“I’ll be fine,” Bob insisted.
“Shut up,” Clay said gently. “You’re sick.”
“We can tour. Really. I just need a couple of days to rest,” Bob said.
Kevin reached for the phone. “So if I call the label rep --”
Bob started to nod his assent; Clay and Scott exchanged desperate looks. Why did Bob always give in?
“I don’t want to renew my contract,” Dan said.
Scott shot him an apprehensive look. “Danny --”
“I’m done. We had our fun, but I want a normal life. I want to go to college.” Dan met his father’s gaze evenly, but his hands shook. The other two triplets looked alarmed.
Kevin’s jaw tightened. “Daniel, be reasonable --”
“I’m sick of living on the road and hearing girls scream in my sleep.” Dan’s hands curled into fists.
Kevin attempted a winning smile. “The girls love you.”
Dan said, "I'm gay."
The other three froze.
Kevin’s face went blank. “What?”
“I’m gay and I have a boyfriend and we’re going to college together,” Dan said.
Rage flashed in Kevin’s eyes. “No son of mine is like that.”
“Well I am!”
Kevin swung at him.
Dan automatically moved to block, but then Bob was in front of him, one hand on his father’s wrist. Kevin looked stunned. All Clay could think was, Nice reflexes.
Bob’s eyes were dark with fury. “You promised you’d never touch them.”
Kevin swallowed hard, tugged free of Bob’s wrist. “Robert, I...”
“I think enough is enough,” Scott said quietly. “I’ve stood by and watched for too long what you’ve done to my little brothers, and it ends now.”
Kevin’s expression hardened, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “Is that your decision?”
The other three boys formed a wall around Scott, staring their father down.
Scott said, “Yes, it is.”
(297 words)
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tickets
"Has anyone else noticed how strange the commander has been acting this week?" Steve asked the other three as they sat in the dining room. None of them knew where David was; he hadn't left any note.
"Yeah," the other three answered. "I don't know what is going on, but it feels weird. First the picture, and the dinner," Bryan said.
"I heard him singing one night," Mark said quietly.
"And he invited me to watch the meteor shower with him," Joe added.
Steve was pondering over these thoughts when his phone went off. Seconds later the other three phones in the room went off also.
Flipping open the phone, they could see that it was a text message from David. All it said was an address and a time, ten hundred.
Steve looked at his watch and nodded. "Let's go men,"
>>>>>>>>>>>>
The four men were extremely puzzled as they stepped out of the car. Rising before them was a massive carnival. They could see David waiting at the front gate.
"What's up Boss?" Steve asked as they approached.
David shrugged, "Let's go have some fun," he said as he turned to buy tickets.
"Yeah," the other three answered. "I don't know what is going on, but it feels weird. First the picture, and the dinner," Bryan said.
"I heard him singing one night," Mark said quietly.
"And he invited me to watch the meteor shower with him," Joe added.
Steve was pondering over these thoughts when his phone went off. Seconds later the other three phones in the room went off also.
Flipping open the phone, they could see that it was a text message from David. All it said was an address and a time, ten hundred.
Steve looked at his watch and nodded. "Let's go men,"
>>>>>>>>>>>>
The four men were extremely puzzled as they stepped out of the car. Rising before them was a massive carnival. They could see David waiting at the front gate.
"What's up Boss?" Steve asked as they approached.
David shrugged, "Let's go have some fun," he said as he turned to buy tickets.
Dinner
"Oh, what smells so good?" Bryan asked as he came in the front door, followed by the other three.
Both Mark and Steve inhaled the scents of roasting meat that were coming from the kitchen.
"Whatever it is, is sure smells good," Mark said and he inhaled again, internalizing the scents.
Steve poked his head around the doorway and into the kitchen. He was rewarded by a powerful gust of scents as David opened the oven door. "Cooking Boss?" Steve asked in surprise.
David looked up from where he was placing the food on the counter, "Yes," he said simply.
"What are you making?" Steve asked as he stepped fully into the kitchen.
"Seared duck with a raspberry chipolte demi glace sauce, Garlic whipped potatoes, a harvest vegetable medley, a butternut squash soup, a spring mix salad with almonds, feta cheese, and dried cranberries, and a passion fruit mousse for dessert," David said, though he sounded distracted. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Go get cleaned up."
"Yes Boss," Steve said as he ushered the others out of the kitchen and towards the back of the house.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The team sat around, groaning in pleasure at the delicious food that they had been treated to. Finally, Mark said, "I didn't know you could cook Boss."
David looked up at him from the small coffee gup he was contemplating, "A good friend taught me a long time ago. It has been a long time though since I have cooked."
"Well, it was the best I have ever eaten," Bryan piped up and the others agreed.
"Thank you," David said simply.
Both Mark and Steve inhaled the scents of roasting meat that were coming from the kitchen.
"Whatever it is, is sure smells good," Mark said and he inhaled again, internalizing the scents.
Steve poked his head around the doorway and into the kitchen. He was rewarded by a powerful gust of scents as David opened the oven door. "Cooking Boss?" Steve asked in surprise.
David looked up from where he was placing the food on the counter, "Yes," he said simply.
"What are you making?" Steve asked as he stepped fully into the kitchen.
"Seared duck with a raspberry chipolte demi glace sauce, Garlic whipped potatoes, a harvest vegetable medley, a butternut squash soup, a spring mix salad with almonds, feta cheese, and dried cranberries, and a passion fruit mousse for dessert," David said, though he sounded distracted. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Go get cleaned up."
"Yes Boss," Steve said as he ushered the others out of the kitchen and towards the back of the house.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The team sat around, groaning in pleasure at the delicious food that they had been treated to. Finally, Mark said, "I didn't know you could cook Boss."
David looked up at him from the small coffee gup he was contemplating, "A good friend taught me a long time ago. It has been a long time though since I have cooked."
"Well, it was the best I have ever eaten," Bryan piped up and the others agreed.
"Thank you," David said simply.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Not The Same
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Ellis demanded.
Scott hugged his knees to his chest. “I didn’t start anything. I was doing my share of the ambulance check and he whacked me.” He had a black eye and a split lip, but he still wasn’t hurting nearly as much as Graham was.
“That boy-band fag was givin’ me lip,” Graham said. His voice was muffled behind the handkerchief he had pressed to his broken nose.
Scott’s eyes blazed. “I’m not a fag, and I wasn’t in a boy-band. I’m sick and tired of taking crap from you guys about what I used to do.” He stood up, scooped up his guitar. “You know what? I’m damn proud of the music I made with my brothers. I don’t care what you people think - I’m a good musician and nothing you say will ever change that.”
“I don’t care what you used to do,” Ellis said sharply. “I care about you getting along with the crew.”
“I haven’t been stepping on anyone’s toes,” Scott said. “I pitch in and do my share and don’t complain.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Graham said. “You’re not one of us.”
Scott leaned in so they were almost nose-to-nose. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”
“And you don’t know what it’s like to be me either,” Graham shot back.
“I’ll tell you what,” Scott said, “when you figure out how to make it so when I close my eyes I don’t hear people screaming and dying, we can call it a mile in each other’s shoes.”
“We’re EMTs - we see people die every day,” Graham said.
“Death,” Scott said softly, “is not the same as murder.”
(288 words)
Scott hugged his knees to his chest. “I didn’t start anything. I was doing my share of the ambulance check and he whacked me.” He had a black eye and a split lip, but he still wasn’t hurting nearly as much as Graham was.
“That boy-band fag was givin’ me lip,” Graham said. His voice was muffled behind the handkerchief he had pressed to his broken nose.
Scott’s eyes blazed. “I’m not a fag, and I wasn’t in a boy-band. I’m sick and tired of taking crap from you guys about what I used to do.” He stood up, scooped up his guitar. “You know what? I’m damn proud of the music I made with my brothers. I don’t care what you people think - I’m a good musician and nothing you say will ever change that.”
“I don’t care what you used to do,” Ellis said sharply. “I care about you getting along with the crew.”
“I haven’t been stepping on anyone’s toes,” Scott said. “I pitch in and do my share and don’t complain.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Graham said. “You’re not one of us.”
Scott leaned in so they were almost nose-to-nose. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”
“And you don’t know what it’s like to be me either,” Graham shot back.
“I’ll tell you what,” Scott said, “when you figure out how to make it so when I close my eyes I don’t hear people screaming and dying, we can call it a mile in each other’s shoes.”
“We’re EMTs - we see people die every day,” Graham said.
“Death,” Scott said softly, “is not the same as murder.”
(288 words)
Who Else
John’s last mission was to make sure the boys made it home safe. Luckily for him, his duties ended at the border, so he lingered on the edge of the throng of fans gathered at the airport and watched. And waited.
“I thought you and Carolyn were done with the tour,” Dinah Summers said.
John’s hand went for his gun, and he cursed himself. How the hell had he missed her?
“Nostalgia,” he said, eased his hand away from his gun.
Dinah didn’t miss the motion. “I know what really happened in Germany.”
“The boys were lucky they were out breaking curfew when the quake happened,” John lied smoothly. “Kevin just thinks they were quick on their feet.”
Dinah shook her head. “No. I know what really happened.” She took a deep breath. “It was right after Scotty was born. We needed money, so I signed up for a medical study. By the time I was pregnant, I realized something was wrong, that it was no ordinary medical study. Tell me one thing, John, will they hurt my son?”
“Not anymore,” he said. “We worked long and hard to make sure they can’t. It’s done, now. He’ll be free to live a normal life - or as normal as it can be, seeing who he is.”
A chorus of cheers and screams rose up when Scott, half-awake, stepped into the terminal laden down with his luggage and guitar case.
“You weren’t sent to kill him?” Dinah’s voice quavered.
John shook his head. “They wouldn’t have killed him either. But it was our job to protect him.”
“Who else worked with you?”
“Who else but Carolyn?”
(275 words - too many people know now, don't they?)
“I thought you and Carolyn were done with the tour,” Dinah Summers said.
John’s hand went for his gun, and he cursed himself. How the hell had he missed her?
“Nostalgia,” he said, eased his hand away from his gun.
Dinah didn’t miss the motion. “I know what really happened in Germany.”
“The boys were lucky they were out breaking curfew when the quake happened,” John lied smoothly. “Kevin just thinks they were quick on their feet.”
Dinah shook her head. “No. I know what really happened.” She took a deep breath. “It was right after Scotty was born. We needed money, so I signed up for a medical study. By the time I was pregnant, I realized something was wrong, that it was no ordinary medical study. Tell me one thing, John, will they hurt my son?”
