank down on the window seat, stared down at the snowy street. Her breath misted on the glass. “Yeah, I love their music a lot.”

“Oh, wow, this is like the best Christmas present ever. You have got to catch this on the Internet.”

“I will.” Carolyn felt her chest constrict, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Then she heard the beep of a call waiting, and she stared down at her phone, at the international number. “Hey, I gotta go - my brother’s on the phone.”

“All right - enjoy your Christmas, and have fun with your family!” Melanie’s voice vanished.

Carolyn had never told Melanie that the only family she’d ever had was a motley crew of roadies, musicians, and government operatives. She switched lines, and then John said,

“You know what the worst part of winter is?”

“The Christmas cheer you so despise and the children who offer you candy canes?”

“Frickin’ Siberia.”

Carolyn could hear his teeth chattering. “What a lame place to be stationed.”

“Yeah, that’s real sympathetic from the girl who’s already retired.”

“Semi-retired,” Carolyn reminded him. “Else I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?”

“Who else would you be talking to on Christmas Eve?”

He hadn’t meant it to be as cutting as it was, but Carolyn felt the blow land anyway. “As always, Mr. Ianevski, you make a fine point.”

“...I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” Carolyn closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the icy glass. “You know what the worst part about winter is?”

“What?”

“How you can never really get warm.”

John’s breath hitched behind the chattering of his teeth. “It’s been three years. He’s forgotten all about you.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“I’ll be back in time for New Year’s, all right? We can go to the Officers’ Ball together.”

Carolyn had to smile at his enthusiasm. “Sure. I’ll dust off my dancing shoes.”

“All right, I have some double agents to kill.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Merry Christmas.”

“Good night.”

Summer and Not Summer

The others had always teased Steve that there were only two seasons in Nevada. Summer and not summer. Steve found it interesting that this mirrored his life during certain periods of time. Happy, and unhappy. Happy; long days on the road, a new book, good music, and now the team. Fighting with the men that he respected and had come to call family. Unhappy; the loss of his father, his mother, his sister going away to school. The loss of his own family. With his stoic attitude, the others never knew, they never guessed, never understood. Steve was winter and summer all in one soul.

Hot and cold, summer and winter. Changing like the seasons.



(Sorry it's short. I am trying to beat my muse into submission, but it's not working...)

Two Autumns Ago, to the Day

Fall in Cedarville was lovely, because the leaves on the trees actually turned colors besides green and the air first thing in the morning was crisp and cool, fresh. As Carolyn crossed campus, textbooks hugged to her chest, she enjoyed the sound of dried leaves crackling beneath her feet.

Fall on the road was Sheila fretting how much the boys had grown and marching them into town to take advantage of back-to-school sales even though the four of them weren’t going back to school. Fall at the Center was five a.m. wake-ups, wading through frigid water, and then hitting the gym for PT while still only half-conscious.

Carolyn had taken advantage of orientation to form a mental map of the law school and the surrounding buildings, and before school had started she’d accessed the city planner’s archives to study actual blueprints of the halls that would be her home for the next three years. This far into her first semester, her feet knew the path to her locker by heart. Sometimes, while she was opening the blue metal door, she was thrown back in time to fall semesters previous when her locker was lined with firearms and knives. She liked the neat stack of books in her locker now, and she occasionally she found herself smiling at them for no good reason.

She had to smile about something these days.

“Hey, Pierce, you coming to the big homecoming kick-off tonight? There’s gonna be booze and fun.” Lola smiled brightly and tossed her hair.

On the other side of her, Suzy rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Remember that Pierce here is a super-prodigy and is barely old enough to vote, let alone drink with us.”

Lola giggled, and her sympathy was blatantly insincere. “My bad! I forgot that while the rest of us were learning how to be human beings you were memorizing back editions of the UCC.”

Carolyn shrugged.

“It’s the first official day of autumn,” she said. “I was going to make homemade cider and listen to the game on the radio.”

Suzy scoffed. “You’re so boring.”

Carolyn shrugged again. “Maybe. I have my fun.” She had every intention of listening to the game and enjoying an autumn evening. At two a.m. Four Times Summers was playing a concert in Taipei, and if she stayed up she’d be able to stream it live on her laptop. Two autumns ago, to the day, was the first time Robert Summers kissed her. She was the only one who’d be celebrating.

