“Catch!” Scott tossed the baseball.
Bob caught it easily with one hand. “No ball in the house - you know the rules.” He kicked off his sneakers and nudged them against the wall between Clay and Dan’s shoes, padded toward the kitchen.
“Hey Danny, did you set the table?” he called in the general direction of the stairs.
Shelley said, “Dinner’s all ready as soon as you’ve washed your hands.”
Bob came up short. Scott crashed into his back.
Shelley stood in the doorway of the kitchen. She wore an apron and held a wooden spoon.
Bob blinked. “I didn’t realize you and Dad would be back from your honeymoon so soon.” He scratched his head nervously. “We’d have, uh, cleaned up a little bit if we’d known --”
“It’s fine,” Shelley said. “I have to do my part in the household now too, right?” Her smile was a touch too bright. “Your dad told me you love homemade pizza.”
Scott opened his mouth to ask if she’d used their mother’s recipe, and Bob dug an elbow into his ribs.
“Yeah. We do. Uh...need one of us to set the table? Dad has regular chores for us when we’re off the road,” Bob said.
Again with the too-bright smile. “Nope. I got it. Our first big family dinner, after all.”
“Yeah,” Scott said, tone suspicious.
Bob backed away, tugged Scott with him. “We’ll go wash our hands.”
(237 words)
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Liquid Void
Joe was unsure what to make of the strange new sensations he was experiencing. All around him was a liquid void; clear, yet dim to his eyes. He could hear clearly the hiss of air as he drew in a breath and was fascinated with the bubbles that started so small when he exhaled, but grew to resemble mushroom clouds of air. Joe reached out one hand and batted at one of the blossoming bubbles. It exploded into micro bubbles. He smiled behind his respirator and hit another one.
He could see Steve just below him, cruising along with the current slowly. As Steve exhaled and the bubbles drifted up towards him, Joe removed his own mouthpiece and breathed in the bubble of air. Delighted, Joe almost forgot himself and laughed, but he remembered to replace his respirator.
Joe deflated his BCD just a little and sunk lower, passing the thermocline into colder waters, coming along side of Steve as his friend studied a bit of rock formation.
Steve turned to look at the younger man, peering out through a slightly fogged mask. He tapped Joe's air dial and motioned that it was time for them to return to the surface. Joe nodded and began to rise lazily, passing into the warmer waters just below the surface of the lake.
After surfacing, Joe removed his mouth piece, "that was amazing! Can we do it again?" he asked.
"Sure," Steve said, "let's go get more air."
He could see Steve just below him, cruising along with the current slowly. As Steve exhaled and the bubbles drifted up towards him, Joe removed his own mouthpiece and breathed in the bubble of air. Delighted, Joe almost forgot himself and laughed, but he remembered to replace his respirator.
Joe deflated his BCD just a little and sunk lower, passing the thermocline into colder waters, coming along side of Steve as his friend studied a bit of rock formation.
Steve turned to look at the younger man, peering out through a slightly fogged mask. He tapped Joe's air dial and motioned that it was time for them to return to the surface. Joe nodded and began to rise lazily, passing into the warmer waters just below the surface of the lake.
After surfacing, Joe removed his mouth piece, "that was amazing! Can we do it again?" he asked.
"Sure," Steve said, "let's go get more air."
Light and Empty Air
Stone had a kind of impatience to it-
like Eddy's solid stare, he knew the rock and
the wind better than me.
Would rather be telling it what to do, rather tossing an
errant pebble into the black sea.
-rather maybe toss me.
Lights like blood in vein and
dark punched out by star stare, he waited
on a tall building worry free.
With a wave of nothing between us
he beckoned down the black street.
-time to jump, to let my death free.
Before he could push me, I jumped-
and did not die-
but wish to the moon I had.
like Eddy's solid stare, he knew the rock and
the wind better than me.
Would rather be telling it what to do, rather tossing an
errant pebble into the black sea.
-rather maybe toss me.
Lights like blood in vein and
dark punched out by star stare, he waited
on a tall building worry free.
With a wave of nothing between us
he beckoned down the black street.
-time to jump, to let my death free.
Before he could push me, I jumped-
and did not die-
but wish to the moon I had.
Empty Kitchen
Scott threw the door open and kicked off his shoes, barreled into the kitchen with a holler of, “Mom!”
He drew up short when the kitchen was empty. The triplets crashed into his back, and there was a cacophony of yelps and protests.
“I got dinner, boys,” Kevin said.
All four of them turned and stared at their father, at the bags of take-out he was trying to juggle. Scott swallowed hard and turned back to the empty kitchen. As one, the four brothers burst into the kitchen and tore through the cupboards, the drawers, but everything was finally gone - Mom’s favorite pans, the glass bowls she’d gotten from Grandma, her best knives.
The boys had been forced to wait outside of the courtroom while their father and mother finished talking to the judge, and they’d listened to their mother say she’d get the rest of her things, be “out of their hair” by tonight, but they hadn’t expected her to be quite so gone.
Kevin set the bags of food down on the kitchen table. “Scotty, get some plates.”
The boys stared at each other. Kevin huffed, impatient.
“Scotty, Clay, I said plates.”
Dan shook his head. “Níl ocras.” And he turned and headed for the stairs. His brothers followed.
When Kevin went to check on them hours later, they were all crammed onto Scott’s bed, curled around each other like a pile of puppies, faces wet from crying.
Kevin had heard the first night was the worst.
(250 words - Irish is "not hungry", or an approximation thereof)
He drew up short when the kitchen was empty. The triplets crashed into his back, and there was a cacophony of yelps and protests.
“I got dinner, boys,” Kevin said.
All four of them turned and stared at their father, at the bags of take-out he was trying to juggle. Scott swallowed hard and turned back to the empty kitchen. As one, the four brothers burst into the kitchen and tore through the cupboards, the drawers, but everything was finally gone - Mom’s favorite pans, the glass bowls she’d gotten from Grandma, her best knives.
The boys had been forced to wait outside of the courtroom while their father and mother finished talking to the judge, and they’d listened to their mother say she’d get the rest of her things, be “out of their hair” by tonight, but they hadn’t expected her to be quite so gone.
Kevin set the bags of food down on the kitchen table. “Scotty, get some plates.”
The boys stared at each other. Kevin huffed, impatient.
“Scotty, Clay, I said plates.”
Dan shook his head. “Níl ocras.” And he turned and headed for the stairs. His brothers followed.
When Kevin went to check on them hours later, they were all crammed onto Scott’s bed, curled around each other like a pile of puppies, faces wet from crying.
Kevin had heard the first night was the worst.
(250 words - Irish is "not hungry", or an approximation thereof)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Midnight
Bryan settled into the plush chair in the dim room. He let his eyes wander as the room began to fill with people, people dressed nicely. Bryan sunk a little in his chair, feeling under dressed. He was a bit surprised at how many people were walking in. He turned to Mark beside him, "Seriously, what are we doing here?" he asked.
"Keep your voice down," Mark whispered, "It's impolite to be so loud."
"When you said you were taking me out, I didn't think I was going to feel so out of place. Couldn't we have gone to a club or something? Someplace with music?" Bryan asked in a lower voice.
"There will be music," Mark said and smiled cryptically.
"What kind of music?" Bryan asked as he perked up at the thought.
"You'll see," Mark smiled.
"It better not be lame," Bryan warned.
"Shh, it's about to start," Mark said.
The curtains rose and Bryan rolled his eyes when he heard the first strains of orchestral music, but quickly fell under the spell of the powerfully driven music and the voices. He looked down once at his playbill that he had ignored up to this point.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra Presents:
Beethoven's Last Night.
Mark had to nudge Bryan when the performance was over to get him to move at all.
Bryan stood up slowly, "I..." he said, unable to articulate his feelings.
Mark threw an arm around his twins shoulders, "I told you you would like it," he said.
"Keep your voice down," Mark whispered, "It's impolite to be so loud."
"When you said you were taking me out, I didn't think I was going to feel so out of place. Couldn't we have gone to a club or something? Someplace with music?" Bryan asked in a lower voice.
"There will be music," Mark said and smiled cryptically.
"What kind of music?" Bryan asked as he perked up at the thought.
"You'll see," Mark smiled.
"It better not be lame," Bryan warned.
"Shh, it's about to start," Mark said.
The curtains rose and Bryan rolled his eyes when he heard the first strains of orchestral music, but quickly fell under the spell of the powerfully driven music and the voices. He looked down once at his playbill that he had ignored up to this point.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra Presents:
Beethoven's Last Night.
Mark had to nudge Bryan when the performance was over to get him to move at all.
Bryan stood up slowly, "I..." he said, unable to articulate his feelings.
Mark threw an arm around his twins shoulders, "I told you you would like it," he said.
Thinking and Not Thinking
Carolyn thought about it up until the moment she first did it. She spotted him at the back of a crowd in Louisiana, but she hadn’t been able to get away at first because Kevin was in need of her translation services. She hopped from foot to foot and translated banal French conversation until Kevin noticed her impatience and cut her loose.
She considered her options as she skirted around the edge of the crowd. Would it take stabbing, shooting, or bare hands?
With all of the screaming and cheering little girls, no one would notice her; she was one fan in a throng of hundreds. It was easy to herd him away from the crowd, down an alley, especially one that was a perfect setup for a sniper.
The Orphaneers were running at half-tilt if they didn’t think the Janissaries had multiple operatives in play. Carolyn signalled John before she cut away from the group; hopefully this would be done before the brothers noticed she was missing.
Specs and procedure ran through her mind; she had to make it silent and quick, dismantle all the common methods of identification (face, teeth, fingerprints), then call in a cleanup team.
She was behind him for a full thirty seconds plotting her options before he even realized she was there; stabbing it was.
And then she stopped thinking.
When she was thinking again, it was to wipe her bloody hands on his shirt and use his radio to call the Janitors.
(250 words)
She considered her options as she skirted around the edge of the crowd. Would it take stabbing, shooting, or bare hands?
With all of the screaming and cheering little girls, no one would notice her; she was one fan in a throng of hundreds. It was easy to herd him away from the crowd, down an alley, especially one that was a perfect setup for a sniper.
The Orphaneers were running at half-tilt if they didn’t think the Janissaries had multiple operatives in play. Carolyn signalled John before she cut away from the group; hopefully this would be done before the brothers noticed she was missing.
Specs and procedure ran through her mind; she had to make it silent and quick, dismantle all the common methods of identification (face, teeth, fingerprints), then call in a cleanup team.
She was behind him for a full thirty seconds plotting her options before he even realized she was there; stabbing it was.
And then she stopped thinking.
