The Internet Is For...

The problem with the Internet, Carolyn decided, was that she could find anything on there. Anything.

Including, say, old videos of Four Times Summers that she’d never known existed. Sure, music videos were a dime a dozen, and more than once she and Melanie had indulged in nostalgia over videos on YouTube, but one day, between classes, Carolyn had ventured further and found...video heaven.

As much as the Agency was something of an omniscient entity, the one thing they could never fully wrangle was cyberspace, and Carolyn was taking advantage of the fact that old concert footage on YouTube would barely ding on the terrorist radars.

It was easy to find a playlist that had all every single song in setlist triggered to automatically play, two hours of music all in a row, and Carolyn would listen while she read. While she wrote. While she squabbled with Brad over MSN Messenger about the difference between a buyer in the ordinary course and a buyer in good faith.

Melanie didn’t care, because as far as she was concerned, a girl could never get enough Four Times Summer.

Brad noticed it first when he stopped by Carolyn’s study nook.

“Is that girl headbanging?” he asked.

Carolyn glanced at her laptop, which was open beside her on the couch. “Yes and no.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” Brad arched an eyebrow.

Carolyn set her highlighters down on her open textbook to mark her place “Girl no, headbanging yes.”

Brad leaned over and peered at the screen. “Looks like a girl.”

“He was fifteen at the time. Give him a break.” Carolyn scooped up her highlighters again, the gesture pointed.

“He looks kinda familiar,” Brad conceded. “Like - oh no. You’re not a crazy Four Time Summers fangirl like Melanie, are you?”

“Crazy, no, fangirl, yes,” Carolyn said primly.

Brad shrugged. “Happy studying.”

* * *

“Are you working?” Donna asked.

Carolyn hit a button on her keyboard and the video on the screen paused. “Did you need something?”

Donna arched an eyebrow at the video. “Rock concert during office hours?”

“Makes for a good soundtrack while I hammer out this brief,” Carolyn said. She studied Donna’s expression, waiting for derision or amusement, but she saw neither.

“You used to listen to their nonsense in law school,” Donna said.

“What can I say? Good music transcends trends and time.” Carolyn couldn’t resist a faint smile.

“I swear I saw you watching this same video yesterday.” Donna raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door frame.

“It’s a good song.”

“You need a new hobby, Pierce.”

“And you need to get back to work.”

As soon as Donna was gone, Carolyn pressed a key on her keyboard, and another video popped up. She leaned in and watched, wistful, as Bob protested band stereotypes.

“Does the drummer get to speak?” the presenter asked.

Bob leaned into the microphone with an earnest smile. “Can I please, please speak?”

(491 words)

120 MPH

"Not again," Joe growled under his breath. His foot eased down the brake pedal as he shifted lanes to his right. He glanced in the rear view mirror again at the flashing blue and red lights and pressed a little harder on the brakes, bringing the car to a stop along the freeway. He flicked on the emergency flashers, turned down the stereo, and waited impatiently. After what seemed like forever the policeman stepped out of the cruiser and approached the black car.

"In a bit of a hurry?" the cop asked, his voice dripping with sarchasm.

"No, not really," Joe said. He could be as snarky as he wanted to be. Nothing was going to get him out of another ticket.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" the cop asked, clearly taken aback as the young mans answer. He usually got a bunch of apologies and begging.

"About a hundred and twenty," Joe said in a matter of fact tone.

"You do know that this zone is only sixty-five don't you?"

Joe could tell that the cop was getting irritated; either from Joes' apparent lack of deference to his authority, or the lack of care he seemed to show for breaking the speed limit. Joe was curious just how far he could push this guy. He put on a vapid look, "It is?" he asked with all the innocence he could force into his voice.

"I need your license and insurance," the cop said at last as he shook his head, not quite sure what to make of Joe, but irritated nevertheless.

Joe handed out his license, military ID card, and insurance card.

The cop walked back to his cruiser to enter the information into his computer while Joe tapped idly on the steering wheel. He knew that Commander Cole would find out, but it wouldn't stop him in the future. Ever since Alec had died Joe was unable to control himself when he got behind the wheel. It wasn't as if he had a death wish, though he was sure that the psychologists would say he did. He just felt so free with the road flying past beneath his tires.

Joe glanced up again at the movement in his mirror; the cop was approaching again.