(428 words)

Remembering Summer

Bob wasn’t quite sure why he was sitting on a beach, alone, in Thailand, in the middle of summer, other than the fact that Thailand was a country where he was pretty much guaranteed to never hear the name Carolyn again.

The last time he’d been on a beach in summer was...in Hawaii. With his brothers. Surfing during the day and staying up all night writing songs and laying down tracks.

Bob lifted the bottle of amaretto to his lips and discovered that it was half empty. He blinked but sipped some anyway, enjoyed the slow burn. He’d been the last one to take up alcohol once he and the other two had been old enough to drink, and he’d never liked the way Scott came home rip-roaring drunk, but...he understood the draw of the drink, at least.

Bob leaned back against the trunk of the palm tree and watched the white-capped waves beat a steady rhythm against the sand. He was one Moleskine notebook, shotgun, and rainstorm away from being Hemingway.

Despite the breeze, the air was still warm, so Bob shrugged out of his jacket and settled back against the tree. Halfway around the world, Clay was spending his summer on the beach, too. Bob hoped he was having fun.

Bob remembered warm summer nights in the basement in Victoria with his brothers, the four of them crammed into one bed and staring longingly out the window at the lightning bugs they were never allowed to go catch. Scott always gave in first, slid over Clay’s legs and knelt up on Dan’s ribs to open the window and hoist it open, climb out.

Summer nights on the road were a combination of exhaustion and the comforting rhythm of the blacktop rolling beneath the van. One summer night was all three triplets pawing Scott awake and demanding to crawl into bed with him so Dan could get all cried out before Dad pulled back the curtain and sat down to tell them that they wouldn’t be living with Mom anymore. Summer nights on the road were lying awake hoping Carolyn came tapping at his hotel room window and knowing that she’d completed her mission and was off to live her real life.

Summer nights were lying awake on a beach in a foreign country while a group of college kids partied heartily beside a bonfire and he lingered in the shadows.

“Hey there, handsome, should you be drinking alone?”

Bob opened his eyes. One of the college girls stood over him, weaving drunkenly.

“Probably not, but I am.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t own this beach.”

She knelt down beside him. “Hi. My name’s Carolyn.”

Bob closed his eyes, took a long pull from the bottle. “Of course it is.”

(471 words)

Winter in the Soul

Winters in Seattle could be harsh. Bitter winds from the north seem to pierce the body; leaving the very marrow of the bones frozen. Warm breaths puff in front of the people who brave the city streets, looking for Christmas bargains. The enticing aroma of warm hot chocolate and coffee drift from a half dozen shops on the street, beckoning cold and weary shoppers.

David didn't feel the cold. He couldn't remember the cool of spring, the heat of summer; and least of all, the seasons changing from one to the next. Autumn had passed in a hazy orange blur; and summer had been the same, only in shades of green. Nothing much registered anymore. David mechanically put food in his mouth when his body demanded it, slept when he could hardly keep from collapsing, and thought as little as possible. Thinking brought pain.

Winter is a time of hibernation, of dormancy. I think the natural world has it right. Winter is for not thinking. Just survival.

David did not realize when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk; didn't see people shoot him dirty looks before scooting around him. David wore only a thin jacket to ward off the biting wind, and knew in the back of his mind that he was cold; probably close to hypothermia, but he couldn't muster up enough self preservation to care. I should just let the winter take me. I've heard that freezing to death is not so terrible a way to go. You just fall asleep, and that is that. No more pain, no more thought, no more memories.

"Why young man, you look chilled to the bone," a voice said from beside him.

David summoned up just enough curiosity to look around. The voice belonged to an older woman. David thought she was what a grandmother should look like; a bright smile, powdery white hair.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, looking him up and down through dark eyes.

David shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling without any emotion to the gesture.

The woman pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. "Young people these days, no common sense, no thought for taking care of themselves," she muttered, peering into David's face, and drew in a sharp breath when David finally met her eye.

"Come with me boy," She ordered, taking him by the hand. David allowed himself to be lead away; he didn't care where he went, so going with her was no big deal. He let her guide him into one of the shops, let her order him something warm to drink, and let her rub and chaff feeling back into his hands and arms. David's cup rattled against the saucer as his body began to thaw out, a staccato rhythm that echoed his chattering teeth.