When she was thinking again, it was to wipe her bloody hands on his shirt and use his radio to call the Janitors.
(250 words)
Monday, September 14, 2009
Are you Ready?
"I'm not sure about this David," Ariana said.
"I'm sure you'll love it." David said with a charming smile as he reached for her.
"Well, I'm not sure I'm ready for it," Ariana said stepping back just a little.
"Your first time might as well be with me," David said, stepping a little closer.
"I'm scared," Ariana whispered.
"Everyone is the first time," David replied as he held out an inviting hand to her.
Ariana hesitated for a moment longer.
"Don't you trust me?" David asked, his smile faltering just a bit.
"Of course I trust you," Ariana said as she placed her hand in his. There was no one she trusted more.
"I won't hurt you," David promised as he drew her closer to him.
"I know you won't," Ariana whispered as her arms snaked around his waist.
"Are you ready?" David whispered in her ear.
"Yes," Ariana said.
"Then let's do it."
Ariana closed her eyes and let the sensations carry her away.
"Open your eyes or you are going to miss the whole thing," David said.
Ariana opened her eyes and watched the scenery flash past from the back of David's motorcycle.
"I'm sure you'll love it." David said with a charming smile as he reached for her.
"Well, I'm not sure I'm ready for it," Ariana said stepping back just a little.
"Your first time might as well be with me," David said, stepping a little closer.
"I'm scared," Ariana whispered.
"Everyone is the first time," David replied as he held out an inviting hand to her.
Ariana hesitated for a moment longer.
"Don't you trust me?" David asked, his smile faltering just a bit.
"Of course I trust you," Ariana said as she placed her hand in his. There was no one she trusted more.
"I won't hurt you," David promised as he drew her closer to him.
"I know you won't," Ariana whispered as her arms snaked around his waist.
"Are you ready?" David whispered in her ear.
"Yes," Ariana said.
"Then let's do it."
Ariana closed her eyes and let the sensations carry her away.
"Open your eyes or you are going to miss the whole thing," David said.
Ariana opened her eyes and watched the scenery flash past from the back of David's motorcycle.
Dreadfully Anticlimactic
Ben tasted like the bad coffee in the training hall and menthol candy; he had a cold. Carolyn was pretty sure she wouldn’t catch it from him, but nonetheless she was dubious about kissing him.
And kissing him she was, quite solidly on the mouth, a press of lips that seemed to take forever and was hardly rife with the fireworks and swell of violin music that was always in the movies. She wasn’t sure if she should try to breathe through her nose lest she accidentally snort on her partner, but she was running out of oxygen and didn’t know just how long a kiss was supposed to last.
As far as first kisses went, this one was dreadfully anticlimactic.
Then Ben’s lips parted, and Carolyn felt the swipe of his tongue, and she jerked back.
“Ew!” She scrubbed a hand across the back of her mouth.
“You’re fifteen,” Ben said. “Boys don’t have cooties.”
“She’s been playing a tomboy for the past six years - give her a break,” John said. “It takes some getting used to, but on the off chance one of the brothers tries to kiss you, you can’t punch him in the face.”
“She punched me before I kissed her,” Ben pointed out.
John crossed his arms over his chest. “Try it again.”
(218 words)
And kissing him she was, quite solidly on the mouth, a press of lips that seemed to take forever and was hardly rife with the fireworks and swell of violin music that was always in the movies. She wasn’t sure if she should try to breathe through her nose lest she accidentally snort on her partner, but she was running out of oxygen and didn’t know just how long a kiss was supposed to last.
As far as first kisses went, this one was dreadfully anticlimactic.
Then Ben’s lips parted, and Carolyn felt the swipe of his tongue, and she jerked back.
“Ew!” She scrubbed a hand across the back of her mouth.
“You’re fifteen,” Ben said. “Boys don’t have cooties.”
“She’s been playing a tomboy for the past six years - give her a break,” John said. “It takes some getting used to, but on the off chance one of the brothers tries to kiss you, you can’t punch him in the face.”
“She punched me before I kissed her,” Ben pointed out.
John crossed his arms over his chest. “Try it again.”
(218 words)
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Rules 3.1
Here it is, another modification to our rules! (Hopefully they won't get too complicated and people are keeping up. Let me know if this business starts to look like the library of Congress.)
Awed Awake inadvertently suggested something that I should have thought of before, so kudos to her for having common sense. The rule on prizes has changed: if you issue a challenge in a given week, you get to pick the winner...and you also get to write the prize. (Saves me the dilemma of having to write for myself.) Reply to this post and let your fellow writers know what fandoms you can write in, what fandoms you won't write in, what types of stories you won't write, and where you will post your shiny gold medals. So we don't overburden each other, prizes are limited to 500 words, but a winner can request a poem if she likes. (Let's face it - all the players at this point are female.)
Awed Awake inadvertently suggested something that I should have thought of before, so kudos to her for having common sense. The rule on prizes has changed: if you issue a challenge in a given week, you get to pick the winner...and you also get to write the prize. (Saves me the dilemma of having to write for myself.) Reply to this post and let your fellow writers know what fandoms you can write in, what fandoms you won't write in, what types of stories you won't write, and where you will post your shiny gold medals. So we don't overburden each other, prizes are limited to 500 words, but a winner can request a poem if she likes. (Let's face it - all the players at this point are female.)
Challenge #42 Virginal
Ok, let me try this once more...
The title of this weeks challenge need not have anything to do with sex, in fact I would commend you if kept clear of that subject all together. Not to promote censorship, just originality. Anyone can write that scene, what I want from you is the first time at something. It can be a first date or the first time behind the wheel.
Go nuts.
Oh, and your max word count is 250. ^.^
The title of this weeks challenge need not have anything to do with sex, in fact I would commend you if kept clear of that subject all together. Not to promote censorship, just originality. Anyone can write that scene, what I want from you is the first time at something. It can be a first date or the first time behind the wheel.
Go nuts.
Oh, and your max word count is 250. ^.^
Overview #41: Hobbies
Wow. This was surprisingly hard and reminded me how little I know some things about my characters. I gave Dan collecting random foreign currency because, well, when I was a kid, that's what I did, and I can see Dan having that same sentimentality going on. I let Clay be a chess genius because, well, I figured he deserved more love than angsting over his twin brother's girlfriend. I figured Scott and poetry would be a fun one because it does make sense, given how he's a bit of an esoteric lyricist ("without orchids in my pockets" anyone at all?), and also I have awesome memories of late nights with my girls reading random snatches of poetry to each other. (I shall confess I totally stole the poetry I used off of the HN poetry thread.) I couldn't think of a hobby for Carolyn that wasn't something combat-related, and I guess I didn't want to harp on her agent-ness too much (although, in retrospect, Agent!Carolyn doesn't really get enough love, does she?), and I couldn't think of any decent hobbies for Bob that didn't include drawing (seemed unlikely), so I went for creative dating. Kind of a hobby, right? I figured Dinah needed some love, and I remember how much my mom liked playing with my hair and trying out new braids, so I wove that in there. Plus Bob did have such pretty long hair back in the day. Listening to music in the dark is totally something I still do, and I have some awesome memories of hanging out with my friend Karen, blissing out to music and nothing more. Also, raw and obscure but totally fangirl music is definitely a hobby of mine these days. ("Curtains Are Moving." On YouTube. The girl cover is pretty good, and Iris Campo's is good, but the desolation in the original is for the win.)
Still, this was a good chance to explore my characters, and I think they're progressing pretty well.
Also, I think I win this week, but that's technically up to Madness.
Oooh, what will I write for myself? I might have to steal Hotch from Chanita...
Still, this was a good chance to explore my characters, and I think they're progressing pretty well.
Also, I think I win this week, but that's technically up to Madness.
Oooh, what will I write for myself? I might have to steal Hotch from Chanita...
Music in Darkness
Carolyn went in stages. First, she’d punch her way through her homework, studying as hard and fast as possible. Unfortunately, she was ridiculously fast as it was, and she’d be done too soon. Then she’d hit the gym and work out, practicing kicks and punches up on the high beam to test her balance. When she was finally exhausted, Melanie would find her sprawled on the floor of the den with all the blinds closed and all the lights off, listening to music.
Carolyn had a habit of listening to raw music, demos and one-takes of songs by random people Melanie had never heard of.
“Why do you do it?” Melanie asked. “The music, I mean.”
The crazy studying and working out was obvious - it was Carolyn’s way of coping with stress. Melanie sort of envied Carolyn’s ability to turn her stress into productivity.
“If I cut off all my other senses, I can fully absorb the song. Taste it on the tip of my tongue, feel it in my bones.” Carolyn smiled and tugged off her headphones. “For three-odd minutes, it’s like being in another world.”
“Where do you find this music, anyway? I’ve never heard of any of these bands.” Melanie squinted at the names scrawled on the surface of the burned CD.
Carolyn held out her headphones. “Close your eyes and listen to their voices and see if you recognize any of them, hm?”
Melanie accepted the headphones and laid back on the hardwood floor, closed her eyes. Then she let the song wash over her. She didn’t recognize the lyrics or the voice, but the song was soothing. It came with its own brand of melancholy and optimism, and at the end of a day like today, Melanie could see why Carolyn liked it.
“I only heard one voice.” Melanie tugged off the headphones.
“What? Oh. Wrong version of the right song.” Carolyn shuffled through her CDs. “Here - try this one. Raw studio track, but decent nonetheless.”
Melanie closed her eyes and tugged on the headphones, lay back and wait for the music to wash over her. It was like being in another world. She could feel the beat in her bones - and the song had a surprisingly heavy back beat - and the guitar notes dancing across her skin.
And the voices - she almost missed the switch from verse to chorus, from one singer to another. If she focused on each note, each syllable, she felt like she was floating. Floating back to a place in her youth when there was no stress, no finals, no student loans, just happy pop music.
The song ended, and she opened her eyes. “That was...I can see why you do it.”
Carolyn grinned. “Did you recognize their voices?”
“Should I have?”
Carolyn shrugged. “If you didn’t, it’s no big deal.”
Some internet searching later, Melanie learned that same same was not the name of a band, but Thai slang for twins.
(495 words - I love the cover version of this song, but I like the original, too)
Carolyn had a habit of listening to raw music, demos and one-takes of songs by random people Melanie had never heard of.
“Why do you do it?” Melanie asked. “The music, I mean.”
The crazy studying and working out was obvious - it was Carolyn’s way of coping with stress. Melanie sort of envied Carolyn’s ability to turn her stress into productivity.