“Not anymore,” he said. “We worked long and hard to make sure they can’t. It’s done, now. He’ll be free to live a normal life - or as normal as it can be, seeing who he is.”
A chorus of cheers and screams rose up when Scott, half-awake, stepped into the terminal laden down with his luggage and guitar case.
“You weren’t sent to kill him?” Dinah’s voice quavered.
John shook his head. “They wouldn’t have killed him either. But it was our job to protect him.”
“Who else worked with you?”
“Who else but Carolyn?”
(275 words - too many people know now, don't they?)
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Perseid
Joe threw down his pencil in frustration over his paperwork, and wiped the sweat from his face. "Perfect," he muttered, "middle of August and the cooler goes out. It has to be the most humid and hot night on record," he griped to no one. Joe stood up and walked to the kitchen, stripping off his damp and sweat soaked over shirt. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a cold soda; David didn't allow alcohol in the house, and rolled the cool can over his face and neck. As he turned to go back to his work he spotted David walking out the back door with a large cylinder over his shoulder. Curious, Joe followed him to the backyard.
Joe watched in fascination as David set up the cylinder. It looked like it was made from a cardboard tube.
"What are you doing Boss?" Joe asked after observing him for a few moments.
"Tonight is the peak of the Perseid meteor shower; it's when the earth moves through the trail left by a comet, there will be a lot of shooting stars tonight," David said as he looked at the youngest member of his team.
Joe frowned in puzzlement, "I didn't know you were into meteor showers," he said.
David smiled and brushed some dust off of the telescope, "a long time ago, I wasn't, at least not at first, but a very good friend of mine was," he said as he adjusted the angle of the lens. He looked up at Joe, "would you care to join me? It should be quite the show tonight."
Joe thought about it briefly, "okay," he said after a moment, "I would like that."
David smiled and stepped aside so that Joe could get a look at the sky.
"Wow," Joe breathed in wonder as he watched streaks of light flash past.
"Yeah," David said with a gentle smile. He stood back and looked up at the heavens, a single tear brimmed, but didn't fall.
Joe watched in fascination as David set up the cylinder. It looked like it was made from a cardboard tube.
"What are you doing Boss?" Joe asked after observing him for a few moments.
"Tonight is the peak of the Perseid meteor shower; it's when the earth moves through the trail left by a comet, there will be a lot of shooting stars tonight," David said as he looked at the youngest member of his team.
Joe frowned in puzzlement, "I didn't know you were into meteor showers," he said.
David smiled and brushed some dust off of the telescope, "a long time ago, I wasn't, at least not at first, but a very good friend of mine was," he said as he adjusted the angle of the lens. He looked up at Joe, "would you care to join me? It should be quite the show tonight."
Joe thought about it briefly, "okay," he said after a moment, "I would like that."
David smiled and stepped aside so that Joe could get a look at the sky.
"Wow," Joe breathed in wonder as he watched streaks of light flash past.
"Yeah," David said with a gentle smile. He stood back and looked up at the heavens, a single tear brimmed, but didn't fall.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The First Time
Paul had been really patient about teaching Clay how to play the guitar, and they were celebrating Clay’s mastery of the chord hammer by getting drunk next to a bonfire on the beach.
“So.” Paul gesticulated wildly with his half-empty bottle of rum. “Tell me, Clay Timothy Summers, what is the worst thing you’ve ever seen? I mean, you’ve been a rock star since you were, like, born. So really, what’s the worst you’ve seen?”
Clay swiped the bottle from Paul, sipped thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Paul smirked. “Try me.”
“So, Bobby and I were in love with the same girl one time.” Clay stared into the flames. The ones on the edge, the darker ones tinged with shadow, were almost the same shade as Carolyn’s eyes.
“Lemme guess - you caught Bobby and her doin’ it up against the wall after a concert!” Paul’s grin was wicked.
Clay shook his head. “No, jerk. I’m being serious here.”
“What happened, then?”
“I fell out of love with her the first time I saw her kill a man.”
Paul choked on his rum. “The first time?”
(189 words)
“So.” Paul gesticulated wildly with his half-empty bottle of rum. “Tell me, Clay Timothy Summers, what is the worst thing you’ve ever seen? I mean, you’ve been a rock star since you were, like, born. So really, what’s the worst you’ve seen?”
Clay swiped the bottle from Paul, sipped thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Paul smirked. “Try me.”
“So, Bobby and I were in love with the same girl one time.” Clay stared into the flames. The ones on the edge, the darker ones tinged with shadow, were almost the same shade as Carolyn’s eyes.
“Lemme guess - you caught Bobby and her doin’ it up against the wall after a concert!” Paul’s grin was wicked.
Clay shook his head. “No, jerk. I’m being serious here.”
“What happened, then?”
“I fell out of love with her the first time I saw her kill a man.”
Paul choked on his rum. “The first time?”
(189 words)
Requiem
Bryan's eyebrows knitted in confusion at the sounds coming from the living room. It was three in the morning and Bryan had needed a glass of water. It sounded like low humming, a sad song. Eventually the tune resolved itself into words, sung ponderously, as if recalling a memory, or trying to forget one.
Byran was even more confused when he recognized almost instantly his commanders voice. He took a quick peek around the doorway and saw David at his desk, looking at the photo that they had found earlier that night.
Bryan listened as he hung back out of sight in the dining room. Bryan felt tears welling in his eyes as he listened to the heartbreak in his leaders voice, and had to wipe at his face. Bryan eased back from the door as David fell silent; he could hear the muffled tears from his friend, and walked, cat-silent back to his own room.
Bryan had a hard time falling asleep again that night.
Byran was even more confused when he recognized almost instantly his commanders voice. He took a quick peek around the doorway and saw David at his desk, looking at the photo that they had found earlier that night.
Bryan listened as he hung back out of sight in the dining room. Bryan felt tears welling in his eyes as he listened to the heartbreak in his leaders voice, and had to wipe at his face. Bryan eased back from the door as David fell silent; he could hear the muffled tears from his friend, and walked, cat-silent back to his own room.
Bryan had a hard time falling asleep again that night.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Four Years Since
Bob knelt in the small wooden booth, crossed himself, and waited for the screen to open.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been four years since my last confession,” he said.
“Speak, my child.”
He started small - sneaking cigarettes from John’s stash, saying yes when he should’ve said no to beer cans from Captain Lyle, all the times he was horrible to his brothers and Shelley and his father.
The priest broke in. “Maybe just say you suffer from impatience and a lack of charity and do your best to work on that, okay?”
Bob nodded, then remembered the priest couldn’t see him and said, “Yes, Father.”
“What’s really on your mind, son?”
“I don’t want to die.”
(120 words)
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been four years since my last confession,” he said.
“Speak, my child.”
He started small - sneaking cigarettes from John’s stash, saying yes when he should’ve said no to beer cans from Captain Lyle, all the times he was horrible to his brothers and Shelley and his father.
The priest broke in. “Maybe just say you suffer from impatience and a lack of charity and do your best to work on that, okay?”
Bob nodded, then remembered the priest couldn’t see him and said, “Yes, Father.”
“What’s really on your mind, son?”
“I don’t want to die.”
(120 words)
Picture Out of Place
Steve, Mark, Bryan and Joe entered the house quietly after their night at the club. None were staggering, but they were all very light hearted at the moment. Steve, being the designated driver, herded the others through the house and towards the kitchen to get some aspirin. He was sure that they would need it in the morning.
As they walked quietly through the dining room, snickering and laughing quietly, a flash of color out of place caught Mark's notice. He turned to look at David's desk.
Their commanders desk was always scrupulously neat and exact in its order; and nothing was different now except for a single photograph lying in the precise center of the clear space. Mark fell behind as the others continued on to the kitchen; he picked up the picture and examined it closely. A very pretty young woman that he would judge to be about eighteen or nineteen was smiling, but that was not the odd part of the picture. The woman was curled around a young David, their arms would around each other, with one of David's arms going out of the frame, clearly he was taking the picture.
Mark had never seen that expression on his commanders face; happy, carefree, full of life and excitement, and love.
"What do you have Mark?" Steve asked coming up behind him with the others following.
Mark turned and showed them the picture.
"Who's that?" Joe asked, pointing at the woman, "how old do you think he is there?" as he took the photo and looking at it closely.
"Why would he leave it lying out like this?" Bryan asked, "he's in no way careless, so it was on purpose."
"I don't know," Mark said, "But I think the more important question would be, why did he stop looking like that?"
"It's Ariana," Steve said after a moment.
As they walked quietly through the dining room, snickering and laughing quietly, a flash of color out of place caught Mark's notice. He turned to look at David's desk.
Their commanders desk was always scrupulously neat and exact in its order; and nothing was different now except for a single photograph lying in the precise center of the clear space. Mark fell behind as the others continued on to the kitchen; he picked up the picture and examined it closely. A very pretty young woman that he would judge to be about eighteen or nineteen was smiling, but that was not the odd part of the picture. The woman was curled around a young David, their arms would around each other, with one of David's arms going out of the frame, clearly he was taking the picture.
Mark had never seen that expression on his commanders face; happy, carefree, full of life and excitement, and love.
"What do you have Mark?" Steve asked coming up behind him with the others following.
Mark turned and showed them the picture.
"Who's that?" Joe asked, pointing at the woman, "how old do you think he is there?" as he took the photo and looking at it closely.
"Why would he leave it lying out like this?" Bryan asked, "he's in no way careless, so it was on purpose."
"I don't know," Mark said, "But I think the more important question would be, why did he stop looking like that?"
"It's Ariana," Steve said after a moment.
Project #47: Confessions
Yes, this is out of order. And yes, it's not technically my week. Too bad! I am on fall break and full of crazy. So! This week's assignment is confessions. What do your characters have to confess? Do they want to tell? Who should they tell? How long have they been trying to get the words out? What will happen if they do? What will happen if they don't?
Write on, sister friends, for 100-300 words. Happy fall break!
Write on, sister friends, for 100-300 words. Happy fall break!
Overview #46: Anniversary Special
I had a blast this week; though I have to admit, I am terrible at Fanfiction. A couple of Nagi's posts stumped me for a while, but I was mostly able to work them out. I don't think I improved any this week, but it was good times to have a throw back to the beginning. Here's to another great year of friendship and writing, and to continued improvements.