"I am sure you know the drill by now soldier," the police officer said as he handed Joe two slips of paper, "I didn't even know that a person could get that many speeding tickets. The cop shook his head, "The first paper is your fine, the second is from your commander. I contacted him when you came up for arrest for speeding." The cop shook his head and walked away from Joe's car.

Joe sighed and quickly read the message from Major Cole.

Return to base immediately.
Report upon arrival.
Discipline to follow.

As soon as the cop pulled away and was out of sight headed in the other direction, Joe shifted the car to drive and slammed down on the accelerator.

Chocaholic

“I found these in your pockets,” Clay said.

Dan looked up from his history book. “Found what?”

Clay held four neatly-folded candy bar wrappers.

Dan swallowed hard. Then he took a deep breath and attempted to summon some righteous indignation. “What the hell were you doing, going through my pockets?”

“It was my turn to help Shelley with the laundry,” Clay said. “You’re supposed to check pockets before you put clothes in the machine.”

Dan swallowed again. Now what could he say?

“You’re lucky it was me and not Shelley who found these.” Clay crumpled the wrappers in his fist. “You know Dad’s rules. No chocolate - too many calories, high risk of zits.”

Dan wilted under his older brother’s accusing stare. “It was German chocolate, all right? I saved the bars I bought when we were over there, and I’ve been rationing them out. I never have more than one a day, and --”

“One a day?”

“I like chocolate,” Dan said. He hunched his shoulders defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you know what Dad will do if he catches you with any?” Clay demanded.

Dan lowered his gaze.

The resulting silence could have been sliced with a knife.

Clay held out one hand. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Dan’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The rest of the chocolate. Where is it?”

“Clay...”

“All of it. Right now. Give it to me before Dad runs a sweep of your room and all our rooms.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “What would Dad have to search your room for?”

“Give up the chocolate and I won’t tell Dad what you’ve done,” Clay said.


Dan sighed. “Fine. But you promise not to tell him, right?”

Clay nodded. “I promise.”

Dan heaved himself off the bed. He shuffled around his room, pulling candy bars out of his desk, out from between books on his shelves, from inside his closet and under his bed and by the window. The entire time, he could feel Clay’s gaze on him, burning between his shoulder blades.

He piled the candy bars on his bed and watched as Clay bundled them up in his jacket.

“You know the rules,” Clay said, and swept out of the room.

Dan watched him go, reached into his pocket and unwrapped another candy bar. He’d have to find out what Clay was keeping in his room.

(393 words)

Just Not My Game

The smoke curls out of my mouth and drifts lazily toward the sky. I remember my first cigarette. The mountains seemed to hide my new secret, but the echoes of my sputtering coughs rang quite clearly.

I never really picked up the habit, as some do. Sometimes one is all it takes, but for me, I could take it or leave it. It became a placebo to me – a mindless activity that gave me the façade of calm. I still coughed. Everybody looked at me like I was out of place, that a nicotine addiction just wasn’t my game. Maybe it wasn’t.

Now, smoking goes along with another vice of mine: drinking. The two go hand and hand, and I always find myself running outside to join the rest of the smokers when a smoke break has been called.

Out here, alone now, I know that both of these habits are probably doing their best to kill me. And I don’t really mind.

(163 words)

Always Another Secret.

Steve shifted a glance to the left and to the right. He was pretty sure no one was at the safe house at the moment so he felt relatively secure in the knowledge that no one would find him out. "Anyone home?" he called out for good measure.

When no one answered, he stepped through the doorway and into the living room. He knew that if the others found out, they would harass him mercilessly about it, he would have no peace. The only problem that he had found so far was in finding a secure place for his private stash. Steve's eyes roamed the rooms, analyzing, scanning them for anything that was even slightly out of place; David always insisted that everything be exactly where it was supposed to be.

Even knowing that no one was home, Steve still walked through the house on whisper-quiet feet, lithe movements, almost like a stalking cat. He knew everyone on the team had little hide-a-holes secreted through the house, hiding things had become second nature to all of them. Steve knew them all, but he was pretty certain they had not found all of his.

Steve walked to one of his more well known spots and opened a cupboard. Inside he removed a false panel and shuffled a few of his items to one side, a spare gun and clip, a few bags of chips and a jar of salsa. At the top of the hidden cashe Steve removed another panel, revealing a secondary hidden compartment which was empty aside from a picture of a smiling woman.