“If I cut off all my other senses, I can fully absorb the song. Taste it on the tip of my tongue, feel it in my bones.” Carolyn smiled and tugged off her headphones. “For three-odd minutes, it’s like being in another world.”
“Where do you find this music, anyway? I’ve never heard of any of these bands.” Melanie squinted at the names scrawled on the surface of the burned CD.
Carolyn held out her headphones. “Close your eyes and listen to their voices and see if you recognize any of them, hm?”
Melanie accepted the headphones and laid back on the hardwood floor, closed her eyes. Then she let the song wash over her. She didn’t recognize the lyrics or the voice, but the song was soothing. It came with its own brand of melancholy and optimism, and at the end of a day like today, Melanie could see why Carolyn liked it.
“I only heard one voice.” Melanie tugged off the headphones.
“What? Oh. Wrong version of the right song.” Carolyn shuffled through her CDs. “Here - try this one. Raw studio track, but decent nonetheless.”
Melanie closed her eyes and tugged on the headphones, lay back and wait for the music to wash over her. It was like being in another world. She could feel the beat in her bones - and the song had a surprisingly heavy back beat - and the guitar notes dancing across her skin.
And the voices - she almost missed the switch from verse to chorus, from one singer to another. If she focused on each note, each syllable, she felt like she was floating. Floating back to a place in her youth when there was no stress, no finals, no student loans, just happy pop music.
The song ended, and she opened her eyes. “That was...I can see why you do it.”
Carolyn grinned. “Did you recognize their voices?”
“Should I have?”
Carolyn shrugged. “If you didn’t, it’s no big deal.”
Some internet searching later, Melanie learned that same same was not the name of a band, but Thai slang for twins.
(495 words - I love the cover version of this song, but I like the original, too)
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Into Nothing
Steve checked over his equipment meticulously as the large aircraft rose into the bright blue sky. He hummed to himself, the sound indecipherable beneath the roar of the engines, as he strapped his pack into place. Steve snapped the harness into place and tugged on the straps to tighten it in place.
He glanced at his watch, reaffirming the time and took a deep breath as he stepped to the bay door. The wind snatched at his clothes, ghostly fingers plucking at his jumpsuit, as he stood on the thin metal surface beneath him.
Steve felt his watch vibrate. He slid his goggles into place and his eyes slid closed as he stepped out into nothing.
Steve knew by instinct when he should open his eyes to watch the ground approaching. He felt a release inside him that only a free fall could give him. A sense of absolute freedom even as he felt the ground rushing towards him.
Steve opened his eyes and positioned his body. He pulled on the rip chord that would activate his chute and slow his decent. Steve idly watched the ground drift towards him, bracing himself for touchdown. He pulled on the chords that would flair his chute and he met the ground as gently as if a feather was falling.
He glanced at his watch, reaffirming the time and took a deep breath as he stepped to the bay door. The wind snatched at his clothes, ghostly fingers plucking at his jumpsuit, as he stood on the thin metal surface beneath him.
Steve felt his watch vibrate. He slid his goggles into place and his eyes slid closed as he stepped out into nothing.
Steve knew by instinct when he should open his eyes to watch the ground approaching. He felt a release inside him that only a free fall could give him. A sense of absolute freedom even as he felt the ground rushing towards him.
Steve opened his eyes and positioned his body. He pulled on the rip chord that would activate his chute and slow his decent. Steve idly watched the ground drift towards him, bracing himself for touchdown. He pulled on the chords that would flair his chute and he met the ground as gently as if a feather was falling.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Mothers and Daughters
“Hold still, Robert,” Dinah said.
Bob sighed but obediently stopped squirming. “Mom, I wanna go play catch with Scotty and Clay.”
“You promised.” Dinah separated the lock of hair into three sections and set about braiding it carefully.
“I’m gonna look like a girl,” Bob said.
Dinah dropped a section, and the entire braid unraveled. She had to bite back a curse. “Come on, sweetie. I don’t have any daughters whose hair I can play with, and you have such long hair...”
“I could cut my hair and look like Clay.” Bob drummed a fast roll on his knees, impatient.
“You want to rob your mama of some innocent fun?” Dinah cooed.
“Mom...”
Carolyn poked her head into the bus. “Hi, Mrs. Summers. Robbie - Scotty and Danny want a third baseman.”
Bob perked up, and Dinah lost control of his hair again. “We have enough for a full game?”
“Yeah. Our team is fielding.”
Bob wriggled free of his mother’s grip and turned. “Can’t I go play, Mama? Please?”
Dinah sighed and threw her hands up. “Go on, child.”
Bob pecked a kiss on her check and darted past Carolyn, off of the bus. Dinah stared at her hands for a moment, then said,
“You don’t have any dolls do you, Carolyn?”
It was a fruitless question. Dinah didn’t spend nearly as much time on the road with her sons as she’d like, but she’d been with them long enough to know that the boys thought of Carolyn as the fifth brother they’d always wanted.
Carolyn blinked at her, then said, “If you want, you can braid my hair. Can you do French braids?”
Dinah shook her head. “Never learned. Never had daughters.”
Carolyn climbed into the bus and sat down at Dinah’s feet. She tugged her hair out of its messy ponytail and reached up, parted her hair neatly down the middle. “It looks good with pigtails if you do it like this.”
Dinah watched, intrigued, and Carolyn tied up her own hair. “Where’d you learn how to do this, honey?”
Carolyn cast a cryptic smile over her shoulder. “You don’t think John braids hair, do you?”
That made Dinah laugh. “You got a point there, sugar. So, show me how to do that.”
Carolyn turned around. “Start up near my hair-line. Tell me to tip my head back if you need to. Separate it into three sections like an ordinary braid.”
Dinah nodded. “All right. Let me get a comb, though. I should comb your hair.”
“Good idea. It feels nice when someone combs my hair.” Carolyn settled back against Dinah’s knees, and Dinah felt something in her chest tighten. Every now and again, she forgot that Carolyn had no mother.
“Here, child. I’ve got a comb.”
(460 words)
Bob sighed but obediently stopped squirming. “Mom, I wanna go play catch with Scotty and Clay.”
“You promised.” Dinah separated the lock of hair into three sections and set about braiding it carefully.
“I’m gonna look like a girl,” Bob said.
Dinah dropped a section, and the entire braid unraveled. She had to bite back a curse. “Come on, sweetie. I don’t have any daughters whose hair I can play with, and you have such long hair...”
“I could cut my hair and look like Clay.” Bob drummed a fast roll on his knees, impatient.
“You want to rob your mama of some innocent fun?” Dinah cooed.
“Mom...”
Carolyn poked her head into the bus. “Hi, Mrs. Summers. Robbie - Scotty and Danny want a third baseman.”
Bob perked up, and Dinah lost control of his hair again. “We have enough for a full game?”
“Yeah. Our team is fielding.”
Bob wriggled free of his mother’s grip and turned. “Can’t I go play, Mama? Please?”
Dinah sighed and threw her hands up. “Go on, child.”
Bob pecked a kiss on her check and darted past Carolyn, off of the bus. Dinah stared at her hands for a moment, then said,
“You don’t have any dolls do you, Carolyn?”
It was a fruitless question. Dinah didn’t spend nearly as much time on the road with her sons as she’d like, but she’d been with them long enough to know that the boys thought of Carolyn as the fifth brother they’d always wanted.
Carolyn blinked at her, then said, “If you want, you can braid my hair. Can you do French braids?”
Dinah shook her head. “Never learned. Never had daughters.”
Carolyn climbed into the bus and sat down at Dinah’s feet. She tugged her hair out of its messy ponytail and reached up, parted her hair neatly down the middle. “It looks good with pigtails if you do it like this.”
Dinah watched, intrigued, and Carolyn tied up her own hair. “Where’d you learn how to do this, honey?”
Carolyn cast a cryptic smile over her shoulder. “You don’t think John braids hair, do you?”
That made Dinah laugh. “You got a point there, sugar. So, show me how to do that.”
Carolyn turned around. “Start up near my hair-line. Tell me to tip my head back if you need to. Separate it into three sections like an ordinary braid.”
Dinah nodded. “All right. Let me get a comb, though. I should comb your hair.”
“Good idea. It feels nice when someone combs my hair.” Carolyn settled back against Dinah’s knees, and Dinah felt something in her chest tighten. Every now and again, she forgot that Carolyn had no mother.
“Here, child. I’ve got a comb.”
(460 words)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Stars
Ariana adjusted the eyepiece, bringing the fuzzy stars into focus and again gazed through the telescope. She glanced briefly down at her notebook, which glowed faintly in the dim red light that she had brought with her, to quickly jot down a bit of information and returned to her observation of the Orion Nebula. She had always found it fascinating how nebula could form, how they were each unique and absolutely breathtaking.
Ariana jumped, disturbing the telescopes angle when she felt a pair of lips on her neck.
"David," she said in exasperation.
"What," he asked innocently.
"Can't you wait until I'm done?" she asked as she kissed him briefly.
"Only if you let me see too," he countered as he pressed another kiss just under her ear.
"Okay," she said and began to readjust the telescope. After a moment or two she said, "you know, I really can't concentrate when you do that." She licked her lips as David continued to drop feather light kisses all along her neck and shoulder. She could feel him smiling against her tingling skin.
"That's sort of the idea," he laughed.
Ariana playfully pushed him away, "back up, I really need to finish this and then we can play."
"But,"
"No buts David. Now back up," she said.
David grinned, "yes ma'am." He scooted far enough away that he couldn't kiss her easily, but he could still reach her.
Ariana jotted down a few more notes and then looked up at David. "Okay, now you can look," she said.
David's smile broadened as he scooted closer and peered through the telescope, bringing the nebula into focus.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ariana asked.
David looked up at her, "not as beautiful as you," he said.
Ariana blushed and ducked her head. She felt David finger under her chin and brought up her head.
"I mean that," David said as he leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips. He was slightly surprised when Ariana responded by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer. All thoughts of the stars were forgotten at that point.
Ariana jumped, disturbing the telescopes angle when she felt a pair of lips on her neck.
"David," she said in exasperation.
"What," he asked innocently.
"Can't you wait until I'm done?" she asked as she kissed him briefly.
"Only if you let me see too," he countered as he pressed another kiss just under her ear.
"Okay," she said and began to readjust the telescope. After a moment or two she said, "you know, I really can't concentrate when you do that." She licked her lips as David continued to drop feather light kisses all along her neck and shoulder. She could feel him smiling against her tingling skin.
"That's sort of the idea," he laughed.
Ariana playfully pushed him away, "back up, I really need to finish this and then we can play."
"But,"
"No buts David. Now back up," she said.
David grinned, "yes ma'am." He scooted far enough away that he couldn't kiss her easily, but he could still reach her.