"Boy, you have winter in your soul," the woman said gravely, looking him up and down, 'I can see it in your eyes. You've stopped caring, and it will kill you if you let it."

"You're right, I don't care anymore," David's response was choppy from the spastic jerking of his body, responding at last to the warmth of the room.

"Well you should care. I am sure there are people who care for you," she said.

"Not the one that matters. She's gone. She can't come back. And anyway, why should you care?" David said.

"Does a person need a reason to care about another? I want to help you. Help your heart to heal and spring to come again," she said, looking him in the eye.

David blinked and looked away, sipping at his cup of hot chocolate. "You can try," He said finally.

The woman smiled, "My name is Mae."

"David."

Summer of 2005

Joe stepped out of the cool, dim building and into the bright oven that waited beyond the tinted doors. Joe glared up at the sun, irritated by the heat that was radiating both from the celestial body, and from the pavement beneath his feet, rising in shimmering waves. Joe wore the least amount of clothes that was acceptable in the world of the military. Joe slid a pair of sunglasses on and crossed the parking lot to his car, switching on the cooler to full blast as soon as he was settled. He growled under his breath, waiting for the first icy fingers to tickle the sweat rolling down his neck.


Joe hated Summer. The long hot days and muggy, bug filled nights. Hated Summer for the memories. Alec had died during the Summer of '89. Joe had spent that Summer in a daze, mindlessly walking from place to place, no brother for company; he felt hollow, incomplete without him. He caught himself turning to ask Alec a question, only to realize that he wasn't there, and never would be again.

Joe was glad that he was finally off base, he had put in for two weeks leave, and since there appeared to be no pending minor wars that his team would inevitably be shipped off to, his request was granted. Joe slipped an old CD from the visor above his head; it was faded and had many scratches. Joe slid it into the player and cranked up the volume. Music blasted into the cabin of his car, numbing his body from the vibrations, and numbing his mind, from the sheer volume. It was a CD that he and Alec had listened to, the only one he had kept.

Joe pulled onto the interstate after a brief stop at his apartment to pick up his bag, he was headed to Montana for two weeks. A place to relax, remember, and make peace with himself once again. He was heading home.

Summer Brothers

Being off road in the summer wasn't what Clay remembered, but then the last time they'd been off road in the summer he'd been – what, ten years old? And even then, they'd been in Tennessee. None of the boys had been old enough to drive the last time they were in California, so Clay really didn't know his way around. Clay was pretty sure that no one was going to recognize him since this was America, and on the off-chance someone might, it’d be difficult, given that Clay didn’t have any of his brothers with him. He didn't want to feed a cliché, but he and Bob were twins, and despite Dan being a fraternal triplet, he and Bob were Clay-and-Bob, and Clay felt a little…hollow and exposed without his other half.

That was probably how he ended up sitting alone on the edge of the sand at Venice Beach, doing his best to ignore the bikini-clad girls who zoomed by on rollerblades and the muscle-bound oafs pumping iron beneath the sun. Clay had a beat-up old guitar across his knees and was trying to figure out the chords to some of the songs he used to sing with his brothers. Music was comfortable, familiar, and if he closed his eyes while he sang, he could pretend Bob was with him.

The sun on his face was warm, tingled on his skin, and he wondered idly if he’d end up with a tan. He remembered surfing in Hawaii with his brothers while they laid down tracks for their final album, and suddenly he itched to go into the water. Summer was about laughing and dunking Dan off his board, teasing Scott while he tried to flirt with hula dancers at bonfires on the beach in the evenings, daring Bob to shin up a palm tree and bring down coconuts.

Summer was brothers.

Clay opened his eyes and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Then he dialed.

“Hello?” Bob sounded sleepy.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“What’s up, man, are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just...wanna help me write a song?”

He could practically hear Bob’s smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’d love to.”

Summer was sitting on the beach in a circle, Bob tapping rhythms on his knees, Dan keeping the harmony, while Clay and Scott squabbled over the guitar hook.

It’s just another phase that I’ll go through. This time I’m sure I’ll lose you.