Steve wiped a bit of dust from the shelf and straitened the picture as he reached into his jacket pocket. He drew out a bulky paper bag, slightly crumpled and worn. he unrolled the top of the bag and drew out a single object. Steve glanced around and quickly rerolled the top of the bag and gently placed in in the compartment. He closed the false panel and rearranged the items in the other; he then closed the false wall and closed the cupboard.

Steve carefully examined his prize from every angle, inspecting it for flaws. Satisfied, he popped it in his mouth, sighing in relief and satisfaction as the dark chocolate and raspberry creme melted in his mouth and slid sinfully down his throat.

Preferred Brand

“You’re reading slower than usual,” Bob said. He and Carolyn were sprawled side-by-side on the double bunk at the back of the bus, textbooks and notebooks spread haphazardly around them.

“Mmhmm,” Carolyn murmured absently, savoring each word as it curled off the page and down her throat like warm honey.

Bob lowered his geography book and peered at the spine of Carolyn’s book. “What are you reading?”

The title on the spine of the book was The Federalist Papers.

“Number 84. Hamilton’s denial of the necessity of the Bill of Rights,” she said.

Bob arched an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve seen you speed through textbooks before. And America has a Bill of Rights, doesn’t it? So this Hamilton guy had it all wrong.”

“Mmhmm,” Carolyn agreed.

Bob poked the dust-jacket on the book experimentally. “So why are you reading his stuff if he was wrong?”

“’S important to know.” Carolyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Bob eyed her for a long moment. Something wasn’t right; she only read her ‘novels for fun’ this slowly. “Really?” His tone was loaded with skepticism.

Carolyn opened her eyes and looked at him, blinked as if she were just coming to proper awareness. “Really. Lawyers need to know both sides of every argument.”

“Right,” Bob said, tone still skeptical. “You’re not doing homework, are you? We had a deal - we both get our homework done before soundcheck and then after the show we can go get dinner together.”

“Together with your brothers,” Carolyn said. She closed her book and grinned. “I’ll tell you what - how about we take a quick study break?”

“What kind of study break?” Bob asked.

Carolyn leaned up and kissed him.

The book slid from her grasp and landed on the floor, open to the page she had been reading.

O my America! my new-found land, / My Kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned, / My mine of precious stones, my empery, / How blest am I in this discovering thee!

John Donne had little to say about the Bill of Rights.

* * *

Dan poked his head into Carolyn’s hotel room. “Hey, can I borrow one of your textbooks about English common law?”

Carolyn looked up from where she was savoring a volume of Blackstone’s Commentaries. “Which one?”

“Any one. My assignment is about the development of English courts.”

“Sure. I’ll bring one down to you in a minute,” Carolyn said. “It’ll take me a moment to find the right one.”

Dan eyed the stack of textbooks on the table. “I can just grab it - no need to stop studying. Which volume?” He started toward the table.

Carolyn sat up. “Seriously. I’ll bring one to you.”

Dan blinked at the vehemence in her tone. “Uh...okay. I’m rooming with Scott. Bye.”

“Bye,” Carolyn said. She took a deep breath. She really needed to find a better hiding place for her preferred brand of poetry.

(488 words; quote from John Donne's Elegy XIX)

Project #44 - Vice

I don't know if you've done this, but this concept has become very interesting to me as of late. Now, it can be the normal stuff, like drinking, smoking, other miscellaneous drugs, etc. However, it can also be silly things too, like terrible horror movies, sugary junk food, or... sex! I don't know. Just throwing ideas out there. How does your character deal with his/her vices? Does he/she try to hide them? Does he/she display them openly, not caring for the opinions of others? How did they acquire their vice? Are they trying to kick their habits?

100-500 words, as per usual. Good luck all.

Overview #43: Voices

This was a hard one for me. Funny how the challenges I issue are always the hardest for me. It was difficult to find different way to go into characters' voices in the Carolyn-verse, especially given that four of them are singers. I decided to give Scott some solo singing love, because I could totally see him singing a highly inappropriate lullaby to a baby. I don't think Clay and Bob's voices are really all that similar, but sometimes when I close my eyes and listen to them speak, it's easy to get them mixed up. I was sad that no one went out for a mini-essay. It was fun to try Carolyn's voice in epistolary form. Honestly, I think the best post of the week was the one about Kevin remembering his sons' voices, especially since he was with them all growing up and listened to their voices change. Still, this was a fun exercise in learning how people's voices serve as memory triggers and how much voice, in its literal or literary form, can play a huge part in a story.