Ariana jotted down a few more notes and then looked up at David. "Okay, now you can look," she said.
David's smile broadened as he scooted closer and peered through the telescope, bringing the nebula into focus.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ariana asked.
David looked up at her, "not as beautiful as you," he said.
Ariana blushed and ducked her head. She felt David finger under her chin and brought up her head.
"I mean that," David said as he leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips. He was slightly surprised when Ariana responded by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer. All thoughts of the stars were forgotten at that point.
Making Do
Scott stood in the doorway of the dressing room and stared. “What the hell are you two doing?”
“We’re at a concert. Wanna join us?” Carolyn looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.
Bob was still sitting solemnly in front of the tiny TV, waving a lighter back and forth in time with the music. A picnic basket was laid out on the floor next to him. Used dishes were stacked neatly in a pile, and a half-eaten pie was on top of the pile. Someone had procured a bottle of bubbly and two champagne flutes, and the golden liquid was slowly losing its sparkle.
Scott glanced over his shoulder, then at the TV screen. He didn’t recognize the band, but whoever they were, they must have been popular, because the stadium they were playing to was huge, and it was packed.
Carolyn resumed waving her lighter.
“You two had a picnic in the dressing room and now you’re watching a concert on that lousy little machine?” Scott crossed his arms over his chest, amused.
Bob rolled his eyes at his older brother’s skepticism. “It’s not like we can go out on dates in public or anything. So we’re making do. You going to join us or not?”
“I won’t be interrupting your date?” Scott asked.
“We invited Dan and Clay to join us for the concert, but they looked at us like we were crazy,” Carolyn said.
Scott stifled a smile. “I see.” He listened to the song for a bit, and it was definitely worthy of a lighter or two. He sighed, fished in his pocket for his lighter, and sat down on the checkered blanket next to Carolyn. “What’s your plan for your next date?”
“John has some old National Geographic videos about the African Savannah, so we’re going on safari,” Bob said.
Scott flicked on his lighter, raised it above his head, and began to sway to the music.
(325 words)
“We’re at a concert. Wanna join us?” Carolyn looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.
Bob was still sitting solemnly in front of the tiny TV, waving a lighter back and forth in time with the music. A picnic basket was laid out on the floor next to him. Used dishes were stacked neatly in a pile, and a half-eaten pie was on top of the pile. Someone had procured a bottle of bubbly and two champagne flutes, and the golden liquid was slowly losing its sparkle.
Scott glanced over his shoulder, then at the TV screen. He didn’t recognize the band, but whoever they were, they must have been popular, because the stadium they were playing to was huge, and it was packed.
Carolyn resumed waving her lighter.
“You two had a picnic in the dressing room and now you’re watching a concert on that lousy little machine?” Scott crossed his arms over his chest, amused.
Bob rolled his eyes at his older brother’s skepticism. “It’s not like we can go out on dates in public or anything. So we’re making do. You going to join us or not?”
“I won’t be interrupting your date?” Scott asked.
“We invited Dan and Clay to join us for the concert, but they looked at us like we were crazy,” Carolyn said.
Scott stifled a smile. “I see.” He listened to the song for a bit, and it was definitely worthy of a lighter or two. He sighed, fished in his pocket for his lighter, and sat down on the checkered blanket next to Carolyn. “What’s your plan for your next date?”
“John has some old National Geographic videos about the African Savannah, so we’re going on safari,” Bob said.
Scott flicked on his lighter, raised it above his head, and began to sway to the music.
(325 words)
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Unlabaled CD
Bryan sighed as he walked through the front door and dropped his backpack on the floor. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to relaxing for a while. He knew that Mark would not be home for a while, but that didn't really bother him; he just wanted to be alone for a while to unwind.
Bryan shuffled to the beat up stereo against the far wall and slid in an unlabeled burned CD. He twisted the dial on the volume until it cane to a stop; pressing play, the music and the beat blared out of the speakers, making anything that was not bolted to the floor vibrate.
Bryan's head nodded to the beat. It was a big band era tune, the type he could picture mobsters dancing to. Shimmying across the floor, he pulled off his over shirt and dropped it on the pile of dirty clothes. The shimmy turned to a smooth sashay as a slow Latin song came over the speakers. Bryan moved seductively around the room, hips moving in a slow circular pattern, he kicked off his shoes and socks. Again the music changed and he began the pops and locks of break dancing. He felt at last something deep inside himself began to unclench.
When the CD stopped at last, Bryan felt like himself again.
Bryan shuffled to the beat up stereo against the far wall and slid in an unlabeled burned CD. He twisted the dial on the volume until it cane to a stop; pressing play, the music and the beat blared out of the speakers, making anything that was not bolted to the floor vibrate.
Bryan's head nodded to the beat. It was a big band era tune, the type he could picture mobsters dancing to. Shimmying across the floor, he pulled off his over shirt and dropped it on the pile of dirty clothes. The shimmy turned to a smooth sashay as a slow Latin song came over the speakers. Bryan moved seductively around the room, hips moving in a slow circular pattern, he kicked off his shoes and socks. Again the music changed and he began the pops and locks of break dancing. He felt at last something deep inside himself began to unclench.
When the CD stopped at last, Bryan felt like himself again.
Poetry and Lyrics
“What do you think of this?”
Carolyn looked up from where she was fiddling with a lock. “What do you mean by ‘this’?”
Scott rolled over and waved a book at her. The other three were asleep, and it was the best chance he had to talk to her without annoying Bob. After what had happened with Clay, Bob was a little leery of any of the rest of his brothers spending too much time with Carolyn. She’d grown up and grown prettier in the year since she’d been away; Scott wouldn’t deny that. But...she was Bob’s, and that was that. Clay liking her must have been some weird twin thing.
“Listen.” He cleared his throat, then began to read.
“ ‘While life endures we'll love,
and afterwards,
if what they say is true,
I'll be refused a Heaven
crammed with popes,
policemen, fundamentalists,
and burn instead,
quite happily,
with Sappho, Michelangelo
and you, my love.
I'd burn throughout eternity
with you.’”
Carolyn set down the lock, tilted her head to the side.
Scott peered at her anxiously, but she didn’t say anything, and the silence was beginning to unnerve him. “Did you like it?”
She lifted her head and smiled at him. “That was beautiful. But where did you get a copy of The Mirror of Love?”
Scott peered at the cover of the book. “Found it at a used bookstore while we were wandering around York. Why?”
“No reason. Just...don’t let your dad get ahold of it.” Carolyn rested her chin on her hands and gazed up at him, and for just one moment, Scott knew why Clay had kissed her. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had looked at him like this, as if she could read the words printed on his soul. “I didn’t realize you liked poetry.”
Scott shrugged, a little defensively. “It’s good help for lyrics.”
“It definitely would be.” Carolyn hummed thoughtfully. “Moore’s pretty good, for a guy who usually writes comics. If you want something a little more esoteric, maybe try some Eliot.”
“Eliot who?” Scott asked. He reached for the ragged notebook that Bob usually kept in his jacket, the lyric notebook all of them shared. He was keeping a list of poems and poetry that he liked that might be useful later.
“Thomas Stearns Eliot, actually.” Carolyn tossed her head to get the hair out of her eyes. “Try this on for size:
‘For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?’”
Scott blinked. “You know that from memory?”
“Some poetry here and there.” Carolyn scooted up onto the couch next to him. “What else have you read?”
(478 words; first quote from Alan Moore's "Mirror of Love", second from T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock")
Carolyn looked up from where she was fiddling with a lock. “What do you mean by ‘this’?”
Scott rolled over and waved a book at her. The other three were asleep, and it was the best chance he had to talk to her without annoying Bob. After what had happened with Clay, Bob was a little leery of any of the rest of his brothers spending too much time with Carolyn. She’d grown up and grown prettier in the year since she’d been away; Scott wouldn’t deny that. But...she was Bob’s, and that was that. Clay liking her must have been some weird twin thing.
“Listen.” He cleared his throat, then began to read.
“ ‘While life endures we'll love,
and afterwards,
if what they say is true,
I'll be refused a Heaven
crammed with popes,
policemen, fundamentalists,
and burn instead,
quite happily,
with Sappho, Michelangelo
and you, my love.
I'd burn throughout eternity
with you.’”
Carolyn set down the lock, tilted her head to the side.
Scott peered at her anxiously, but she didn’t say anything, and the silence was beginning to unnerve him. “Did you like it?”
She lifted her head and smiled at him. “That was beautiful. But where did you get a copy of The Mirror of Love?”
Scott peered at the cover of the book. “Found it at a used bookstore while we were wandering around York. Why?”
“No reason. Just...don’t let your dad get ahold of it.” Carolyn rested her chin on her hands and gazed up at him, and for just one moment, Scott knew why Clay had kissed her. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had looked at him like this, as if she could read the words printed on his soul. “I didn’t realize you liked poetry.”
Scott shrugged, a little defensively. “It’s good help for lyrics.”
“It definitely would be.” Carolyn hummed thoughtfully. “Moore’s pretty good, for a guy who usually writes comics. If you want something a little more esoteric, maybe try some Eliot.”
“Eliot who?” Scott asked. He reached for the ragged notebook that Bob usually kept in his jacket, the lyric notebook all of them shared. He was keeping a list of poems and poetry that he liked that might be useful later.
“Thomas Stearns Eliot, actually.” Carolyn tossed her head to get the hair out of her eyes. “Try this on for size:
‘For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?’”
Scott blinked. “You know that from memory?”
“Some poetry here and there.” Carolyn scooted up onto the couch next to him. “What else have you read?”
(478 words; first quote from Alan Moore's "Mirror of Love", second from T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock")
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
In a Hurry
David could feel the rumble of the car through his fingers, feel it in his soul. He knew every cough and hiccup that his car made, knew when it was time to make adjustments. He could tell the cars speed by the sound and the vibrations as he flew down the highway. You were more likely to find him with grease under his fingernails than the perfectly clean soldier you would expect to see.
David's probing fingers searched until he found what he wanted. He could hot wire a car in his sleep.
(Lame I know, but...)
(I loved the new Spencer piece by the way. And I do love me some Tobias!)
David's probing fingers searched until he found what he wanted. He could hot wire a car in his sleep.
(Lame I know, but...)
(I loved the new Spencer piece by the way. And I do love me some Tobias!)
Chess
“Some days, I don’t know why I bother.” John stared at the chessboard. A puzzled frown creased his brow, and he studied the pieces intently. Then he glanced at his opponent.
Clay tugged his baseball cap off his head, ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Come on - before I’m old enough to drive.”