Overview #46: Anniversary Special
So this was a lot of fun. I can't believe it's been a whole year since this started. It's been a crazy year. I've had a hell of a fun time creating a new universe to play in, I've written poetry, and I have defnitely grown as a writer. As for this week, I had lots of fun revisiting some of my old tried and true fandoms as well as some new ones. (Okay, only one new one.) It was a good exercise in POV and voice and also the details of a fandom. Knowing which details would or would not give a fandom away was hard. But I loved it. Happy anniversary, team!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
No Good
I swim my way back to awareness, conscious of a pain in my arm, though dulled by the drugs that keep the worst of it at bay. I can feel my pulse increasing as I come half awake, my hand automatically searching for him, groping at the air. I sigh his name and he is here in an instant, hovering over me where I lay on his mother's couch.
I look up into his face, searching for a truth that I know is there. His gentle smile and soft caress assure me that I am safe. I can't remember how many times he's saved my life, and I, his.
As much as he drives me crazy, I love him, and I wouldn't want any other. As I lay there, vulnerable and worried of the future, he leans down and presses a brief kiss to my lips. I open my mouth to tell him how I feel and he places one finger over my lips, silencing me.
"It's okay," he said, "we're no good at this."
I look up into his face, searching for a truth that I know is there. His gentle smile and soft caress assure me that I am safe. I can't remember how many times he's saved my life, and I, his.
As much as he drives me crazy, I love him, and I wouldn't want any other. As I lay there, vulnerable and worried of the future, he leans down and presses a brief kiss to my lips. I open my mouth to tell him how I feel and he places one finger over my lips, silencing me.
"It's okay," he said, "we're no good at this."
Broken Mirror
Sometimes, while I’m sitting at my desk faced with a mountain of paperwork, I actually miss him. I close my eyes and sit back, remember what it was like to face him. It was like looking into broken mirror, seeing an unfamiliar face - his green eyes, my grey ones - but the same expression: determination. Sheer soldiering willpower.
And that scar, a mirror-twin to my own. Some days I think it might have been better for me to lose an eye; it’d stop the girls from cooing over me. And I’d never have ranked up for proper field training. Late at night, when I’ve worked too much and eaten too little, I come awake from an old memory, manacles around my wrists and ankles, electricity pouring through my body.
One day, after too much paperwork and not enough sanity, I leave my office. Walk out while the secretary is attempting to inform me of my schedule for the day. It’s rude, but no one’s ever accused me of being a gentleman. They’ll get mad at me and sulk, but when push comes to shove I’m the one with the weapons and the firepower, and they need me more than I need them.
I scoop up my weapon case and sling it over my shoulder. I’ve heard rumors that he lives out on the water, fishing with his two sidekicks. I’ll bet he’s spoiling for a fight, too.
(237 words; post-canon)
And that scar, a mirror-twin to my own. Some days I think it might have been better for me to lose an eye; it’d stop the girls from cooing over me. And I’d never have ranked up for proper field training. Late at night, when I’ve worked too much and eaten too little, I come awake from an old memory, manacles around my wrists and ankles, electricity pouring through my body.
One day, after too much paperwork and not enough sanity, I leave my office. Walk out while the secretary is attempting to inform me of my schedule for the day. It’s rude, but no one’s ever accused me of being a gentleman. They’ll get mad at me and sulk, but when push comes to shove I’m the one with the weapons and the firepower, and they need me more than I need them.
I scoop up my weapon case and sling it over my shoulder. I’ve heard rumors that he lives out on the water, fishing with his two sidekicks. I’ll bet he’s spoiling for a fight, too.
(237 words; post-canon)
Friday, October 16, 2009
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
That's right - today is the one year anniversary of the first Master & Madness fic to ever grace cyberspace. It's been a wild ride; we've built worlds, written poems, made each other laugh and cry. Thanks to all my sisters in literature for being there.
(feel free to leave a comment and share your love of our little green corner of cyberspace)
(feel free to leave a comment and share your love of our little green corner of cyberspace)
Be So Many Things
I want to be so many things for her that I feel like I’m tearing myself apart. The first time we met, I was half under a car in the garage, spattered with oil. She was lovely in a blouse and skirt, fresh home from another semester of medical school. She was eight years older than me and I knew then and there I wanted her to be my wife.
For the first time in a long time I was glad I saw the world in shades of red and black; it meant she couldn’t look into my eyes and know how desperately I wanted to kiss her. Sometimes I thought she could read my mind anyway.
We played chess by the fireplace; she drank wine and let me sneak a little Irish cream into my hot chocolate. I felt grown-up and charming until I realized she’d had me in checkmate for three rounds and I was ridiculously drunk.
She was done with medical school and off doing her residency when I started college. I spent those four years learning not to stutter, to carry myself like a man instead of a boy. I trained ruthlessly to become an efficient field leader and a competent math teacher.
The first time I saw her after graduation, I wanted to be that kid again, sitting up with her watching Saturday morning cartoons and trying to steal cheerios out of each other’s bowls. When we watched the Sunday evening news and saw more reports about the violence and hatred against our kind, I wanted to show her the man I had become.
The first time she kissed me, I realized she’d been reading my mind all along, and she only wanted me to be one thing: hers.
(295 words; not canon)
For the first time in a long time I was glad I saw the world in shades of red and black; it meant she couldn’t look into my eyes and know how desperately I wanted to kiss her. Sometimes I thought she could read my mind anyway.
We played chess by the fireplace; she drank wine and let me sneak a little Irish cream into my hot chocolate. I felt grown-up and charming until I realized she’d had me in checkmate for three rounds and I was ridiculously drunk.
She was done with medical school and off doing her residency when I started college. I spent those four years learning not to stutter, to carry myself like a man instead of a boy. I trained ruthlessly to become an efficient field leader and a competent math teacher.
The first time I saw her after graduation, I wanted to be that kid again, sitting up with her watching Saturday morning cartoons and trying to steal cheerios out of each other’s bowls. When we watched the Sunday evening news and saw more reports about the violence and hatred against our kind, I wanted to show her the man I had become.
The first time she kissed me, I realized she’d been reading my mind all along, and she only wanted me to be one thing: hers.
(295 words; not canon)
Knowing and not Telling
I never told him, but I remember everything from the time loops. Everything. I am so glad though that they figured it out, because to much more of it and I was going to go insane.
At least he did make it interesting some of the time. The golfing, the pottery, juggling, and by heavens that kiss was amazing. Everything that I ever imagined and hoped it would be. I wonder if I activate that machine again I can spend eternity with him. Just the two of us; locked forever into a time loop. I can't think of why I would want to leave. It would be pure heaven.
When he smiled at me, thinking that I didn't know what he was thinking about, I had a tough time hiding the fact that I knew.
At least he did make it interesting some of the time. The golfing, the pottery, juggling, and by heavens that kiss was amazing. Everything that I ever imagined and hoped it would be. I wonder if I activate that machine again I can spend eternity with him. Just the two of us; locked forever into a time loop. I can't think of why I would want to leave. It would be pure heaven.
When he smiled at me, thinking that I didn't know what he was thinking about, I had a tough time hiding the fact that I knew.
Blood and Control
I can't take my eyes off of his still form lying in the hospital bed. He's too still, though from the steady rise and fall of his chest, I know that he's alive. My hand itches to hold his, though that would be a breech of regulations, I reach out anyway and gently brush the back of his hand. I flinch when he twitches it away. I can't imagine what he has just been through. the doctor says it's a blessing that he is even alive, let alone that he will be just fine before long. He may be physically fine, but I worry about how he will be doing emotionally.
Even as I sit watching him, I can't help going over details in my mind, trying to peace together what happened and how this will affect him. Thinking back, I think that I knew that something was not right. I couldn't focus all day, something just seemed wrong. I know we were all tired from the last case, but still, something wasn't right.
That feeling stayed with me all day; after we go the call and we all went to work, and he never showed up. I was worried then, but there was nothing I could do about it. Finally it became to much for everyone to handle, so I went looking for him.
I didn't find him, but I found blood.
My world spun out of control.
(sorry this one should be backdated.)
Even as I sit watching him, I can't help going over details in my mind, trying to peace together what happened and how this will affect him. Thinking back, I think that I knew that something was not right. I couldn't focus all day, something just seemed wrong. I know we were all tired from the last case, but still, something wasn't right.
That feeling stayed with me all day; after we go the call and we all went to work, and he never showed up. I was worried then, but there was nothing I could do about it. Finally it became to much for everyone to handle, so I went looking for him.
I didn't find him, but I found blood.
My world spun out of control.
(sorry this one should be backdated.)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Magical Vision
I have magical vision - I can always see the white elephant in the room, the one thing that no one else notices. For the longest time I thought that it was a simple matter of the other three ignoring what was going on, but one day, while I sat bound in the corner and contemplated the shininess of the buckles all down my chest, I realized that they really didn’t see what I saw. They were so busy hoping no one noticed them that they didn’t notice each other.
It made me want to laugh.
I laughed once, and it frightened the little one, who pretends he’s cruel and unafraid, who presses his face to the window and watches children laugh and scramble as they kick a soccer ball around a field. I can only assume his longing for the game was born in his childhood, the childhood he pretends he never had.
One morning, while I was hanging upside down in the corner waiting to be released from the latest round of punishment, I watched our leader shuffle into the kitchen, vulnerable in a thin cotton robe, tear tracks fresh on his face from where he wept in his sleep. After he showered and dressed, his eyes behind his glasses were golden-cruel, but I could still remember what he looked like after a night of memories unbound.
Maybe I would tell someone if I could, but they all think me mad and wouldn’t believe me. I’m not sure if I really am mad, but it’s fun to let people think it.
It was one of my rare moments of freedom in the kitchen that I learned the final sad secret of my third teammate. I was mashing potatoes by hand, because it was my turn to provide supper and I liked to do things the right way. He slipped in far later than he was supposed to, even if dinner wasn’t ready, and I watched him shrug off his hideous double-breasted green coat. He was rarely without a coat, mocking formality by assembling the most clashing pieces he could find.
I caught a brief flash the pale skin on the inside of his arm before he rolled down his sleeves with quick, smart motions.
He’d lost his mind so many times that he’d had to tattoo his real name on the inside of his wrist.
(398 words)
It made me want to laugh.
I laughed once, and it frightened the little one, who pretends he’s cruel and unafraid, who presses his face to the window and watches children laugh and scramble as they kick a soccer ball around a field. I can only assume his longing for the game was born in his childhood, the childhood he pretends he never had.
One morning, while I was hanging upside down in the corner waiting to be released from the latest round of punishment, I watched our leader shuffle into the kitchen, vulnerable in a thin cotton robe, tear tracks fresh on his face from where he wept in his sleep. After he showered and dressed, his eyes behind his glasses were golden-cruel, but I could still remember what he looked like after a night of memories unbound.