Also, I could not resist at least one "chipmunks" dig at the boys.

...I think I'm the only one who went all six days this week. I guess...technically...this week's prize is mine. Head on over to the Shop and find it!

Jaded Chaos, you're on!

Overview #43 - voices

So this week was a big challenge for me. I have not had much practice in defining a persons voice. I've never really tried to bring it so much to life that I could hear it, or others could hear it either. I think this week was kind of hit and miss when it came to getting it right. Thank you especially to Nagi who helped me see what my posts could have been. How I could have expanded the voice more to include another dimension to it.

EMT Lullabies

“Where did you say you found her?” Ellis asked.

“On a bench out by the ER entrance. I was running final checks on the ambulance,” Scott said.

The baby girl kicked and squalled, red in the face as Ellis tried to check her over. Ellis tried to maneuver his stethoscope around her flailing limbs, but she wasn’t having it.

“Where’s the NICU nurse?” Ellis demanded.

“Down in the NICU,” Scott said.

“If she’d just hold still --”

“She didn’t start screaming until you touched her,” Scott said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I’d know if I could just check her vitals.” Ellis leaned in, reared back to avoid taking a foot to the eye. He growled, frustrated, and that made the baby cry louder.

Scott elbowed Ellis aside and scooped the baby up awkwardly into his arms. Then he rocked her gently and began to sing.

Ellis stared.

Scott lowered his head and sang softly, barely audible above the tiny girl’s sobs. But her cries slowly subsided, and Scott continued singing, rocking her to the rhythm of the song.

Ellis blinked. “She...she likes your voice.” Then he frowned. “Is that song really appropriate for a baby?”

Scott glared at him but kept singing, kept rocking her. By the end of the song, she’d closed her eyes and stilled. Scott went to lay her back down on the cot. Her eyes flew open and she squalled some more. Ellis gestured sharply, and Scott scooped her back up, began to sing once more.

(250 words)

The Voice

David remembered Ariana's voice so clearly that at times he thought he could hear her next to him.

Ariana's voice could cast a spell on the hardest of hearts. It flowed sweetly in Italian, and seductively in French. It was harsh in German, and staccato in Japanese. Her voice was tight when she was upset, and modulated when giving a speech. Her bell-clear voice could soar to that perfect pitch, her entire soul laid bare in the moment.

I hear your voice on the wind
And I here you call out my name

'Listen my child', you say to me
'I am the voice of your history
Be not afraid, come follow me
Answer my call and I'll set you free'

I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain
I am the voice of your hunger and pain
I am the voice that always is calling you
I am the voice, I will remain

It was the voice David would know anywhere. But for years, it had been silent.


(short, and not very good, but here it is. I also know it it a bit of an impossibility for her to know that many languages.)

Switching Places

Dinah tilted her head to one side. “That’s not Clay’s voice.”

Shelley paused and listened as well. “No. The triplets are helping some younger boys write a song. Must be one of them singing.”

“You’re probably right,” Dinah said. She and Shelley stood side-by-side in the kitchen, fixing lunch for the boys. “Should we make more sandwiches, then?”

“Teenage boys are bottomless pits.” Shelley reached for the loaf of bread she’d just tied off. “A little extra couldn’t hurt.”

Once all the sandwiches were done, the women headed upstairs to deliver the food. They paused in the doorway and watched the boys brainstorming lyrics.

Dan was laughing. “You mean...a song about insects?”

One of the teenage boys raised his eyebrows. “Dude, did you just say incest?”

Bob flung a crumpled ball of paper at him. “He said insects.”

The boy shook his head, confused.

The triplets exchanged looks, and then Bob said,

“Never mind - song was before your time.”

“Wait a moment,” one other boys said, “you sang a song about bugs?”

“We were nine at the time,” Clay protested. “Come on - what’s going on in the second verse?”

“Hey Clay, did we already use the phrase ‘on the floor’?” the third boy asked.

Bob consulted the laptop. “No. Unfortunately.”

Then the boy blinked. “Did I just call you Clay?”

Dan said, “They switched places.”

Bob and Clay laughed. Dinah glanced at Shelley, and they smiled. It was good to hear laughter in the house again.