John reached out, placed a cautious fingertip on one of his knights, eyed Clay. The kid had a dangerously good poker face. There was no choice but to bite the bullet. John slid the knight across the board. Quick as a snake striking, Clay reached out and captured the knight with a bishop.
Then he sat back, expression impassive once more. “Check. Your move.”
John sighed and studied the board once more. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Clay had his pieces securely pincered in one corner, and it was going to take a veritable bloodbath to get out.
“How long have you been playing chess again?”
“Captain Lyle taught me. Dad figured it’d keep me quiet and stop me from asking too many questions.”
“Too many questions?”
Clay nodded. “ ‘What if the birds in the sky suddenly started eating people?’ ‘What if the sea turned into salt and we had nothing left to drink?’”
“You think about those sorts of things often?” John arched an eyebrow.
“When I was six.”
John had to stifle the urge to laugh at Clay’s imperious air. “You’re eight.”
“Your move, sir.”
John sighed and slid a pawn forward, didn’t even flinch when Clay pounced on it with gusto. “You know,” John said, “you should play with Carolyn sometime.”
(271 words)
Clay tugged his baseball cap off his head, ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Come on - before I’m old enough to drive.”
John reached out, placed a cautious fingertip on one of his knights, eyed Clay. The kid had a dangerously good poker face. There was no choice but to bite the bullet. John slid the knight across the board. Quick as a snake striking, Clay reached out and captured the knight with a bishop.
Then he sat back, expression impassive once more. “Check. Your move.”
John sighed and studied the board once more. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Clay had his pieces securely pincered in one corner, and it was going to take a veritable bloodbath to get out.
“How long have you been playing chess again?”
“Captain Lyle taught me. Dad figured it’d keep me quiet and stop me from asking too many questions.”
“Too many questions?”
Clay nodded. “ ‘What if the birds in the sky suddenly started eating people?’ ‘What if the sea turned into salt and we had nothing left to drink?’”
“You think about those sorts of things often?” John arched an eyebrow.
“When I was six.”
John had to stifle the urge to laugh at Clay’s imperious air. “You’re eight.”
“Your move, sir.”
John sighed and slid a pawn forward, didn’t even flinch when Clay pounced on it with gusto. “You know,” John said, “you should play with Carolyn sometime.”
(271 words)
Monday, September 7, 2009
Quid Pro Quo
“I’ll trade you,” Dan said. He jangled a handful of coins.
The little Thai boy considered for a few moments, then reached out, snatched the quarter off of Dan’s outstretched hand. He dropped a few crumpled low-denomination Baht bills and coins into Dan’s hand and then scampered away.
Carolyn jumped down off the instrument rig. “What have you got there?”
“I’ve decided to collect money from every country we’ve been to,” Dan said. “So far I’ve got francs, pounds, lire, pesos, rupiah, ringgit, and now baht.”
“You don’t have any good old-fashioned American dollars?” Carolyn eyed his collection.
Dan arched an eyebrow; how he managed to look so imperious at thirteen, Carolyn would never know. “I have Canadian dollars.”
“True, true. You don’t have any German Deutschmarks? Or Portuguese Escudos?” Carolyn reached out and pawed through the jumbled collection of bills and coins.
“I...don’t know.” Dan joined her in the search. “I guess I don’t. Do you have any?”
Carolyn jammed her hands into her pockets, a gesture taken straight from Bob. “I might do. What have you got for me?”
“What are you looking for?”
Carolyn knew her smile was razor-sharp. “How embarrassing has the latest round of fanmail been?”
(205 words)
The little Thai boy considered for a few moments, then reached out, snatched the quarter off of Dan’s outstretched hand. He dropped a few crumpled low-denomination Baht bills and coins into Dan’s hand and then scampered away.
Carolyn jumped down off the instrument rig. “What have you got there?”
“I’ve decided to collect money from every country we’ve been to,” Dan said. “So far I’ve got francs, pounds, lire, pesos, rupiah, ringgit, and now baht.”
“You don’t have any good old-fashioned American dollars?” Carolyn eyed his collection.
Dan arched an eyebrow; how he managed to look so imperious at thirteen, Carolyn would never know. “I have Canadian dollars.”
“True, true. You don’t have any German Deutschmarks? Or Portuguese Escudos?” Carolyn reached out and pawed through the jumbled collection of bills and coins.
“I...don’t know.” Dan joined her in the search. “I guess I don’t. Do you have any?”
Carolyn jammed her hands into her pockets, a gesture taken straight from Bob. “I might do. What have you got for me?”
“What are you looking for?”
Carolyn knew her smile was razor-sharp. “How embarrassing has the latest round of fanmail been?”
(205 words)
Hitting the Target
Joe was smiling even before the faint 'thock' reached his ears from the far end of the range. He knew that he was precisely on target. He drew another arrow from the quiver that rested against his slender hip and knocked it to the string. The shaft of the arrow rested against the top of his hand as he drew back the string.
Joe took a single deep breath and held it. Slowly exhaling, he sighted on the target which rested three hundred yards away. One more slow inhale and he released the string. It made a faint snapping sound; the wood whisper quiet as it slid against his hand. He preferred to shoot off the hand, he felt more connected to the shot that way.
He swiftly knocked another arrow and let it fly. And again, and again, emptying his quiver. Joe carefully unstrung his recurve, slid it into it's leather carrying case and picked up his quiver. He walked quickly to the far end of the range, smiling in satisfaction when he saw that all his shots had pierced the target withing a quarter inch of each other. He drew the arrows from the target and placed them carefully in the quiver.
Joe whistled a short tune as he walked back to his car.
Joe took a single deep breath and held it. Slowly exhaling, he sighted on the target which rested three hundred yards away. One more slow inhale and he released the string. It made a faint snapping sound; the wood whisper quiet as it slid against his hand. He preferred to shoot off the hand, he felt more connected to the shot that way.
He swiftly knocked another arrow and let it fly. And again, and again, emptying his quiver. Joe carefully unstrung his recurve, slid it into it's leather carrying case and picked up his quiver. He walked quickly to the far end of the range, smiling in satisfaction when he saw that all his shots had pierced the target withing a quarter inch of each other. He drew the arrows from the target and placed them carefully in the quiver.
Joe whistled a short tune as he walked back to his car.
Project Assignment # 41 - Hobbies
This week is a chance give your characters something to do. It's all about their hobbies!
Does Scott collect old bottles, does Mark race cars, or does Bob decide to pick up another instrument.
Have fun this week! I hope I get around to posting.
Does Scott collect old bottles, does Mark race cars, or does Bob decide to pick up another instrument.
Have fun this week! I hope I get around to posting.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Overview #40: Secrets
This was a pretty fun challenge for me, seeing where I could expand on some of the other characters in my universe who don't get so much love. Given that Carolyn's a secret agent, I thought playing too much on her secrets wouldn't be as fun, so I tried to pick other secrets that would give the characters some new depth. Since I'm still trying to plot the final resolution of this storyline and I know it'll involve John, I figured I'd give him a shot. As he's an agent like Carolyn, he'd be pretty observant and know things about the boys that no one else knows, and it was fun exploring who he was, his voice and his personality. I figured Scott deserved more depth to his character than just being the loud, boisterous front man. Carolyn needed a secret, one that wasn't tied to her tenure as an agent. And I wanted to give Shelley a voice, too, since hardly anything is really written from her POV. I figured I'd also explore sections of the plot that haven't been given as much attention, like Carolyn's time in college (and Melanie's POV as her only friend there) and Bob's time in the hospital. (Also, I've been watching Blood Ties and figured I might as well publicly acknowledge my shame.) Still, learning what characters keep secret from each other and to themselves was an eye-opening experience as far as development goes, and I had a good time.
Madness, you're up this week to pick the project assignment. Jaded Chaos, tell us who our winner is!
Madness, you're up this week to pick the project assignment. Jaded Chaos, tell us who our winner is!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Borrowed
"I know what you did last night," Mark said in a singsong voice as he stepped into the room where Bryan was working on a few sparring moves. The room was practically empty. Mark glanced around and could only see two other soldiers in the far corner.
Bryan's head snapped up, his eyes full of guilt. "I didn't do anything last night," he said. Even to his own ears, the denial was weak.
Marks laugh was low, his eyes glimmering with mirth, "don't kid yourself," he said, "you know exactly what you did."
Bryan swallowed hard, "you won't tell anyone will you?" he asked.
Mark's lips quirked into a half smile, "let's just say that I won't rat you out to the Commander. You are, after all, my brother. But if he finds out, I'm not covering for you," Mark said.
"Fair enough," Bryan said, "I don't think he will find out that I "borrowed" his car. And if he does, well lets just say that mastering this move will be the least of my problems."
Bryan's head snapped up, his eyes full of guilt. "I didn't do anything last night," he said. Even to his own ears, the denial was weak.
Marks laugh was low, his eyes glimmering with mirth, "don't kid yourself," he said, "you know exactly what you did."
Bryan swallowed hard, "you won't tell anyone will you?" he asked.
Mark's lips quirked into a half smile, "let's just say that I won't rat you out to the Commander. You are, after all, my brother. But if he finds out, I'm not covering for you," Mark said.
"Fair enough," Bryan said, "I don't think he will find out that I "borrowed" his car. And if he does, well lets just say that mastering this move will be the least of my problems."
Not So Bad
Clay checked left, then right. The coast was clear - all the nurses were busy. He kept the warm bag of McDonald’s tucked safely under his jacket and darted into the hospital room.
“Hey Bobby, I brought some --”
Bob lunged for the remote control and turned off the television. Then he pasted a bright, innocent smile on his face and sat back. “Clay. What’s up?” He spotted the bulge under Clay’s jacket, and his eyes lit up. “Did you bring it?”
Clay eyed the television warily. “What were you watching?”
Again with the wide, guileless eyes. Clay knew that expression. They’d perfected it together when they were kids for the purposes of switching identities for the day.
“Nothing,” Bob said sunnily. “Is it McDonald’s?”
Clay approached the bed cautiously, still holding his prize. “What could that show have possibly been that you turned the TV off that quickly?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you were watching --”
“Dude, you can’t get porn on TVs in hospitals, and that’s just wrong.” Bob crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
“I didn’t say it was porn, but since you suggested it --” Clay struck, quick as a snake, and snatched the remote up off the bed.
“Hey!” Bob scrambled after it, but he was too late. And he was brought up short by the IV in the back of his hand.
Clay hit the power button and watched the television come to life. The scene was dark, but Clay recognized the streets. It was a local show, one filmed in Canada. The characters on screen were a woman, blonde, with glasses and a night stick and a man who looked surprisingly young in comparison. Then he grinned. Long fangs. No way.