Maybe I would tell someone if I could, but they all think me mad and wouldn’t believe me. I’m not sure if I really am mad, but it’s fun to let people think it.
It was one of my rare moments of freedom in the kitchen that I learned the final sad secret of my third teammate. I was mashing potatoes by hand, because it was my turn to provide supper and I liked to do things the right way. He slipped in far later than he was supposed to, even if dinner wasn’t ready, and I watched him shrug off his hideous double-breasted green coat. He was rarely without a coat, mocking formality by assembling the most clashing pieces he could find.
I caught a brief flash the pale skin on the inside of his arm before he rolled down his sleeves with quick, smart motions.
He’d lost his mind so many times that he’d had to tattoo his real name on the inside of his wrist.
(398 words)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
All that I Offer
He looked up at me, and suddenly, he seemed to see me. Really and truly see me, and all that I had to offer him, all that I am and all the love that I posses was his for the asking. He finally looked up and saw what I was offering and reached out to me.
I don't know if he ever noticed the change in my patronus or not. Being a guy, as perceptive as he usually is, he probably didn't. He most likely attributed it, like that git, to the loss of my cousin.
No. It changed, though I never did, because I love him. I don't know how I manage to continue breathing without him around.
It doesn't really matter anymore, because he is here, and he's not going anywhere, and miracle of miracles, he says that he loves me.
I don't know if he ever noticed the change in my patronus or not. Being a guy, as perceptive as he usually is, he probably didn't. He most likely attributed it, like that git, to the loss of my cousin.
No. It changed, though I never did, because I love him. I don't know how I manage to continue breathing without him around.
It doesn't really matter anymore, because he is here, and he's not going anywhere, and miracle of miracles, he says that he loves me.
For Her
I do everything for her. No one knows, but I do.
I sit in the midst of a flowering meadow on a sunny day and read for her, white pigeons perched on my shoulder and punctuating Sun Tzu with soft coos; they're pretending to be doves.
I train in the rain for her, form upon form upon form, snake and tiger and mantis and crane. I end in dragon, always dragon, solitary dragon that I am. The name makes me smile; the others think I cannot hear what they say when I’m staring at a go board, playing against myself and pretending she’s sitting opposite me, taunting me for being such a scholar.
I fight for her and kill for her. Every time I climb into my machine and fire up the engines, I close my eyes and feel her presence seep into me, feel my instincts meld with the motherboard, and then we launch into space.
I would have died for her.
Every morning I wake up and put on my uniform and go to work, put out another fire, prevent another war, and I wake up for her. One day, when this is all over, I won’t wake up, but when I open my eyes, it’ll be to see her.
(212 words)
I sit in the midst of a flowering meadow on a sunny day and read for her, white pigeons perched on my shoulder and punctuating Sun Tzu with soft coos; they're pretending to be doves.
I train in the rain for her, form upon form upon form, snake and tiger and mantis and crane. I end in dragon, always dragon, solitary dragon that I am. The name makes me smile; the others think I cannot hear what they say when I’m staring at a go board, playing against myself and pretending she’s sitting opposite me, taunting me for being such a scholar.
I fight for her and kill for her. Every time I climb into my machine and fire up the engines, I close my eyes and feel her presence seep into me, feel my instincts meld with the motherboard, and then we launch into space.
I would have died for her.
Every morning I wake up and put on my uniform and go to work, put out another fire, prevent another war, and I wake up for her. One day, when this is all over, I won’t wake up, but when I open my eyes, it’ll be to see her.
(212 words)
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Smiling
I smile at his stupid movie trivia, but inside I cringe. Chances are, when I'm not fully occupied, my eyes stray to his face. It's a handsome face, just a little bit boyish. I try to hide my smile as he picks on out teammate. Sometimes I get the colloquialisms wrong, just so that I can hear his voice correcting me. I would follow his voice even if it meant my death.
I just can't forget what he said in Africa. I knew that I could ask him anything then, and he would tell me the truth, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. I couldn't bear it if he had said it was duty and not love.
We will carry on as we are. It's comfortable, easy, routine. But not what I want.
I just can't forget what he said in Africa. I knew that I could ask him anything then, and he would tell me the truth, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. I couldn't bear it if he had said it was duty and not love.
We will carry on as we are. It's comfortable, easy, routine. But not what I want.
Six Photographs
The happiest moments moments of my life were captured in six photographs. I’d stolen Father’s rusty old Nikon, mixed the developer formula myself, and set the thing to just go. Whenever it wanted to.
The first was of the two of us sitting side-by-side on the grass studying, she with a textbook in one hand like it was a novel (she made it look so easy), me with the book propped open on my knees scribbling notes in the margins (me and my cramped handwriting). Every now and again we’d sneak glances at each other. She’d flick a flower at me (always the play on her namesake, cheerful with her where it was kitschy from anyone else), send the petals to march solemnly across my boot. I’d immolate them with a glare and send ants to scale up her (pretty, soft) red plait. It was a loop of action, inaction.
The second photo was escalation, petals circling my head while I studiously ignored them, her plait wavering in midair like a charmed cobra rising from a basket. By the third photo we were shooting sparks at each other, subtle jolts that were harmless but made us jump nonetheless and mock-glare at each other.
In the fourth picture, she’d drawn her wand on me and drenched me with a single spell. I looked like a drowned-rat, ill-fitting clothes clinging to my abused, underfed gaunt form, hair hanging in my face in limp tatters. I spluttered, spelled my book dry, and seized my own wand.
The fifth picture featured her thoroughly soused in green and silver paint (I did not stoop to glitter) and lunging at me with a cry, and a flock of (shockingly lovely, detailed) birds exploded at me.
The sixth picture was the aftermath. She was covered in paint, bat-bogeys, and multiple other horrid (potions ingredients) substances. I was liberally doused with glitter, garlands of flowers (again with the blossoms), and had hummingbirds perched in my hair. We were both laughing and smiling at each other (for the last time).
The best moments of my life in six photos. I wasn’t a kind or sentimental man, but I’d make sure her brat got them after I was gone.
(375 words)
The first was of the two of us sitting side-by-side on the grass studying, she with a textbook in one hand like it was a novel (she made it look so easy), me with the book propped open on my knees scribbling notes in the margins (me and my cramped handwriting). Every now and again we’d sneak glances at each other. She’d flick a flower at me (always the play on her namesake, cheerful with her where it was kitschy from anyone else), send the petals to march solemnly across my boot. I’d immolate them with a glare and send ants to scale up her (pretty, soft) red plait. It was a loop of action, inaction.
The second photo was escalation, petals circling my head while I studiously ignored them, her plait wavering in midair like a charmed cobra rising from a basket. By the third photo we were shooting sparks at each other, subtle jolts that were harmless but made us jump nonetheless and mock-glare at each other.
In the fourth picture, she’d drawn her wand on me and drenched me with a single spell. I looked like a drowned-rat, ill-fitting clothes clinging to my abused, underfed gaunt form, hair hanging in my face in limp tatters. I spluttered, spelled my book dry, and seized my own wand.
The fifth picture featured her thoroughly soused in green and silver paint (I did not stoop to glitter) and lunging at me with a cry, and a flock of (shockingly lovely, detailed) birds exploded at me.
The sixth picture was the aftermath. She was covered in paint, bat-bogeys, and multiple other horrid (potions ingredients) substances. I was liberally doused with glitter, garlands of flowers (again with the blossoms), and had hummingbirds perched in my hair. We were both laughing and smiling at each other (for the last time).
The best moments of my life in six photos. I wasn’t a kind or sentimental man, but I’d make sure her brat got them after I was gone.
(375 words)
Monday, October 12, 2009
Forever Seventeen
My father and my brother both agree, we can't be living because we can't die. I never saw it that way. It is true in a way what father says, we are like rocks, we just are, and I suppose we will always be this way. Not that my brother hasn't tried to kill himself on numerous occasions, all those wars that he fought in, trying to make it his last. It never worked. It never worked for him or for me; we just keep living as if there was no time at all.
I've seen everything this world has to offer, but there are still more things to be discovered. Not many things surprise me anymore. I've heard the music and I've read the books, BTW, I'm the original Edward Cullen. Forever seventeen, that's me. Personally I think I have it better than him. I don't have to drink blood, talk about gross, and I can go out in the sun whenever I want.
I guess the only time I ever tired of life, was when my love no longer there. I had always hoped that she would make that choice, the choice that would keep her here, frozen forever in youth. I had hoped that when I returned, that she would be waiting for me. But she wasn't. She lived her life, and then she died.
I can now understand my brothers forever grief over losing the one he loved; because now I feel it too.
(I know this one comes out of left field, but have fun reading anyway.)
I've seen everything this world has to offer, but there are still more things to be discovered. Not many things surprise me anymore. I've heard the music and I've read the books, BTW, I'm the original Edward Cullen. Forever seventeen, that's me. Personally I think I have it better than him. I don't have to drink blood, talk about gross, and I can go out in the sun whenever I want.
I guess the only time I ever tired of life, was when my love no longer there. I had always hoped that she would make that choice, the choice that would keep her here, frozen forever in youth. I had hoped that when I returned, that she would be waiting for me. But she wasn't. She lived her life, and then she died.
I can now understand my brothers forever grief over losing the one he loved; because now I feel it too.
(I know this one comes out of left field, but have fun reading anyway.)
Who I Really Am
I watch him out on the training ground with his knights, wielding his sword with easy confidence. The ring of steel on steel is a comforting counterpoint to the frustrated scrub, scrub of this blood-stained cloth at his stupid maille. Blood rusts metal, I know, but I don’t understand why he has to bleed on something every day. I imagine he does it just to spite me; the careless dismissal in his voice when he tells me to have all his armor polished for the next day makes me curl my hands into fists.
I know full well that every other knight at the castle sends their armor to the armory or has a miniature convoy of pages and squires to polish every piece of life-saving nonsense. I’m just one servant, and his royal pratliness knows it. It’s a wonder he hasn’t figured out what I am yet, given how many chores I manage to do in a day. Usually he’s too busy complaining at how terribly I do my job to realize that, really, one man alone couldn’t possibly do all I do in one day.
I tried to point that out once.
He sent me to the stocks.
I wonder if wielding a sword feels to him the same way using magic feels for me. On the first day we met, he informed me that he’d been trained to kill since birth. I’ve seen him disarmed before; he’s a natural leader and thinks quickly on his feet, but there’s always that flash of panic in his eyes when his sword flies from his grip. I don’t know what I’d do if I suddenly found myself without my magic.