(249 words - I couldn't resist this one)

Deadly Calm

"Your worthless Joe!" the man said as he landed another kick to his ribs, "just like your brother. Both of you; a pair of worthless hoods not worth the money from the government!"

Joe curled in around himself, stifling a whimper of pain as he felt another blow catch him in the hip. If he was quiet, it would be over soon.

"The only good thing about the two of you is the money. And now there is even less of it now that your brother is gone. If I could have gotten the money without either one of you, I would have killed him myself!" he said. Joe felt a rib crack and fire began dancing under his skin.

"No," Joe whispered, curling tighter. "No," he repeated louder, firmer, a tone of determination sliding into place as if it should have always been there.

"NO!" he yelled as he twisted away from the approaching blow. He spun swiftly and caught Earl's leg in an iron grasp. He didn't release his leg when he stood up, causing Earl to fall backwards.

Joe towered over Earl, "I could kill you now myself and have no regrets about it," his voice was icy calm, deadly, "Make no mistake. I have no compunctions killing you, other than Alec would not want me to. It's only for his sake that you are still breathing. If you ever touch me again, then I will have to pray for his forgiveness, because I will kill you."

Joe stepped away from where Earl lay on the floor and walked out the door into the night.

No Big Secret

Clay stared at the piece of paper that had been locked in his father’s desk for five years.

“I found it. The envelope was still sealed,” Dan said quietly.

“What does it say?” Scott asked.

Clay cleared his throat, but at first he could only stare at the words.

Dear Scott, Clay, Robert, and Daniel,

I’m sorry. For everything. For the secrets I kept, for the person I really was who certainly wasn’t the person you called your friend. I’m sorry I never told you the truth and never trusted you with who I was, even though you trusted me with your lives. I’m sorry for any pain I caused, and I promise you will never see me again. I wish all of you the best and hope you find serenity and happiness beyond the disaster that marked the end of your youth.

Farewell.

Thank you for keeping my secret, Dan.

Clay could almost hear her voice, as if she were kneeling beside him on the bed and whispering in his ear the way she had, sometimes, when she was translating something important and forgot, for one moment, that he wasn’t his brother.

Then his brow furrowed. “What does this mean?” And he read the last line to his brother.

“It means she told me a secret and she wants me to continue keeping it,” Dan said.

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “She kept enough secrets from us. Spill.”

“It was no big secret,” Dan said. “No national security issue.”

(248 words)

River Stone

"Hello?" Steven asked, his voice coming out gravely from sleep when he picked up the phone.

"Lieutenant Blackwood!" his commanders voice barked over the line.

Steven rolled out of bed and came to his feet in a perfect parade rest, an automatic reaction to the voice of authority. He would have saluted, but there was no one in the room to salute. "Yes Sir," Steven snapped out. "What are your orders sir?" his words came out firm and smooth, like a rock that had been worn flawless by an eternities dance with the tides of a river.

"Get your gear; wheels up in thirty minutes. Notify the others," David ordered before hanging up on his subordinate officer.

"Yes Sir," Steve said, though it made no difference. Steve ran across the hall to their team barracks and flipped on the light. The others made noises of protest and covered their faces.

"All of you. Get ready to go, we have a hot one and no time for complaints," he laced his words with an edge of steel, daring anyone to argue with him. "Wheels up in thirty, so you have fifteen to be ready and on your way to the hanger. Now Move!" Steve commanded.

Steve ran back to his room and was ready in no more than eight minutes. After the allotted time he ran back to the team room where there was organized chaos everywhere.

"Time to go gentlemen," Steve said, his tone brooking no argument, "let's go." He lead the way down the corridor and a swift jog towards the jet hanger.

Introductions

Carolyn knelt in the instrument rig, pieces of a Glock laid out on a box. She checked the stopwatch, started it, then closed her eyes and scooped up the first pieces she touched.

As the last piece slid into place with a click, voices met her ears. She’d spent hours studying footage, photographs, and files about the four boys that she was going to be living with, but she’d never actually met them. Yet.

She could hear them singing.

She opened her eyes and didn’t even bother to glance at the stopwatch.

Then she poked her head out of the rig and saw all four boys standing around their father, at attention, like little soldiers, filling the air with sugar-sweet harmony. Given how young they were, their sense of three-part harmony was sophisticated.


Even if they did sound like chipmunks.