Bob turned bright red and ducked his head, an automatic gesture even though he no longer had long hair to hide behind.
An amused grin spread across Clay’s features. “Blood Ties? The one Shelley watches? Are you serious?”
Bob snatched the remote back with an indignant huff, but he didn’t turn the show off. “She started watching it with me when she comes in to visit, and...it’s not so bad.”
“It’s about vampires.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not in it for the vampire.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I’m not Dan.” Bob eyed the McDonald’s bag hopefully.
Clay’s expression turned calculating. “Give me one good reason why I should continue to associate with a moron who watches such low-brow --”
“The girl. The ex-cop. She kinda reminds of Caro.” Bob stared down at his hands.
Clay’s breath hitched in his chest. “Oh.”
Bob lifted his head. “I’m sorry.”
Clay shook his head, held out the bag. “No. I was just kidding about the show --”
“I’m sorry about me. And Carolyn. And how it made you feel. We both -- well. I felt horrible about it.”
“I know, dearthair. But she chose you, and not me, and you deserved to be happy. Now eat up before the nurses get back.”
“Hey Bobby, I brought some --”
Bob lunged for the remote control and turned off the television. Then he pasted a bright, innocent smile on his face and sat back. “Clay. What’s up?” He spotted the bulge under Clay’s jacket, and his eyes lit up. “Did you bring it?”
Clay eyed the television warily. “What were you watching?”
Again with the wide, guileless eyes. Clay knew that expression. They’d perfected it together when they were kids for the purposes of switching identities for the day.
“Nothing,” Bob said sunnily. “Is it McDonald’s?”
Clay approached the bed cautiously, still holding his prize. “What could that show have possibly been that you turned the TV off that quickly?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you were watching --”
“Dude, you can’t get porn on TVs in hospitals, and that’s just wrong.” Bob crossed his arms over his chest indignantly.
“I didn’t say it was porn, but since you suggested it --” Clay struck, quick as a snake, and snatched the remote up off the bed.
“Hey!” Bob scrambled after it, but he was too late. And he was brought up short by the IV in the back of his hand.
Clay hit the power button and watched the television come to life. The scene was dark, but Clay recognized the streets. It was a local show, one filmed in Canada. The characters on screen were a woman, blonde, with glasses and a night stick and a man who looked surprisingly young in comparison. Then he grinned. Long fangs. No way.
Bob turned bright red and ducked his head, an automatic gesture even though he no longer had long hair to hide behind.
An amused grin spread across Clay’s features. “Blood Ties? The one Shelley watches? Are you serious?”
Bob snatched the remote back with an indignant huff, but he didn’t turn the show off. “She started watching it with me when she comes in to visit, and...it’s not so bad.”
“It’s about vampires.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “It’s obvious I’m not in it for the vampire.”
“Is it obvious?”
“I’m not Dan.” Bob eyed the McDonald’s bag hopefully.
Clay’s expression turned calculating. “Give me one good reason why I should continue to associate with a moron who watches such low-brow --”
“The girl. The ex-cop. She kinda reminds of Caro.” Bob stared down at his hands.
Clay’s breath hitched in his chest. “Oh.”
Bob lifted his head. “I’m sorry.”
Clay shook his head, held out the bag. “No. I was just kidding about the show --”
“I’m sorry about me. And Carolyn. And how it made you feel. We both -- well. I felt horrible about it.”
“I know, dearthair. But she chose you, and not me, and you deserved to be happy. Now eat up before the nurses get back.”
Friday, September 4, 2009
It all started
Joe walked down the hallway with a barely perceptible limp, eyes downcast with dark circles under them. Hidden beneath his shirt were dark purple bruises, a few, a pale sick looking green, and others only a faint trace. Another bruise ran from his hip to thigh.
Joe ducked into the bathroom and quickly checked all the stalls to make sure that he was alone. Joe lifted up the hem of his shirt and examined the freshly marred skin. He gently prodded one and winced at the sharp pain that radiated from the light touch.
Joe looked into the mirror, his hand gripping the sink tightly as the other one held up his shirt. It had gotten worse since Alec had died. The foster couple who "cared" for him blamed him for Alec's death. With Alec gone, they were down five hundred dollars a month from the government, and the creep was sure to take it out of Joe's hide. It usually was not a bad beating, but on the day of the month when the checks came, Eddie would get all liquored up and come looking for Joe. That was when it was really bad.
Joe was to far lost in his own thoughts to be aware of someone coming into the bathroom, until he heard someone swear under their breath.
Joe's head snapped up, quickly pulling his shirt down. He glared at the student, recognizing a face, but not able to come up with a name.
"Man, what happened?" Tim asked.
"Nothing," Joe lied.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tim said with raised eyebrows.
Joe narrowed his eyes, "I said it's nothing, and none of your business even if it was anything," he said.
Tim eyed Joe, "you want someone to talk to?" he asked.
Joe snorted, "how could you help."
"I'm not saying I can help, I'm saying I can listen," Tim said.
"Don't you have class to be in or something?" Joe asked a little belligerently.
"None that can't be put off for a while," Tim said as he leaned against the sink next to Joe.
Joe hesitated for a moment, but the need to unburden himself was to strong, "it all started when my brother died," Joe began.
Joe ducked into the bathroom and quickly checked all the stalls to make sure that he was alone. Joe lifted up the hem of his shirt and examined the freshly marred skin. He gently prodded one and winced at the sharp pain that radiated from the light touch.
Joe looked into the mirror, his hand gripping the sink tightly as the other one held up his shirt. It had gotten worse since Alec had died. The foster couple who "cared" for him blamed him for Alec's death. With Alec gone, they were down five hundred dollars a month from the government, and the creep was sure to take it out of Joe's hide. It usually was not a bad beating, but on the day of the month when the checks came, Eddie would get all liquored up and come looking for Joe. That was when it was really bad.
Joe was to far lost in his own thoughts to be aware of someone coming into the bathroom, until he heard someone swear under their breath.
Joe's head snapped up, quickly pulling his shirt down. He glared at the student, recognizing a face, but not able to come up with a name.
"Man, what happened?" Tim asked.
"Nothing," Joe lied.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tim said with raised eyebrows.
Joe narrowed his eyes, "I said it's nothing, and none of your business even if it was anything," he said.
Tim eyed Joe, "you want someone to talk to?" he asked.
Joe snorted, "how could you help."
"I'm not saying I can help, I'm saying I can listen," Tim said.
"Don't you have class to be in or something?" Joe asked a little belligerently.
"None that can't be put off for a while," Tim said as he leaned against the sink next to Joe.
Joe hesitated for a moment, but the need to unburden himself was to strong, "it all started when my brother died," Joe began.
What He'd Seen
Sometimes Shelley was starkly aware that she wasn’t the boys’ mother. Something was going on between Bob and Clay, and the other two had taken sides. Now they were practically at war, and Shelley didn’t know what to do. The boys wouldn’t talk to her, and Kevin was too busy with the new label rep to realize what was going on. The boys had hissed twin-speak arguments between takes and avoided each other the rest of the time.
Shelley sat in the corner with a stack of magazines, wishing she could be more useful. On the road she could dig in with the crew and help get the show on its feet. Here she wasn’t mother or musician or anything remotely useful, and for one moment she wished she was one of those wives who was content to spend a day at the mall with her husband’s credit card.
She wished the boys trusted her with something more than checking their homework.
The engineer called Dan in to lay down vocals, and Shelley checked her watch. She’d been sitting in the same corner for two hours straight. No good. She stood up, taking the time to indulge in a yawn and a stretch. That was when she noticed that Bob and Clay were missing.
“Scott,” she said. He was sulking over his guitar. “Where are your brothers?”
He muttered, “Níl fhios agam.”
“English, Scott.”
He lifted his head. “Oh, sorry Shelley.” He glanced at the beanbags where the matching set had been also sulking, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks.” Time to hunt, then. They knew better than to wander off. She ducked out of the room and into a hallway. On the way in she’d spotted a couple of vending machines, and she wouldn’t put it past a couple of hungry teenage boys to go in search of junk food despite their fathers’ orders against it. Given how they were feuding, however, she doubted that they’d gone searching together.
Shelley rounded the corner, and she saw Clay standing in the doorway of a side room, frozen. The expression on his face was faintly heartbroken, and then he wrenched himself back, eyes shut tightly as if to block out what he’d seen. After a moment, he straightened up, turned away, and marched toward the vending machine.
Something tightened in Shelley’s chest. He wasn’t her son, but she hated seeing him hurt. She crept toward the door to find out what he’d seen.
He’d seen Bob and Carolyn in each other’s arms, kissing.
(427 words)
Shelley sat in the corner with a stack of magazines, wishing she could be more useful. On the road she could dig in with the crew and help get the show on its feet. Here she wasn’t mother or musician or anything remotely useful, and for one moment she wished she was one of those wives who was content to spend a day at the mall with her husband’s credit card.
She wished the boys trusted her with something more than checking their homework.
The engineer called Dan in to lay down vocals, and Shelley checked her watch. She’d been sitting in the same corner for two hours straight. No good. She stood up, taking the time to indulge in a yawn and a stretch. That was when she noticed that Bob and Clay were missing.
“Scott,” she said. He was sulking over his guitar. “Where are your brothers?”
He muttered, “Níl fhios agam.”
“English, Scott.”
He lifted his head. “Oh, sorry Shelley.” He glanced at the beanbags where the matching set had been also sulking, and he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled tightly. “Thanks.” Time to hunt, then. They knew better than to wander off. She ducked out of the room and into a hallway. On the way in she’d spotted a couple of vending machines, and she wouldn’t put it past a couple of hungry teenage boys to go in search of junk food despite their fathers’ orders against it. Given how they were feuding, however, she doubted that they’d gone searching together.
Shelley rounded the corner, and she saw Clay standing in the doorway of a side room, frozen. The expression on his face was faintly heartbroken, and then he wrenched himself back, eyes shut tightly as if to block out what he’d seen. After a moment, he straightened up, turned away, and marched toward the vending machine.
Something tightened in Shelley’s chest. He wasn’t her son, but she hated seeing him hurt. She crept toward the door to find out what he’d seen.
He’d seen Bob and Carolyn in each other’s arms, kissing.
(427 words)
Thursday, September 3, 2009
With You
"Tell me a secret," Ariana said. Her head was pillowed on David's chest and she could hear his heartbeat.
"Hm," his voice rumbled in his chest, "a secret. Let me think," he said.