Assuming we weren’t in the middle of being attacked by something that usually only came from story books, I’d probably cry.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
He thinks I’m a useless servant. I trip over my feet a lot, so in the middle of an important banquet, when I spill wine down a visiting princess’s dress, I might give him that.
But he has no idea who I really am.
I’m not sure I want him to.
(361 words)
I know full well that every other knight at the castle sends their armor to the armory or has a miniature convoy of pages and squires to polish every piece of life-saving nonsense. I’m just one servant, and his royal pratliness knows it. It’s a wonder he hasn’t figured out what I am yet, given how many chores I manage to do in a day. Usually he’s too busy complaining at how terribly I do my job to realize that, really, one man alone couldn’t possibly do all I do in one day.
I tried to point that out once.
He sent me to the stocks.
I wonder if wielding a sword feels to him the same way using magic feels for me. On the first day we met, he informed me that he’d been trained to kill since birth. I’ve seen him disarmed before; he’s a natural leader and thinks quickly on his feet, but there’s always that flash of panic in his eyes when his sword flies from his grip. I don’t know what I’d do if I suddenly found myself without my magic.
Assuming we weren’t in the middle of being attacked by something that usually only came from story books, I’d probably cry.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
He thinks I’m a useless servant. I trip over my feet a lot, so in the middle of an important banquet, when I spill wine down a visiting princess’s dress, I might give him that.
But he has no idea who I really am.
I’m not sure I want him to.
(361 words)
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Overview #45: Apologies
This week was really good for me. I really liked the work I accomplished. I just dug in there, and got down to business. Unfortunately, I didn't write on Friday or Saturday, so the story is still up in the air. I know. It's terrible.
However, I did ask for permission to finish it this week! O:
Let's hope I can keep this up...
(Yeah, this is backdated. Sigh.)
Project #46: Anniversary special!
This Thursday marks the one-year anniversary of Master & Madness. It's been a crazy ride, and we've had a lot of fun, changed the game and picked up new players. I figured, this week, we should be able to take a break. Stop fretting about canon, characterization, plot...and just have a party.
A huge, crazy fandom party. So...the challenge is this: pick characters from a fandom you love and write from their POV (first person, to be clear) so the rest of us can get to know them. But...don't tell us who they are! Try to leave as few clues as possible as to who they are and what fandom they come from (without being terribly vague and oblique), and at the end of the week, reflect on who of the other characters and fandoms you'd like to learn more about.
100-400 words. Party on!
ETA: I confess, this is backdated; I'm sorry it's late.
A huge, crazy fandom party. So...the challenge is this: pick characters from a fandom you love and write from their POV (first person, to be clear) so the rest of us can get to know them. But...don't tell us who they are! Try to leave as few clues as possible as to who they are and what fandom they come from (without being terribly vague and oblique), and at the end of the week, reflect on who of the other characters and fandoms you'd like to learn more about.
100-400 words. Party on!
ETA: I confess, this is backdated; I'm sorry it's late.
Overview #45: Apologies
I think Chaos totally won this one, but that's just me. Just...wow. Phenomenal writing from her.
I had a lot of fun with this week. I was worried about being a little too heavy-handed with the characters, having too much drama and not enough light-heartedness. Since Carolyn pretty much had the most apologies to give, I figured giving her one of the light-hearted ones would be good times. I tried to make sure a different person apologized each day. Kevin's apology, I think, was the best, and I hoped it would do something to round him out as a character rather than make him a two-dimensional villain. Clay's apology was pretty much a necessary part of the plot, as was Scott's - both stemmed off of previously-established issues. Bob's apology almost completely jacked up my canon even though I technically do have a canon basis for it. And Dan's apology was...a vehicle. At best. For more Joey.
Still...this prompt was full of awesome. I had all kinds of songs in my head for it, definitely including One Republic's "Apologize", as well as As Yet's "Hard To Say I'm Sorry," and Nirvana's "All Apologies". Heh. I like prompts that trigger songs.
Madness, the choice of winner is yours.
I had a lot of fun with this week. I was worried about being a little too heavy-handed with the characters, having too much drama and not enough light-heartedness. Since Carolyn pretty much had the most apologies to give, I figured giving her one of the light-hearted ones would be good times. I tried to make sure a different person apologized each day. Kevin's apology, I think, was the best, and I hoped it would do something to round him out as a character rather than make him a two-dimensional villain. Clay's apology was pretty much a necessary part of the plot, as was Scott's - both stemmed off of previously-established issues. Bob's apology almost completely jacked up my canon even though I technically do have a canon basis for it. And Dan's apology was...a vehicle. At best. For more Joey.
Still...this prompt was full of awesome. I had all kinds of songs in my head for it, definitely including One Republic's "Apologize", as well as As Yet's "Hard To Say I'm Sorry," and Nirvana's "All Apologies". Heh. I like prompts that trigger songs.
Madness, the choice of winner is yours.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Missing Curfew
It was late when the Bob finally crept into the hotel room. Dan and Clay had fallen asleep long ago, Clay ready to give his twin an earful about missing curfew, Dan fretting about Bob not finishing his homework.
Scott lay awake in the darkness and watched Bob dress for bed. He brushed his teeth as quietly as possible, squirmed into his pajamas. The moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the curtains revealed the fresh bruises marring his torso, the silver stains of tear-tracks on his face.
Scott’s hands curled into fists. He watched Bob crawl into bed beside Clay and curl up miserably on his half of the bed. Scott listened to Bob quietly sniffle himself to sleep. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and then Scott was the only one awake.
He stared at Bob’s thin shoulders, hunched beneath the sheets, and he wanted to scream.
Instead, he whispered, barely above a breath, “I’m sorry, Bobby.” And he closed his eyes.
(164 words)
Scott lay awake in the darkness and watched Bob dress for bed. He brushed his teeth as quietly as possible, squirmed into his pajamas. The moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the curtains revealed the fresh bruises marring his torso, the silver stains of tear-tracks on his face.
Scott’s hands curled into fists. He watched Bob crawl into bed beside Clay and curl up miserably on his half of the bed. Scott listened to Bob quietly sniffle himself to sleep. Eventually, his breathing evened out, and then Scott was the only one awake.
He stared at Bob’s thin shoulders, hunched beneath the sheets, and he wanted to scream.
Instead, he whispered, barely above a breath, “I’m sorry, Bobby.” And he closed his eyes.
(164 words)
Friday, October 9, 2009
Maria
(play it low)
Bob swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
Maria flung the picture at him. “Who the hell is she, Robert?”
“She’s an old family friend. Her dad was on the crew, so she rode with us when we were kids.” It took every ounce of self-control not to reach out and scoop up the faded photograph, cradle it gently in his hands.
“She doesn’t look like a kid in that picture.” Maria crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
Bob bit his lip. “She and her dad ditched out on the crew when - when we were teenagers.”
Maria took a deep breath, dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, and Bob realized she was trying not to cry. Guilt wrenched in his chest.
“I’ve tried, Bobby, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t compete with a ghost.” She hiccuped, and Bob automatically moved forward to put his arms around her, but she shook her head and stepped back.
“Maria, I --” The words caught in his throat.
“Even now, you can’t say it.” Maria shook her head again, laughed, though the sound came out more like a sob. “Tell me one thing. Do you love her?”
“I’m sorry,” Bob said again.
Maria studied him for a long time. Then she nodded. “Right. I’ll come back for my things.” And she headed for the door.
Bob watched her walk away, sank against the door frame. Then he picked up the picture and smoothed it out with trembling fingers. After a moment, he slid the picture back into his wallet and closed the door. Then he sat down on his bed and cried.
(277 words)
Bob swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
Maria flung the picture at him. “Who the hell is she, Robert?”
“She’s an old family friend. Her dad was on the crew, so she rode with us when we were kids.” It took every ounce of self-control not to reach out and scoop up the faded photograph, cradle it gently in his hands.
“She doesn’t look like a kid in that picture.” Maria crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
Bob bit his lip. “She and her dad ditched out on the crew when - when we were teenagers.”
Maria took a deep breath, dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, and Bob realized she was trying not to cry. Guilt wrenched in his chest.
“I’ve tried, Bobby, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t compete with a ghost.” She hiccuped, and Bob automatically moved forward to put his arms around her, but she shook her head and stepped back.
“Maria, I --” The words caught in his throat.
“Even now, you can’t say it.” Maria shook her head again, laughed, though the sound came out more like a sob. “Tell me one thing. Do you love her?”
“I’m sorry,” Bob said again.
Maria studied him for a long time. Then she nodded. “Right. I’ll come back for my things.” And she headed for the door.
Bob watched her walk away, sank against the door frame. Then he picked up the picture and smoothed it out with trembling fingers. After a moment, he slid the picture back into his wallet and closed the door. Then he sat down on his bed and cried.
(277 words)
Dead Before the Report
Grant Brenna was sitting behind his large desk when the lights flickered and went out. He was a naturally paranoid man and so he drew his gun without thinking. Brenna leaned slightly forward and pressed the button on the intercom to double check that the power was out.
He stood slowly and scanned the room, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness, the only light coming in from off the street ten floors below.
Fire cut a searing gouge in his leg before he even heard the sound of the shot or saw the flash of the muzzle. He yelled in pain as he dropped to the floor. The shot had come from the right side of the door, but he hadn't heard the door open or close.
"Who's there?" Brenna shouted into the darkness. The only answer was silence. Brenna grunted in pain as he tried to stand up, but only succeeded in falling over again. As he looked around the room he saw a shadow flit across the window. He Quickly aimed and pulled the trigger, the stillness of the room shattering with the shot.
A hollow laugh filled the room and made Brenna's blood run cold.
"Did you really think that you would not pay for what you have done?" a voice whispered out of the darkness somewhere to his right.
"And just what did I do?" Brenna asked, his voice quavering as he thought over all he had done.
Another chuckle echoed through the room, "I think the bigger question would be, what haven't you done."
"Well whatever you think that I did, I didn't do it. I'm a business man. Nothing more," Brenna said, trying to inject some force into his voice.
"Oh you did it alright," the voice said, this time it was closer, "I know everything about you. I have waited a long time for this."
"At least be a man and show yourself," Brenna said.
"A man huh?" the voice sounded amused, "well what if I'm not a man. What if I'm a monster? I am what I am thanks to you Brenna. And now you will die at the hands of your creation."