“Scott, keep your posture up. Dan, control those higher notes. Clay, sway in time with your brothers or don’t sway at all.” Kevin turned to his other son. “Bob, what the hell was that?”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” one of the little boys said. He had a slight lisp. “I tried to stay on key --”

“No excuses, Robert. Did you warm up like I told you?”

“I did, sir.”

John coughed politely. “Has anyone seen Carolyn?”

“Who’s Carolyn?” all four boys asked.

“John’s bringing his daughter on the road, the way Captain Lyle sometimes brings Ronnie,” Kevin said. “I suppose introductions should be made.”

(245 words)

Mass

Their voices rose in perfect harmony, tenor and base twining around each other, the young voices of innocence. Bryan and Mark stood in the chancel of the chapel where they had always gone to church, dressed in matching robes. It was the last time that they would be singing in public as altar boys. The melody crescendo effortlessly.

APERI, Dómine, os meum ad benedicéndum nomen sanctum tuum: munda quoque cor meum ab ómnibus vanis, pervérsis et aliénis cogitatiónibus; intelléctum illúmina, afféctum inflámma, ut digne, atténte ac devóte hoc Offícium recitáre váleam, et exaudíri mérear ante conspéctum divínæ Majestátis tuæ. Per Christum, Dóminum nostrum. R. Amen.

Dómine, in unióne illíus divínæ intentiónis, qua ipse in terris laudes Deo persolvísti, hanc tibi Horam persólvo.

Standing in the Doorway

Kevin stood in the doorway of his sons’ empty room. It was bare of all but the bones of the furniture - four bunks, a desk and chair, a lamp. The wall was still marked with pale spaces where Scott had hung his first guitar, where Bob and Clay tacked stacks of sheet music to make notes and squabble over harmonies.

Kevin closed his eyes and remembered his sons’ voices, little piping children’s voices as they leapt from bunk to bunk, pretending to shoot each other with water pistols in a game of cops and robbers. He’d stood in the doorway just like this when Scott came skittering out of the bathroom, whimpering because his voice squeaked whenever he spoke. He’d stood in the doorway just like this and heard rock’n’roll pour out of his sons instruments as they’d sat in a circle and laced harmonies over Scott’s first real guitar licks.

He’d stood in the doorway just like this and listened to them hiss at each other in their twin-speak as they packed their clothes and ignored him thoroughly.

He opened his eyes and he was still standing in the doorway, but their voices were gone.

#42 Winner!

First of all, I apologize for not writing more in this post but I have very little time (and energy) to finish. I've found that I both love and hate judging these things since it's awesome to look at everyone's work with a critical eye but very difficult to choose a writer who did the best.

We are all experts and we are all novices.

Although, I chose Nagi and since we already discussed her prize, in fact I already unwittingly finished it. Thats about all.

The Letter

Steve picked up a piece of paper that was tied with a ribbon. It had fluttered down out of the sky to land near where he was enjoying a bit of sun on the grass. Attached were bits of balloon and a long thread. Steve glanced around and unrolled the paper. He was surprised to see it was a letter.

Dear Ari,

Here it is, another year gone past and I am still here. Oh, how I long for the day when we are together again. I don't know if you are watching over me; I like to think that you are, that you can see all I do. Would you be proud of me? Would you shudder in shame at the things I have done for our people? Our people, such a strange concept. All inclusive, but at the same time, we are all isolated. When I stop to think about it, they are not my people, they are only the people, the people that I serve and protect, the people that I have no doubt, one day I will give my life for. I would have given my life for you. Then I have to stop and ask myself, why do I do this? Is it to shut the world out, keep everyone and everything at a distance?
I've never said it to anyone, not that anyone knows much about me, But I never got over loosing you. I stopped caring for a long time. In fact, if you were watching me, you know that I nearly laid down and died that winter. Then, I had so much hate for so long that I didn't know what to do. And then when my hate was gone, I didn't know who I was anymore. I simply continued in what I had become. There was nowhere for me to go, no one to go to. I became a shell, I still am a shell in some ways. Hollow, with a great void where my heart should be, where you should be. Maybe that is how I am able to do my work; to kill people, and give little thought to it.
If there is some great eternal realm after we die, will you be there waiting for me?

I love you Ari, with all the love that I have left in me, all my love has always and will always be yours.

David

Steve nearly choked when he saw the signature. He recognized it.