Ariana waited, listening to his breathing, the air moving steadily in and out. She reached out and laced her fingers through his. They were laying in a sunny patch of grass. It was a rare sunny day.
"I think," David said, "that my secret is, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Ariana'a head came up quickly. She quickly searched his gaze and saw nothing but truth. A smile spread across her face as she thought of what that could mean. Leaning up, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you David," she said and snuggled back into his arms.
"Hm," his voice rumbled in his chest, "a secret. Let me think," he said.
Ariana waited, listening to his breathing, the air moving steadily in and out. She reached out and laced her fingers through his. They were laying in a sunny patch of grass. It was a rare sunny day.
"I think," David said, "that my secret is, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
Ariana'a head came up quickly. She quickly searched his gaze and saw nothing but truth. A smile spread across her face as she thought of what that could mean. Leaning up, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you David," she said and snuggled back into his arms.
Proof
(continued from this post)
Carolyn hadn’t been lying; the picture she carried around was one anyone could find on the Internet. The picture she kept in her wallet, however, was one not even the most diehard Four Times SUmmer fan could find. Melanie was more diehard than Carolyn knew, and she’d looked.
Tucked behind a Westlaw access card, a Lexis access card, and a Federalist Society card, was a photograph of Bob Summers asleep. Melanie had studied the picture for along time - Carolyn let Melanie use her cards - and it looked like Bob was asleep in his own bed. It was definitely not the sort of picture a mere fan, no matter how diehard, would have.
Melanie knew she was one of Carolyn’s only friends at school, but she didn’t know that much about Carolyn, and Carolyn was great at talking without sharing. Melanie didn’t know how to ask about the picture without mentioning that she’d snooped through Carolyn’s wallet, and she didn’t know how to ask if Bob Summers was the reason Carolyn sometimes looked a little heartbroken. The solution, of course, was the Internet.
Several days and foreign video streaming sites later, Melanie found it, proof that Carolyn’s secret really had something to do with the brothers Summers.
The video was grainy and shot by an amateur on an old VHS handycam, but some dedicated fan had filmed her own television to record a news clip. It was less than five minutes long and the newscaster was speaking German, but it had proof. A shot of all four boys on the tour bus playing cards sealed the deal. A fifth child, a skinny moppet with green eyes and a shock of black curls, sat between Bob and Dan and plied her own hand of cards.
Melanie would know that smile anywhere. Even at seven, Carolyn’s smile was sharp, subtle, like light glinting off the blade of a knife.
The next shot featured nine-year-old Dan chattering about life on the road. “We have fun,” he said. “Sometimes people on crew bring their kids with them, so we have people to play with.”
If the picture in Carolyn’s wallet was anything to go by, she’d been on the road with the brothers Summers a lot, because the boy sleeping in that bed was at least sixteen.
Melanie backtracked through the video to watch the card game again.
The little girl slapped her cards down and cheered.
Scott groaned and shoved her in the shoulder. “No fair, Caro!”
(415 words)
Carolyn hadn’t been lying; the picture she carried around was one anyone could find on the Internet. The picture she kept in her wallet, however, was one not even the most diehard Four Times SUmmer fan could find. Melanie was more diehard than Carolyn knew, and she’d looked.
Tucked behind a Westlaw access card, a Lexis access card, and a Federalist Society card, was a photograph of Bob Summers asleep. Melanie had studied the picture for along time - Carolyn let Melanie use her cards - and it looked like Bob was asleep in his own bed. It was definitely not the sort of picture a mere fan, no matter how diehard, would have.
Melanie knew she was one of Carolyn’s only friends at school, but she didn’t know that much about Carolyn, and Carolyn was great at talking without sharing. Melanie didn’t know how to ask about the picture without mentioning that she’d snooped through Carolyn’s wallet, and she didn’t know how to ask if Bob Summers was the reason Carolyn sometimes looked a little heartbroken. The solution, of course, was the Internet.
Several days and foreign video streaming sites later, Melanie found it, proof that Carolyn’s secret really had something to do with the brothers Summers.
The video was grainy and shot by an amateur on an old VHS handycam, but some dedicated fan had filmed her own television to record a news clip. It was less than five minutes long and the newscaster was speaking German, but it had proof. A shot of all four boys on the tour bus playing cards sealed the deal. A fifth child, a skinny moppet with green eyes and a shock of black curls, sat between Bob and Dan and plied her own hand of cards.
Melanie would know that smile anywhere. Even at seven, Carolyn’s smile was sharp, subtle, like light glinting off the blade of a knife.
The next shot featured nine-year-old Dan chattering about life on the road. “We have fun,” he said. “Sometimes people on crew bring their kids with them, so we have people to play with.”
If the picture in Carolyn’s wallet was anything to go by, she’d been on the road with the brothers Summers a lot, because the boy sleeping in that bed was at least sixteen.
Melanie backtracked through the video to watch the card game again.
The little girl slapped her cards down and cheered.
Scott groaned and shoved her in the shoulder. “No fair, Caro!”
(415 words)
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Point of the Exercise
Stars exploded behind Steve's eyes as his head snapped backwards, the force of the blow shattering his nose with a sickening crunch; the back of his head hitting the high railing on the chair he was tied to. Steve blinked, bringing his head back up. He drew a few shallow breaths, trying to keep his side from burning from the broken ribs.
"You know," the interrogator said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, "this can all end when you tell us what we want to know."
Steve shook his head, blinking back a few tears of pain.
The man sighed, "have it your way," he said. He nodded to the man next to Steve. The large and brutish man took up a large hammer and swung it at Steve. Blood began to flow freely when Steve bit clean through his lip as the man broke his arm.
"Are you ready to speak?" the more refined man asked, "what are the attack plans for your military? What weapons do they have and where will they strike from?"
Steve raised his head and smiled through the blood that was still flowing from his nose and lip. "You really want to know the secret?" Steve asked, his eyes dark and fathomless.
"Of course," the man said, "after all, that is the whole point of this exercise."
"Okay," Steve said, looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, "the secret is, that you're about to die."
The man was still laughing as the bullet entered his head.
"You know," the interrogator said, almost as if he were talking about the weather, "this can all end when you tell us what we want to know."
Steve shook his head, blinking back a few tears of pain.
The man sighed, "have it your way," he said. He nodded to the man next to Steve. The large and brutish man took up a large hammer and swung it at Steve. Blood began to flow freely when Steve bit clean through his lip as the man broke his arm.
"Are you ready to speak?" the more refined man asked, "what are the attack plans for your military? What weapons do they have and where will they strike from?"
Steve raised his head and smiled through the blood that was still flowing from his nose and lip. "You really want to know the secret?" Steve asked, his eyes dark and fathomless.
"Of course," the man said, "after all, that is the whole point of this exercise."
"Okay," Steve said, looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, "the secret is, that you're about to die."
The man was still laughing as the bullet entered his head.
More than a Dry Run
“What’s going on here?” Kevin stood on the edge of the stage, hands on his hips, expression unreadable.
Carolyn set the drum sticks down carefully, stood up. “Bob asked me to set up his drums. I was giving them a dry run.” She ducked her head, tugged self-consciously on her baseball cap.
Kevin studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the scrawny kid John asked to bring on the road with him, but for five years all Carolyn had ever shown an interest in was her stack of increasingly obscure books and karate. She’d never shown even an inkling of interest in music.
“That’s something more than a dry run,” he said finally.
Carolyn shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Kevin had seen Bob with the exact same mannerism. She really had been hanging around the boys too long; she wore baggy shorts and baseball hats like Clay, t-shirts with band slogans like Dan, and slouched like Bob. Her hair was shorter than Bob’s, a shock of black curls.
“Where did you learn the play like that?”
“There’s a band I listen to. X Japan. Speed metal. Their drummer’s pretty cool, and I spent a lot of time in the rig --” back in the days before the boys liked her enough to want to spend time with her on the bus -- “listening to their songs and learning. How the beats go.”
“Does Bob know you can play like this?” Kevin had seen drummers with her speed and dexterity, sense of rhythmic complexity, but they were all studio veterans.”
Carolyn shook her head. “No. I don’t mention it.”
Kevin nodded. “I think it’d be best to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else you can do like...that?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Bob’s a good drummer, sir. Better than pretty much every other musician his age. He’d learn different rhythms if he played, you know, different songs.”
“I know,” Kevin said. “But the boys are good at what they play.”
Carolyn stepped out from behind the drums. As an afterthought, she dropped the hi-hat. Then, idly tapping a rhythm against her thighs, she headed for the instrument rig.
(381 words)
Carolyn set the drum sticks down carefully, stood up. “Bob asked me to set up his drums. I was giving them a dry run.” She ducked her head, tugged self-consciously on her baseball cap.
Kevin studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t been sure what to make of the scrawny kid John asked to bring on the road with him, but for five years all Carolyn had ever shown an interest in was her stack of increasingly obscure books and karate. She’d never shown even an inkling of interest in music.
“That’s something more than a dry run,” he said finally.
Carolyn shoved her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Kevin had seen Bob with the exact same mannerism. She really had been hanging around the boys too long; she wore baggy shorts and baseball hats like Clay, t-shirts with band slogans like Dan, and slouched like Bob. Her hair was shorter than Bob’s, a shock of black curls.
“Where did you learn the play like that?”
“There’s a band I listen to. X Japan. Speed metal. Their drummer’s pretty cool, and I spent a lot of time in the rig --” back in the days before the boys liked her enough to want to spend time with her on the bus -- “listening to their songs and learning. How the beats go.”
“Does Bob know you can play like this?” Kevin had seen drummers with her speed and dexterity, sense of rhythmic complexity, but they were all studio veterans.”
Carolyn shook her head. “No. I don’t mention it.”
Kevin nodded. “I think it’d be best to keep it that way.”
“Yes sir.”
“Anything else you can do like...that?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she lifted her head and met his gaze. “Bob’s a good drummer, sir. Better than pretty much every other musician his age. He’d learn different rhythms if he played, you know, different songs.”
“I know,” Kevin said. “But the boys are good at what they play.”
Carolyn stepped out from behind the drums. As an afterthought, she dropped the hi-hat. Then, idly tapping a rhythm against her thighs, she headed for the instrument rig.
(381 words)
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
I'll Do The Dishes
Bryan pounced on his brother as soon as he walked in the front door.
"Alright, tell me all about it. What happened? How did it go? Did you kiss her?" Bryan asked.
Mark just smiled and shook his head in response to his brothers volley of questions.
"Come on man, give me something!" Bryan demanded as he grabbed his twin by the arm. He always found it a little strange that even though they were practically identical in looks, they were far from the same when it came to their personality.