"Look I'm sure there is some way to work this out. Some way that I can make it up to you, what ever it was that I did."
"I don't think so Brenna. You are not going to get out of it just by apologizing. You killed her, and now, it is your turn." A gun cocked just next to Brenna's ear.
Brenna jumped a foot into the air and tried to scramble backwards, "look, I don't know who it was that was so special to you, but I'm sorry. I'll do anything."
"Sorry? Well I'm sorry, but your apology not only comes to late, it means nothing to me."
Brenna was dead before he could have even heard the report of the shot that took his life.
David stepped over the lifeless body and walked out of the room, his steps lighter for the first time in a long time.
He stood slowly and scanned the room, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dimness, the only light coming in from off the street ten floors below.
Fire cut a searing gouge in his leg before he even heard the sound of the shot or saw the flash of the muzzle. He yelled in pain as he dropped to the floor. The shot had come from the right side of the door, but he hadn't heard the door open or close.
"Who's there?" Brenna shouted into the darkness. The only answer was silence. Brenna grunted in pain as he tried to stand up, but only succeeded in falling over again. As he looked around the room he saw a shadow flit across the window. He Quickly aimed and pulled the trigger, the stillness of the room shattering with the shot.
A hollow laugh filled the room and made Brenna's blood run cold.
"Did you really think that you would not pay for what you have done?" a voice whispered out of the darkness somewhere to his right.
"And just what did I do?" Brenna asked, his voice quavering as he thought over all he had done.
Another chuckle echoed through the room, "I think the bigger question would be, what haven't you done."
"Well whatever you think that I did, I didn't do it. I'm a business man. Nothing more," Brenna said, trying to inject some force into his voice.
"Oh you did it alright," the voice said, this time it was closer, "I know everything about you. I have waited a long time for this."
"At least be a man and show yourself," Brenna said.
"A man huh?" the voice sounded amused, "well what if I'm not a man. What if I'm a monster? I am what I am thanks to you Brenna. And now you will die at the hands of your creation."
"Look I'm sure there is some way to work this out. Some way that I can make it up to you, what ever it was that I did."
"I don't think so Brenna. You are not going to get out of it just by apologizing. You killed her, and now, it is your turn." A gun cocked just next to Brenna's ear.
Brenna jumped a foot into the air and tried to scramble backwards, "look, I don't know who it was that was so special to you, but I'm sorry. I'll do anything."
"Sorry? Well I'm sorry, but your apology not only comes to late, it means nothing to me."
Brenna was dead before he could have even heard the report of the shot that took his life.
David stepped over the lifeless body and walked out of the room, his steps lighter for the first time in a long time.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Hope Is A Liar
Dear Sam,
I feel like all I’ve done in the past forty-eight hours is apologize.
Well, here’s another one to add to the list.
I know that the decision I’m making is probably the wrong one. It’s an immature thing to do and I’m only putting off even harder decisions.
I’m pretty sure you thought you knew what would happen. I guess I’m not as predictable as you thought I was. You thought that I was going to choose Layla, and things between us would never be the same. I don’t know if things between us can be the same, but only because I’m not certain just what it is I feel for you. I know that I care about you and that you are basically my best friend. I know that, without a doubt.
But that night, I kissed you because I felt something else. Something that I haven’t felt in a long time – need. You let everything go and told the truth, and that must have taken a lot of guts. Guts is something I am definitely lacking right now.
So, what am I trying to say? I’m leaving. I’m not sure where I’m going or when I’ll be back, but I promise I won’t be gone long. I hope it’s not too much to ask you to wait just a little longer. I’m asking Layla to do the same – hell, I’ve waited for her, I expect the same courtesy.
I’m sorry I’m leaving you like this. But please, don’t lose hope. I’m not.
See you soon,
Vince
The piece of paper shook in my hands as I read it. I hadn’t spoken to him since the night I apologized and his only response then was to kiss me. And now he’s left a mysterious letter on my doorstep and disappeared. I’m surprised Layla isn’t beating down my door wanting answers. If she was, I wouldn’t have any answers to give her. I’m just as lost in the dark as she is.
He wants me to wait. He wants me to hold on to some sort of hope. How can I? That’s all I’ve been doing for the past few years. I know what’s going to happen. I know he’s going to come back, apologize to me again, and then run back into Layla’s arms.
Unfortunately, hope is a hard thing to kill. And I’ll be here waiting for the final blow.
(404 words)
Closure
David leaned down and brushed the fallen leaves and the dust from the cold stone, revealing a name and a date on the polished surface. He held in his hand a simple bouquet of flowers; a combination of Jasmine and Honeysuckle. David knelt down in the grass beside the grave marker and looked around; the trees were turning gold and red, and a chill wind was blowing from the east.
"Hey Ari," he said in a low voice. Even in the hush of the graveyard his voice didn't carry far past his own ears. David paused, looking for the right words to explain how he was feeling. "I... I came to say I'm sorry, I guess. I don't think that you would have been proud of the way I have lived my life. You were the best part of me, and when you were no longer there, I lost my purpose. I guess I never truly realized how much I depended on you while you were here. Without you, I am only a shadow of what I could have been," David paused again, "I would give up everything to have you here with me. I know that that is impossible, and so I have to learn to live in this world without you," he finished, and a whisper of a breeze rustled his hair, as if fingers were combing through it.
"I guess I also came for closure. I've never been able to move on. I also came to tell you that I love you and that I always will, but I have to let my heart heal, to fill in that hole where you should be," he said as he stood, leaving the flowers propped against the stone.
David backed away a step, "I'm sorry Ariana. But I have to learn to let you go. I can't live as half a person anymore." David bit his lip and forced himself to back up another step instead of lying down on his loves grave and never moving again. Another step. And another. Clenching his teeth and closing his eyes, David turned from the silent graveyard and walked with slow steps back up the path to the gate, tears seeping from his eyes, and his breaths coming in choked sobs.
Turning at the gate, he could just make out her grave marker. "I'm sorry Ariana," he whispered one last time before he got into his car and drove away.
"Hey Ari," he said in a low voice. Even in the hush of the graveyard his voice didn't carry far past his own ears. David paused, looking for the right words to explain how he was feeling. "I... I came to say I'm sorry, I guess. I don't think that you would have been proud of the way I have lived my life. You were the best part of me, and when you were no longer there, I lost my purpose. I guess I never truly realized how much I depended on you while you were here. Without you, I am only a shadow of what I could have been," David paused again, "I would give up everything to have you here with me. I know that that is impossible, and so I have to learn to live in this world without you," he finished, and a whisper of a breeze rustled his hair, as if fingers were combing through it.
"I guess I also came for closure. I've never been able to move on. I also came to tell you that I love you and that I always will, but I have to let my heart heal, to fill in that hole where you should be," he said as he stood, leaving the flowers propped against the stone.
David backed away a step, "I'm sorry Ariana. But I have to learn to let you go. I can't live as half a person anymore." David bit his lip and forced himself to back up another step instead of lying down on his loves grave and never moving again. Another step. And another. Clenching his teeth and closing his eyes, David turned from the silent graveyard and walked with slow steps back up the path to the gate, tears seeping from his eyes, and his breaths coming in choked sobs.
Turning at the gate, he could just make out her grave marker. "I'm sorry Ariana," he whispered one last time before he got into his car and drove away.
Know What You Mean
Dan took a deep breath and stepped off the bus. They were almost home, just on the outskirts of the city. Once they were dropped off at the house, Captain Lyle had to drive on, so Kevin agreed to stop at the nearest gas station so Captain Lyle could get some coffee.
Dan was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. One week - it was hard to imagine that one week ago they’d been in Germany, that they’d watched Carolyn and John kill a whole slew of men who were trying to kidnap Bob for...something. It ran in the news as some sort of earthquake, but Dan could still remember the explosions, the screaming, the terror.
The broken-hearted look on his brother’s face as Carolyn walked away.
Kevin bought it too easily, that after all these years John was done with the drama that went down every tour and he was going to take his daughter and walk away. They’d finished out the tour short one roadie and one translator.
The misery that pervaded the bus was stifling. Shelley knew about Carolyn and Bob, but somehow Kevin had been oblivious the entire time, and so he was completely unsympathetic about the fact that she was gone. Dan and his brothers barely spoke to each other. Whenever they made eye contact they remembered - Dan clutching a gun, too terrified to shoot; Clay and Bob clinging desperately to each other and trying to navigate the streets of Munich; Scott running alongside Carolyn, blood-spattered and carrying a machine gun. It was just easier not to talk.
Dan shuffled toward the convenience store with the company card to pay for the gas. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He wanted to lie down on his own bed and sleep without the sound of screaming girls ringing in his ears.
Someone bumped into him. Dan jumped back, automatically bringing his fists up into a fighting stance, but then he saw that the person was just another boy his age, wearing a uniform shirt. A gas station employee, then.
Dan scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
The boy shrugged, smiled. “’S’all right. You look pretty beat.”
“I don’t even know what time it is,” Dan confessed.
“Pretty late,” the boy said. Then his brow furrowed, and Dan knew it was coming moments before it happened.
“Hey.” The boy grinned. “You’re Dan Summers.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“I really dig your music.” The boy offered a hand. “I’m Joey.”
Dan shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Joey.”
“Don’t worry,” Joey said. “I won’t alert the girls on shift.”
“Thanks,” Dan said. “My brothers and I would really appreciate that.”
Joey laughed. “I don’t know how you can stand the screaming.”
“Some days it’s a wonder I can stand the girls,” Dan muttered, and then his throat closed. No. He hadn’t just admitted that aloud.
But Joey laughed again. “I know what you mean.”
(500 words - more Joey, for Madness)
Dan was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. One week - it was hard to imagine that one week ago they’d been in Germany, that they’d watched Carolyn and John kill a whole slew of men who were trying to kidnap Bob for...something. It ran in the news as some sort of earthquake, but Dan could still remember the explosions, the screaming, the terror.
The broken-hearted look on his brother’s face as Carolyn walked away.
Kevin bought it too easily, that after all these years John was done with the drama that went down every tour and he was going to take his daughter and walk away. They’d finished out the tour short one roadie and one translator.
The misery that pervaded the bus was stifling. Shelley knew about Carolyn and Bob, but somehow Kevin had been oblivious the entire time, and so he was completely unsympathetic about the fact that she was gone. Dan and his brothers barely spoke to each other. Whenever they made eye contact they remembered - Dan clutching a gun, too terrified to shoot; Clay and Bob clinging desperately to each other and trying to navigate the streets of Munich; Scott running alongside Carolyn, blood-spattered and carrying a machine gun. It was just easier not to talk.