(410 words - lyrics a blatant snatch from "Submodalities")

Autumn Pleasures

Mark zipped up his jacket against the chill air as he stepped outside the apartment he shared with his twin. The air smelled crisp, as if you could bite into it like a perfectly ripe apple. There was a clean quality to the light, as if undiffused by any atmosphere. The leaves on the old maple in the yard were turning red, and others along the street were various shades of orange and yellow. At the end of the block, the street dead-ended into a corn field, half of the stalks still stood tall, burdened with the heavy ears, the other half of the field was stubble, large machined rumbling up and down the rows, sheering off the corn at the base.

Mark whistled random tunes as he walked down the street, heading toward the military base. It was a good five miles away, but he didn't mind. Autumn was the perfect time of year, and he was going to enjoy every second he could.

Springtime in Calgary

Springtime in Calgary was sharply cold first thing in the morning, and Dan could see puffs of his own breath in the air as he jogged down the icy sidewalk. The snow melted periodically, and then refroze into its own deathtrap, the last vestiges of winter clinging to the ankles of humanity and trying to throw people into the gutter.

Dan tilted his head up as he jogged and smiled when he saw new small green leaves slowly uncurling on the boughs overhead. He couldn’t wait until the blossoms arrived, because then he could pause by the wayside and gather wildflowers to take home to Joey. Joey, who was still asleep, curled around Dan’s pillow and snoring like a freight train.

These days Dan liked to get up early and run, get his homework done before he headed down to the police station for his shift as morning dispatcher. Joey preferred the laziness of summer, but somehow Dan had grown into the chipperness of spring, and besides, this spring meant spring semester, his final one before he was a proud purveyor of a criminal justice degree and could apply at the police academy.

Dan hummed along to the tune of a bird’s song, automatically kicking his voice into a harmony as he headed toward the end of the block. Scott, drunk off his rocker, had laughed himself senseless when Dan called to tell him of his master plan to become a police officer, to protect and serve, but Bob, winter-pale and frail in his hospital bed had been smiling and supportive of, well, everything.

Dan paused at the corner to wait for the light to change and tipped his head back, felt the first real warmth of the spring sun on his face. He liked spring because everything was new, and this year, he was going to be a new man. On campus, no one looked twice at him anymore, and in his spiffy dispatcher’s uniform no one thought he might be the keyboard player from Four Times Summer. He was just Dan Summers, student and part-time dispatcher, and he loved it.

(354 words - I've actually never been to Calgary and have no idea what it's like in spring, but in my head, Canada is abominably cold compared to where I've lived in the States)

Spring Run

Bryan like spring the best. All through the Winter he always felt lethargic. He knew it was jut in his mind, but when the days started getting longer, he couldn't help feeling lighter, more active.

Bryan stepped outside, it was early morning, a chill nip in the air lingering until the sun came fully over the horizon. Yawning, he rubbed his arms briskly, and started stretching. Left, right, forward, he limbered up his limbs, shaking the fatigue from his body. Popping his neck and swinging his arms in front of him, Bryan began to jog down the street, setting a steady pace, breathing slow and constant, heart pumping out a regular rhythm.

Bryan's shoes echoed softly, the quiet thump-thump-thump of his pace almost drowned out by the call of the morning birds, the gentle warming breeze rustling the trees.

The air was saturated with the smell of tulips and other spring time flowers as Bryan slowed, cresting a hill. Looking down into a softly sloping valley Bryan could see the new growth on the trees, it was one of his favorite spots.

Bryan walked slowly down the hill, enjoying everything and welcoming life back to the world.

Winterscape

It hadn’t been an easy decision to call it quits. Scott could still see Dan’s broken-hearted expression whenever he closed his eyes, but it had to be done. Dad still wasn’t talking to Dan, and Clay was helping Dan sneak his stuff out in the middle of the night so Dan could move in with Joey.

The answer was to escape. Escape long and hard. White Horse was the obvious answer, an endless winterscape where he could hide from the sun. Scott moved out just after Christmas - which hadn’t been much of a Christmas, with Bob in the hospital and half of the family not talking to each other.

Scott couldn’t remember White Horse at all, just knew that he’d been born there. He had a plan, and it was a solid one, and it involved being as drunk as possible for as long as possible. A season - he’d give himself one season, and then it would be done.