Self-Arguing

The Orphaneer was certain of one thing - The Carrier was insane. She could hear him on the other side of the aisle, arguing with himself. It was one thing to talk to oneself, but self-arguing was definitely a sign of madness.

It was too easy to take out a crazy guy, and she’d signed up for a challenge.

“Make up your mind. Do you want potatoes or french fries?”

“They’re the same thing.”

“No they’re not! If you want real potatoes, then go get some fresh potatoes, but if you want fries, then we’ll get a huge bag of frozen ones and thaw them as we need them.”

“We can make fries as we need them from real potatoes and it’s a whole lot healthier.”

His voice wasn’t anything special; faintly nondescript, a light tenor. She hadn’t cared to listen to the music he sang with his siblings; she didn’t believe in undercover nonsense and would rather use chloroform and a tackle than pretend to be a mindless teenybopper fan.

Not that she wasn’t a teenager.

She studied the photo the Generals had given her and took a deep breath. Time to take him out.

“Since when do you care about health?”

“Since I don’t want to tick off Dad.”

She reached into her pocket for the chloroform and a handkerchief, soaked the handkerchief with a smooth dip of her wrist. Then she rounded the corner.

And stared at the pair of twins who hovered over a shopping basket, still arguing. They both wore shorts and t-shirts and baseball caps, and she sneaked a peek at the picture once more.

Maybe she should have asked for his name before she set off.

(284 words)

Project #43: Voices

Let this be an exercise is voices - of all kinds. Your own voice in a tiny essay-rant. The voices David hears in his head when he's lining up a sniper shot for a kill. The way Eddy's voice sounds in the dark when no one can hear him. The way Scott sang while his voice was changing. How a character's voice sounds in a letter when another character reads it. Make the voices unique and alive. 100-350 words. Enjoy!

Overview #42: Virginal

I think I did only all right this week. It was a long, tough week for me IRL, so what came out was mediocre. I did some of the traditional first times, like Dan's first time imbibing alcohol. Carolyn's first time killing was pretty much a necessary evil. Some of the other first times weren't personal enough, maybe, like the ones beating around the bush about Dinah and Shelley, but they were pretty important for the plot, so I went for it. I think the last entry was the most creative one I came up with as far as I could tell - Scott's very first time playing a guitar. Ever. It was short but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

Awed Awake, pick this week's winner!

A-440

He’d known its sound for years, been comforted through nightmares and lulled to sleep by its noise, but never once had he dared use it himself.

It was taller than him, but father cradled it easily in his massive hands, and it didn’t look that heavy. He looked around the room, but the three were crying and mother and father were trying to make them stop.

No one was there.

No one would know.

He reached out and pressed his little hand tentatively against the smooth wood of its body, walked his tiny fingers up its neck.

Then, with his child-heart pounding in his chest, he did the deed, reached out and plucked one of the shiny steel strings.

The sound of A-440 would live with him forever.

(130 words)

Get You A Sprite

“Congratulations on going platinum!” The forty-something man clapped Dan on the shoulder and shoved a flute of champagne at him.

Dan stared at the bubbling golden liquid for a long time, then peered at the crowded reception room. Lily, their publicist, had separated the four of them as soon as they’d entered, and Dan couldn’t see any of his brothers or really anyone he knew. He’d have liked to have another chance to chat with the producer, but the sea of adults had swallowed everyone up.

He stared at the champagne some more. On every side, people were holding half-empty flutes of champagne, talking and laughing and obviously enjoying themselves. They didn’t seem drunk. Dan shrugged and took a sip.

And very nearly died. Carbonation shot up his nose, and fire raced down his throat. He coughed and spluttered. It tasted like Nyquil and sugar and he couldn’t speak.

Someone relieved him of the flute of champagne and patted him on the back, hard.

Dan squeaked and blinked unexpected tears away.

“You all right, kid?”

Dan opened his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks. Sir.”

“First time, huh?” The man standing over him grinned, amused.

Dan coughed and spluttered a little more. “Yes, sir.”

“No need to call me sir, kid.” The man offered a hand. “My name’s Nate Ulrich. I hear you boys play your own instruments.”

“We do.”

The man grinned. “Great. Let’s talk about your next album. I’ll get you a Sprite.”

(244 words)

Big Family Dinner

“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)

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."

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.)

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. ^.^

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...

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)

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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")

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!)

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)

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)

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.

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.

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!

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."

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.”

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.

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)

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.”

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.

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!

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!