Dan shuffled toward the convenience store with the company card to pay for the gas. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He wanted to lie down on his own bed and sleep without the sound of screaming girls ringing in his ears.
Someone bumped into him. Dan jumped back, automatically bringing his fists up into a fighting stance, but then he saw that the person was just another boy his age, wearing a uniform shirt. A gas station employee, then.
Dan scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
The boy shrugged, smiled. “’S’all right. You look pretty beat.”
“I don’t even know what time it is,” Dan confessed.
“Pretty late,” the boy said. Then his brow furrowed, and Dan knew it was coming moments before it happened.
“Hey.” The boy grinned. “You’re Dan Summers.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“I really dig your music.” The boy offered a hand. “I’m Joey.”
Dan shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Joey.”
“Don’t worry,” Joey said. “I won’t alert the girls on shift.”
“Thanks,” Dan said. “My brothers and I would really appreciate that.”
Joey laughed. “I don’t know how you can stand the screaming.”
“Some days it’s a wonder I can stand the girls,” Dan muttered, and then his throat closed. No. He hadn’t just admitted that aloud.
But Joey laughed again. “I know what you mean.”
(500 words - more Joey, for Madness)
I Poured My Heart Out
On one hand, there’s Layla.
I love Layla. I have since the moment I laid eyes on her. She was beautiful, and crazy, and I ate it all up. It was nice to have someone to be crazy with. I felt like I could actually be myself with her, that I didn’t have to be responsible. I could be a kid forever, and she would always be by my side, holding my hand as we ran off into the sunset.
Things change, though.
I’ve almost lost Layla a few times. Because she’s crazy, and because she’s always changing her mind, she hates it here in Fayeville. She says that this place reeks of stagnation… whatever that means. Who am I kidding? I know what it means. See, I’m the kind of guy that was meant to grow up, live, and die in Fayeville. I just can’t find a reason to leave. Layla would have been a good reason, but… I was too scared to do it. That’s why she left the first time.
Then, there’s Sam.
I’ve known Sam my whole life. Well, I don’t think that’s true necessarily, but I have known her for quite a long time. For some reason, we just clicked all of a sudden. We understood each other. That doesn’t mean that we didn’t have our differences, because we do. She’s very book smart, and she wants to get out of here too. Not as bad as Layla does, but she wants to go learn about the world. Now, I’m not a dumb guy, but I am aware of my limits. Sometimes Sam has to explain things to me – she doesn’t do it to degrade me, she just says things in a way that I can understand them. She always seems to have a handle on things, and she was always there when I needed her. Especially when Layla left.
I think I knew that she loved me.
I was just too afraid, and too consumed by Layla to really notice. But I could see it, sometimes.
Hell, I felt it sometimes.
Layla… Sam… I’m so sorry. I wish I knew how to make both of you happy. I wish I knew what would really make me happy.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
(382 words)
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Preasure Inside
Alec blinked in the dim light, he seemed to see himself at the same time that he could feel himself slipping away. He could see Joe by his bed, see his own body covered in tubes and wires. He could hear Joe crying, and at the same time, trying not to cry. Alec felt the ghostly presure against his hand when Joe squeezed it. He looked down at his own hand and then at the one that Joe held.
Alec hovered over the scene below him, a slient witness to his own bodies fate. He could remember the crash, but he felt no pain, only the faint echo of a memory tied him to what his body had been through.
Alec reached out to put a comforting hand on his brothers shoulder, but he couldn't feel anything. He was sure that Joe couldn't feel anything either. "I'm sorry Joe," Alec said in a low voice, though he knew that Joe would never again hear him, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have to leave you, I'm sorry that I can't stay. I'm sorry that you will be alone. You're tough. I know you don't think that you are, but I know that you are and that you can make it. I'm sorry you have to go through this alone. I'm sorry for everything Joe," Alec said. He felt his throat closing up as if he would cry, but he knew that having no body meant he couldn't relieve that preasure building inside.
Alec drew a shuddering breath, "I'm sorry Joseph," he whispered as he faded from the room.
Alec hovered over the scene below him, a slient witness to his own bodies fate. He could remember the crash, but he felt no pain, only the faint echo of a memory tied him to what his body had been through.
Alec reached out to put a comforting hand on his brothers shoulder, but he couldn't feel anything. He was sure that Joe couldn't feel anything either. "I'm sorry Joe," Alec said in a low voice, though he knew that Joe would never again hear him, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have to leave you, I'm sorry that I can't stay. I'm sorry that you will be alone. You're tough. I know you don't think that you are, but I know that you are and that you can make it. I'm sorry you have to go through this alone. I'm sorry for everything Joe," Alec said. He felt his throat closing up as if he would cry, but he knew that having no body meant he couldn't relieve that preasure building inside.
Alec drew a shuddering breath, "I'm sorry Joseph," he whispered as he faded from the room.
Foster Care
“I’m so, so sorry!” Carolyn stepped back, hands pressed to her mouth.
The brothers gaped at where their sensei lay sprawled in the grass.
“I didn’t mean to hit you so hard,” Carolyn said. She tugged anxiously at one of her pigtails.
Scott and Clay looked at her with newfound admiration.
Dan leaned over, rested his hands on his knees. “Sensei Hammond, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just - gimme a moment.” Sensei took a deep breath, then heaved himself up onto his knees. He clutched his stomach and eyed Carolyn. “You got a solid right hook there, sweetheart. Pull your punches from now on, okay?”
“Yes, sensei!” Carolyn bobbed her head obediently.
“You told her to punch you as hard as she could,” Bob pointed out.
Sensei nodded. “I know. I just wasn’t expecting such a tiny girl to pack such a huge hit.”
Carolyn ducked her head. “I’m really sorry, sensei.”
“Stop apologizing, kid,” he said. He turned to the boys and wagged a finger at them. “You boys better treat her right - she’s pretty strong.”
“She’s one of the boys,” Scott said proudly, and swung at her playfully.
Carolyn blocked automatically.
Sensei sighed. “Kid, did someone give you caffeine?”
“Captain Lyle let me drink some of his coffee,” Carolyn confessed.
Sensei winced. “Right. Get over and - show Bob how to punch. C’mere, Bob.”
Bob scooted toward Carolyn, dark eyes wary. Then he fell into a fighting stance. “Show me what you got!”
Scott tackled him.
The lesson dissolved from there. Sensei was surprised to find himself standing on the sidelines, Carolyn beside him, watching in bemusement as the four brothers laughed and brawled.
“Where’d you learn how to hit like that?” Sensei asked.
Carolyn shrugged. “I used to be in foster care.”
(293 words)
The brothers gaped at where their sensei lay sprawled in the grass.
“I didn’t mean to hit you so hard,” Carolyn said. She tugged anxiously at one of her pigtails.
Scott and Clay looked at her with newfound admiration.
Dan leaned over, rested his hands on his knees. “Sensei Hammond, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just - gimme a moment.” Sensei took a deep breath, then heaved himself up onto his knees. He clutched his stomach and eyed Carolyn. “You got a solid right hook there, sweetheart. Pull your punches from now on, okay?”
“Yes, sensei!” Carolyn bobbed her head obediently.
“You told her to punch you as hard as she could,” Bob pointed out.
Sensei nodded. “I know. I just wasn’t expecting such a tiny girl to pack such a huge hit.”
Carolyn ducked her head. “I’m really sorry, sensei.”
“Stop apologizing, kid,” he said. He turned to the boys and wagged a finger at them. “You boys better treat her right - she’s pretty strong.”
“She’s one of the boys,” Scott said proudly, and swung at her playfully.
Carolyn blocked automatically.
Sensei sighed. “Kid, did someone give you caffeine?”
“Captain Lyle let me drink some of his coffee,” Carolyn confessed.
Sensei winced. “Right. Get over and - show Bob how to punch. C’mere, Bob.”
Bob scooted toward Carolyn, dark eyes wary. Then he fell into a fighting stance. “Show me what you got!”
Scott tackled him.
The lesson dissolved from there. Sensei was surprised to find himself standing on the sidelines, Carolyn beside him, watching in bemusement as the four brothers laughed and brawled.
“Where’d you learn how to hit like that?” Sensei asked.
Carolyn shrugged. “I used to be in foster care.”
(293 words)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I Can't See
Vince sat on the couch, his limbs twitching nervously. He couldn’t sit still. The reason for this was pacing back and forth in front of him. Layla finally stopped, her arms folded across her chest. A classic defense mechanism. Sam had taught him that.
“Layla, I’m sorry. I mean, what else do you want me to say?” Vince was trying to be apologetic, but he knew he was coming off as irate. Everything had been so crazy in the last few days, and he was having a hard time dealing with it. Of course, he couldn’t imagine what Layla was going through. Or Sam.
“You know what I find amusing?” Layla’s voice was low and uneven. She was trying to stay calm, but Vince could tell that she wanted to scream at him. “I find it very amusing that you are the one apologizing to me.”
Vince blinked a few times. “Wh-what? What do you mean?”
“Sam is the one who started all this bullshit. Telling me that she had feelings for you and she couldn’t hide them anymore.” It was here that Layla rolled her eyes, and Vince felt his fists clench. “I mean, I trusted her. And now she’s trying to take you away from me.”
Layla stared off into the distance, pretending to space out. What she was really doing was waiting for Vince to explain himself.
“Look,” Vince finally began, “she’s already apologized to me for what she’s done. I don’t think she’s going to try anything. I think she just needed to say it.” Vince remembered her apology from the night before, what his gut reaction had been, and tried to hide the redness creeping into his face.
“Well then, Vince.” Layla’s words were dripping with spite. “How do you feel about this? I haven’t heard your opinion yet.”
He was getting tired of this. Vince almost wanted to leave town that very instant, forget about Layla, forget about Sam. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“You want to know what my opinion is, Layla? I don’t have an opinion. In fact, I’m really confused at this point.” Layla looked like she wanted to interject, but Vince held up his hand so she would let him finish. “I do love you, Layla. I do. But I don’t want to lose Sam. I honestly don’t know how I feel about her, and I think I need to figure that out before I go declaring anything else.”
“Wait, are you saying you’re leaving me for her?” Layla was screechy now.
“Did I say that? No. I didn’t.” Vince shook his head in frustration. “I’m going out for a couple of hours. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
He left before she could say anything else.
(460 words)
It Better Be.