The house was small and ramshackle and in desperate need of fixing up, but Scott didn’t care. He had a week’s worth of clothes and a lumpy old mattress and his guitar, and he surfaced one day a week to do laundry and clean while he was hung over. Sometimes there were girls, sometimes the girls were just in his dreams.

He woke up half-frozen on the porch more than a couple of times, tear-tracks frozen on his skin and his vodka pleasantly icy.

After the first month he started finding scraps of paper and bottle labels with lyrics and chords scribbled on them, songs he didn’t remember but that resonated pleasantly in the back of his skull when he tried them out.

By the second month he was sober during what few daylight hours glinted off the pale snow, writing feverishly. He cobbled together an old laptop and some recording equipment. A message posted on a board online netted him sound samples and random instruments, but he still spent his moonlight hours wasted, in the arms of the green fairy.

By the end of the third month, the days were getting longer, and his hangovers were jump-started by the cheerful chirping of a bird.

His season was up.

Overview #36: On Death and Dying

This challenge was fun. And I'll admit - it was also sort of an excuse to work a decent plot-line on Bob. There were honestly a couple of different ways I could go with this, since I could've gone for grieving Carolyn, but I didn't think a break-up really warranted the stages of grief. I wasn't sure that, given how shiny and treatable leukemia is these days, Bob's situation really warranted all the stages of grief, but I also remember being a teenager and blowing things out of proportion, and also, treatable or not, there are no guarantees with something like cancer. Also, I needed a good reason for Bob to put Carolyn on the back burner despite how much he loves her.

Still, it was interesting, focusing on a specific emotion and doing what I could with it, and it gave me a chance to explore characters further, and not just Bob's.

Project # 37: Changing of the Seasons

Take your characters through a change of seasons. It could be that Bob has always loved winter because he can cuddle with Carolyn more, or Scott likes summer because he can go about without a shirt on. You can use this to represent a change in the character themselves, the changing of one season to the next. It could be simply an observed process, or maybe one of your characters has spring allergies.


Have fun.

Overview #36: On Death and Dying

Okay. I did get them all written this week. Most of them were weak, but I got my word count in. I figured that Joe needed some love. he kinds gets left out a lot. But when I do use him, he gets abused.

I did like Nagi's suggestion of him turning warrior to priest even though this bit takes place long before he joins the military.

I think I found it tougher to write some of the stages of grief, because I don't grieve myself in that manner. But it was a good exercise in that I had to deal with a character that would pass through those stages.

Goodbyes

"You know Alec, we always had such a great time together. I wish it could have gone on forever," Joe leaned over the edge of his brothers bed, holding his hand. "I'm not sure what I'll do without you Superman. I guess now is the time to find out. I don't know if you are still here, if you can here or understand what I am saying to you; but I don't want you chained to a body that would be dead without these machines. I guess it's time to let you go. Time to stand on my own two feet. Will you be with me Alec? Will you look after me in whatever form you are in now?" Joe ignored the people who were coming in and out of the room.

Joe stood up eventually, he had said all he needed to, given his last goodbye. He could feel Jen somewhere in the room, but ignored her as well. Joe turned one last time at the door, taking in his brother, remembering him as he really was, not swathed in medical equipment, but the free, laughing, smiling youth. The boy-man with the bright green eyes, and dark hair. The one riding down the street on his motorcycle, the one doing magic tricks, the one teaching Joe to fight.

"I love you Alec."

460,000

"Joseph?" came the hesitant voice of Jen from the doorway.

"Go away," Joe said. He sounded tired, miserable.

"Joe, is there anything I can do for you?" Jen asked, edging into the room. Joe was defiantly calmer than he was before.

"Not unless you can wake him up. Not unless you can undo what has been done," Joe said, not bothering to look up. He felt rather than saw her shake her head.

Joe drew in a shuddering breath, "I guess it doesn't really matter. I guess in my heart of hearts, I knew it could never last. Alec was the best brother anyone could have asked for. And he is slipping away. Nothing I can do could bring him back, so why bother. I am sure you have other patients to see to, other people you can help. It makes no sense for you to waste your time on us," Joe finished quietly. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

He felt Jen still hovering in the door. Watching him. "You know, I have counted four hundred and sixty thousand breaths that that machine has pumped into his body. Nothing helps. I have seen those fluid bags changed fifty times. Nothing helps," Joe said.

"Nothing."