"I'm sorry," Mark said, as he shook off his brothers grip, "the information you have requested has been classified as need to know only." Mark loved ribbing his brother.
Bryan sighed, he knew that he would not be getting any information until Mark felt like giving it up. If he ever felt like giving it up. For now, Mark would keep his secrets.
"I'll do the dishes for two weeks," Bryan wheedled.
Mark laughed and walked down the hall to his own room.
"Alright, tell me all about it. What happened? How did it go? Did you kiss her?" Bryan asked.
Mark just smiled and shook his head in response to his brothers volley of questions.
"Come on man, give me something!" Bryan demanded as he grabbed his twin by the arm. He always found it a little strange that even though they were practically identical in looks, they were far from the same when it came to their personality.
"I'm sorry," Mark said, as he shook off his brothers grip, "the information you have requested has been classified as need to know only." Mark loved ribbing his brother.
Bryan sighed, he knew that he would not be getting any information until Mark felt like giving it up. If he ever felt like giving it up. For now, Mark would keep his secrets.
"I'll do the dishes for two weeks," Bryan wheedled.
Mark laughed and walked down the hall to his own room.
Vices and Virtues
“Isn’t that bad for a singer’s voice?”
Scott swore and went to put the cigarette out, but John just waved him off. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a fresh pack of cigarettes, tapped them against his palm to pack them down.
“You won’t tell my father?”
John lit up, inhaled that first blissful burst of nicotine. “I’m not your father, kid. And I can’t really judge, can I?”
Scott took a cautious puff of his cigarette, slouched back against the wall to avoid being seen from the parking lot where his father was giving Bob a post-show dressing down. Again.
“But you wouldn’t let Carolyn smoke, would you?”
John laughed. “Kid, I haven’t let that girl do anything since she was five. She’s been smarter than me since she was three. I did my best to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong, and from there on out we negotiate.”
“Oh. So Carolyn chooses not to smoke?”
“That would about be the size of it.” John took another deep drag, exhaled. “Man, this is such a filthy habit. So hard to kick it. The next time I need to run a mile, Caro’s gonna leave me in the dust.”
Scott relaxed faintly, took another drag off his cigarette. “Sometimes, it’s just --”
“A little safer than drinking?”
Scott nodded.
John tipped his head in the direction of the parking lot where Kevin was still yelling. “He do that often?”
“Some days more than others.” Scott’s eyes darkened.
John prodded Scott lightly in the hip, ignored the boy’s wince and the bright spark of shock that blossomed across his face.
“Burning’s not safer than drinking, hm?”
Scott shifted away from John. “How did you know?”
John’s smile was bleak. “I wasn’t always a roadie, kid. A man never forgets the smell of burning flesh.”
“There’s no one I can tell,” Scott said. He stared down at his shoes. The cigarette dangled between his fingers, forgotten and slowly burning out. “I mean, he has custody of us, and Mom stopped seeing what he did long ago. Bobby’s my little brother, and there’s nothing I can do to protect him.”
“Punishing yourself when he’s being punished for the three of you ruins the entire point of having a single scapegoat, doesn’t it?” John dropped his cigarette to the ground, put it out with the heel of his boot.
The sound of flesh on flesh echoed sharply, and Scott closed his eyes.
John thought or a long moment, then tucked the pack of cigarettes into Scott’s pocket. “You need them more than me. Besides, the ones you bum off of Captain Lyle are cheap. You’ll at least die slower with this brand.”
Scott opened his eyes.
John turned away, rounded the corner. Before he was properly in eyesight of his employer and the child he was roundly disciplining, he cleared his throat.
“Hey Kevin, some of the venue crew’ve been giving me some guff about the soundboard.”
(497 words)
Scott swore and went to put the cigarette out, but John just waved him off. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a fresh pack of cigarettes, tapped them against his palm to pack them down.
“You won’t tell my father?”
John lit up, inhaled that first blissful burst of nicotine. “I’m not your father, kid. And I can’t really judge, can I?”
Scott took a cautious puff of his cigarette, slouched back against the wall to avoid being seen from the parking lot where his father was giving Bob a post-show dressing down. Again.
“But you wouldn’t let Carolyn smoke, would you?”
John laughed. “Kid, I haven’t let that girl do anything since she was five. She’s been smarter than me since she was three. I did my best to teach her what’s right and what’s wrong, and from there on out we negotiate.”
“Oh. So Carolyn chooses not to smoke?”
“That would about be the size of it.” John took another deep drag, exhaled. “Man, this is such a filthy habit. So hard to kick it. The next time I need to run a mile, Caro’s gonna leave me in the dust.”
Scott relaxed faintly, took another drag off his cigarette. “Sometimes, it’s just --”
“A little safer than drinking?”
Scott nodded.
John tipped his head in the direction of the parking lot where Kevin was still yelling. “He do that often?”
“Some days more than others.” Scott’s eyes darkened.
John prodded Scott lightly in the hip, ignored the boy’s wince and the bright spark of shock that blossomed across his face.
“Burning’s not safer than drinking, hm?”
Scott shifted away from John. “How did you know?”
John’s smile was bleak. “I wasn’t always a roadie, kid. A man never forgets the smell of burning flesh.”
“There’s no one I can tell,” Scott said. He stared down at his shoes. The cigarette dangled between his fingers, forgotten and slowly burning out. “I mean, he has custody of us, and Mom stopped seeing what he did long ago. Bobby’s my little brother, and there’s nothing I can do to protect him.”
“Punishing yourself when he’s being punished for the three of you ruins the entire point of having a single scapegoat, doesn’t it?” John dropped his cigarette to the ground, put it out with the heel of his boot.
The sound of flesh on flesh echoed sharply, and Scott closed his eyes.
John thought or a long moment, then tucked the pack of cigarettes into Scott’s pocket. “You need them more than me. Besides, the ones you bum off of Captain Lyle are cheap. You’ll at least die slower with this brand.”
Scott opened his eyes.
John turned away, rounded the corner. Before he was properly in eyesight of his employer and the child he was roundly disciplining, he cleared his throat.
“Hey Kevin, some of the venue crew’ve been giving me some guff about the soundboard.”
(497 words)
Monday, August 31, 2009
English?
“They’re mad at me,” Kevin said, matter-of-factly.
“How can you tell?” John asked.
Kevin gestured to where all four boys were kicking a soccer ball back and forth and chattering loudly. “The triplets started up with this goofy language of their own when they were kids. You know, twins do that sort of thing all the time.” He shrugged. “I guess all the boys were close enough in age that they all learned it together. Whenever they’re mad at me, they refuse to speak English.”
“Oh.” John watched the four of them play, idly admiring their footwork. “I thought French was required in Canada.”
“Not for homeschoolers,” Kevin said. He dragged a hand over his face. “Is the soundboard ready?”
“For reverb settings anew.” John saluted.
Kevin beckoned for the boys. They cast him matching baleful looks but approached obediently.
“Soundcheck,” Kevin said.
They nodded, murmured to each other softly in an unintelligible language, and shuffled off toward the stage. John followed silently. Just before he headed toward the sound panel, he leaned over to Scott and said,
“An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Scott whirled around, eyes wide. The triplets froze.
John winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your father.”
“How can you tell?” John asked.
Kevin gestured to where all four boys were kicking a soccer ball back and forth and chattering loudly. “The triplets started up with this goofy language of their own when they were kids. You know, twins do that sort of thing all the time.” He shrugged. “I guess all the boys were close enough in age that they all learned it together. Whenever they’re mad at me, they refuse to speak English.”
“Oh.” John watched the four of them play, idly admiring their footwork. “I thought French was required in Canada.”
“Not for homeschoolers,” Kevin said. He dragged a hand over his face. “Is the soundboard ready?”
“For reverb settings anew.” John saluted.
Kevin beckoned for the boys. They cast him matching baleful looks but approached obediently.
“Soundcheck,” Kevin said.
They nodded, murmured to each other softly in an unintelligible language, and shuffled off toward the stage. John followed silently. Just before he headed toward the sound panel, he leaned over to Scott and said,
“An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Scott whirled around, eyes wide. The triplets froze.
John winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your father.”
Clubbing?
They don't know. And if I have my way, they will never know. All they will ever see is the commander. The one who sacrifices his time and life for the cause. I see them shake their heads, in either wonder or in pity; and sometimes, I can't tell which it is. Not that it really matters. All that matters is the result. They all assume that there is no one for me, that there has never been anyone, but they're wrong. They believe that because it is what I want them to believe. They will only see what I want them to see.
"Hey Boss," Steve said, poking his head into the room, "do you want to some to the club with us?"
David looked up from some scattered paperwork on the desk and ofered an apologetic smile, "sorry, I have to figure out this SNAFU before Hayes has my backside. Maybe next time," he said.
Steve shook his head and withdrew from the room.
David shuffled the papers to the side and pulled out a glossy photo with a smiling girl. She was laughing at the person behind the camera, her eyes bright and alive.
David gently ran his fingers across the picture before tucking it away in his pocket.
They would never know why he never went with them.
"Hey Boss," Steve said, poking his head into the room, "do you want to some to the club with us?"
David looked up from some scattered paperwork on the desk and ofered an apologetic smile, "sorry, I have to figure out this SNAFU before Hayes has my backside. Maybe next time," he said.
Steve shook his head and withdrew from the room.
David shuffled the papers to the side and pulled out a glossy photo with a smiling girl. She was laughing at the person behind the camera, her eyes bright and alive.
David gently ran his fingers across the picture before tucking it away in his pocket.
They would never know why he never went with them.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Project #40: Secrets
We all have them, and we all have a different way of hiding them (or not). This week, I want us to write about how our characters deal with the telling and keeping of secrets. Who do they tell? Who don't they tell? Do they tell anyone at all? How about keeping them, are our characters good at that? Do they promise not to tell, and then accidentally spill to that one other person? Are our characters gossips? Backstabbers? The keeper of everyone's secrets? We shall see.
EDIT: Word limit is 100-500. Sorry. I forgot.
Overview #39: Kissing
While I didn't write anything on Friday or Saturday, I still really enjoyed this week's challenge. It was something to get me writing and it was fun to work on the whole romance thing. Kisses are very important... they are the first step down a road of intimacy that I think sometimes people take for granted. /babbling
And now, for the challenge...
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!
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!
It feels good to be writting again!
Saturday, August 29, 2009
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)
“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.
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.
Friday, August 28, 2009
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)
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.
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)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
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.
***
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)
“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.
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)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
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)
“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.
"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.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
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)
“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."
"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."
Monday, August 24, 2009
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."
"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)
“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)
Sunday, August 23, 2009
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!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
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!
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!
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