"Come on Mark, I said I was sorry didn't I?" Bryan asked.
Mark shot him another glare and turned his back on his twin.
Bryan reached out and pulled Mark around to face him, "I said I'm sorry. Can't you accept that?"
Mark narrowed his eyes at his brother, "I just don't know how you could have done that to me Bryan," he said.
"I'll make it up to you," Bryan promised, "just stop being mad at me."
"Alright," Mark said, "but it better be the same."
"It will, believe me, it will," Bryan said as he broke into a grin and started to hurry away.
"I still can't believe you ate all my cookies!" Mark hollered after his brother.
Mark shot him another glare and turned his back on his twin.
Bryan reached out and pulled Mark around to face him, "I said I'm sorry. Can't you accept that?"
Mark narrowed his eyes at his brother, "I just don't know how you could have done that to me Bryan," he said.
"I'll make it up to you," Bryan promised, "just stop being mad at me."
"Alright," Mark said, "but it better be the same."
"It will, believe me, it will," Bryan said as he broke into a grin and started to hurry away.
"I still can't believe you ate all my cookies!" Mark hollered after his brother.
Make Him Happy
Kevin supposed he was lucky that Dinah and Shelley hadn’t set up some sort of restraining order against him, and once he’d shown the nurses his ID they’d let him in to his son’s hospital room.
He stood at the foot of the bed, stared at the tubes and needles and machines and pumps keeping his youngest boy alive. Bob, ever the responsible one, had called to tell him what happened, left a brief, impersonal message on his answering machine. Judging by the flowers and cards and an old stuffed bear, everyone else had already been by to visit Dan.
Kevin tucked his hands into his pockets. Then he cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice wavered.
“I’m sorry, Danny. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did, that I pushed you and your brothers away, that I abandoned you all when you needed me most. I’m sorry I got so focused on success that I forgot you were my sons. I’m sorry I walked away and never looked back. I’m sorry --” He choked. “I’m sorry that you might die thinking I ever stopped loving you. You’re my son, Danny. I’ve loved you since the moment the nurse put you in my arms, pink and crying and alive.” He pressed a fist to his mouth to hold back a sob. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from those robbers --”
“It wasn’t a robber.”
Kevin turned.
The young man who stood in the doorway had shadows under his eyes and looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.
“It was a hate crime. They caught Dan coming out of one of the clubs in the pink triangle quarter and tried to kill him. Luckily for him, he remembered some of that horrific karate training you put him through and he fought them off long enough for someone to notice and call the cops.” The young man had his arms crossed over his chest and was positively radiating hostility.
Kevin took a deep breath. “You must be Joey.”
“You must be Kevin.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Kevin shuffled toward the door. Joey stepped back to avoid touching him.
“I won’t bother you again,” Kevin said.
“Don’t you want me to tell Dan that his father came to see him?”
Kevin glanced back at the unconscious figure on the bed. “Only if you think it’ll make him happy.”
(404 words)
He stood at the foot of the bed, stared at the tubes and needles and machines and pumps keeping his youngest boy alive. Bob, ever the responsible one, had called to tell him what happened, left a brief, impersonal message on his answering machine. Judging by the flowers and cards and an old stuffed bear, everyone else had already been by to visit Dan.
Kevin tucked his hands into his pockets. Then he cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice wavered.
“I’m sorry, Danny. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did, that I pushed you and your brothers away, that I abandoned you all when you needed me most. I’m sorry I got so focused on success that I forgot you were my sons. I’m sorry I walked away and never looked back. I’m sorry --” He choked. “I’m sorry that you might die thinking I ever stopped loving you. You’re my son, Danny. I’ve loved you since the moment the nurse put you in my arms, pink and crying and alive.” He pressed a fist to his mouth to hold back a sob. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from those robbers --”
“It wasn’t a robber.”
Kevin turned.
The young man who stood in the doorway had shadows under his eyes and looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.
“It was a hate crime. They caught Dan coming out of one of the clubs in the pink triangle quarter and tried to kill him. Luckily for him, he remembered some of that horrific karate training you put him through and he fought them off long enough for someone to notice and call the cops.” The young man had his arms crossed over his chest and was positively radiating hostility.
Kevin took a deep breath. “You must be Joey.”
“You must be Kevin.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Kevin shuffled toward the door. Joey stepped back to avoid touching him.
“I won’t bother you again,” Kevin said.
“Don’t you want me to tell Dan that his father came to see him?”
Kevin glanced back at the unconscious figure on the bed. “Only if you think it’ll make him happy.”
(404 words)
Monday, October 5, 2009
Accepted
“Vince, I’m sorry.” It came out quickly, and I was wondering if he had even understood what I said. I unconsciously rubbed my arms in an attempt to keep warm. It was starting to get cold, and I had once again forgotten a jacket.
“Sam, what are you even sorry for? Do you know?” Apparently a simple apology wasn’t gonna cut it this time. Vince wasn’t glaring at me, but he was giving me a look that could kill – well, it was killing me, at any rate.
“I’m sorry for…” I stumbled and tripped over all the thoughts in my head, trying to decide what the right answer was. Was there any answer at this point? “…f-for telling Layla how I felt about you, for getting in the middle, for potentially ruining the best thing in your life, for falling for you, for wanting to be with you, for everything.”
I turned away and started down the flight of stairs that led to the parking lot. In the last twenty-four hours, I may have destroyed the last good relationship I had left in my life. Vince was my world – he was the person I turned to when everything else became too much to handle. Life was simple with him. In reality, it was anything but simple. I loved him. And I had just let myself apologize for it.
My mind had been running miles and miles a minute, so I literally jumped when I felt Vince grab my arm. I turned to look at him, but he was already pulling me closer. His lips were on mine and I was in such a state of shock that at first, there wasn’t much I could do but just stand frozen. By the time I was ready to actually respond, he had already broken the contact and stepped back.
“Vince…” I wasn’t sure whether I was happy or furious.
“Sam, I’m sorry too.” Vince shook his head and turned away, going back up to his apartment.
I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on now. But this was far from over.
(349 words)
Moving On
Steve cringed back from the thought of seeing his commander again after last night. He shook his head. I should have kept my mouth shut. I just can never seem to get that right. Where is that mental filter when you need one. I should have just backed off and let it be.
Steve knew there was no avoiding David even if he wanted to. He took a deep breath and stepped out of his room early the next morning. He knew that David would be alone in the kitchen.
When Steve poked his head around the corner he could see David, his back was towards him, he was looking out the window and his posture told that he was tired, or resigned, or perhaps both. Steve slunk around the door frame and edged towards the coffee pot that was sitting near where David stood.
"Morning Boss," Steve said quietly.
"Good morning," David replied, but didn't turn from the window.
Steve drew in a breath before speaking, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry Boss. I shouldn't have butted in, it was not my place to say anything at all," Steve said.
David finally turned from the window and looked at his second in command, Steve looked miserable, and David couldn't help a ghost of a smile from flitting across his face. "It's alright Steve," he said, "you were and still are right. I should move on." David fell silent, but Steve didn't say anything, wanting to let David say his piece.
"I guess," David continued after a moment in low and broken tones, "I didn't want to let her go. She was the best woman I have ever known. She was my first love, and then she was gone. I suppose it was easier to hold on to her than to try to let her go and move on. I was going to marry her Steve, but then, you never knew that, you never knew anything about me. I guess if I moved on, then I would feel as if I were betraying her, that I had failed her, like I did before. I know that her death was not my fault, but I have always felt responsible for her murder. I should have been there with her. And maybe that would not have changed anything, but at least I could have tried to do something."
Steve reached out and placed one hand on David's shoulder and squeezed, offering silent support.
David continued, "I nearly died the winter following her death. I would have lain down and given up but for one person who saw me at the edge and pulled me back." David paused for a long time before speaking again, "at this point I don't know if I can move on. My heart has been frozen in place for so long that maybe it had forgotten how to beat, been ice for so long that it has forgotten what it was like to be flesh."
David drained off the last of his coffee as Steve stood in silence. He was certain that he alone would ever know what David had just told him.
David turned to Steve after placing his cup in the sink, "how does one move on Steve?" he asked.
Steve knew there was no avoiding David even if he wanted to. He took a deep breath and stepped out of his room early the next morning. He knew that David would be alone in the kitchen.
When Steve poked his head around the corner he could see David, his back was towards him, he was looking out the window and his posture told that he was tired, or resigned, or perhaps both. Steve slunk around the door frame and edged towards the coffee pot that was sitting near where David stood.
"Morning Boss," Steve said quietly.
"Good morning," David replied, but didn't turn from the window.
Steve drew in a breath before speaking, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry Boss. I shouldn't have butted in, it was not my place to say anything at all," Steve said.
David finally turned from the window and looked at his second in command, Steve looked miserable, and David couldn't help a ghost of a smile from flitting across his face. "It's alright Steve," he said, "you were and still are right. I should move on." David fell silent, but Steve didn't say anything, wanting to let David say his piece.
"I guess," David continued after a moment in low and broken tones, "I didn't want to let her go. She was the best woman I have ever known. She was my first love, and then she was gone. I suppose it was easier to hold on to her than to try to let her go and move on. I was going to marry her Steve, but then, you never knew that, you never knew anything about me. I guess if I moved on, then I would feel as if I were betraying her, that I had failed her, like I did before. I know that her death was not my fault, but I have always felt responsible for her murder. I should have been there with her. And maybe that would not have changed anything, but at least I could have tried to do something."
Steve reached out and placed one hand on David's shoulder and squeezed, offering silent support.
David continued, "I nearly died the winter following her death. I would have lain down and given up but for one person who saw me at the edge and pulled me back." David paused for a long time before speaking again, "at this point I don't know if I can move on. My heart has been frozen in place for so long that maybe it had forgotten how to beat, been ice for so long that it has forgotten what it was like to be flesh."
David drained off the last of his coffee as Steve stood in silence. He was certain that he alone would ever know what David had just told him.
David turned to Steve after placing his cup in the sink, "how does one move on Steve?" he asked.
Okay
“I’m sorry.”
Clay stood below the stage and watched Bob set up his drums. Almost two days later and Bob’s entire body was still thrumming with fury, every motion jerky with anger. He was still refusing to acknowledge that his brother even existed.
Clay took a deep breath and said, louder, “Tá bron orm.”
Bob paused, lifted his head. Clay cringed, ready for the rage in his brother’s eyes, and shock ricocheted down his spine when he saw hurt instead.
“I heard you the first time.”
Clay jammed his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders. “Bobby, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to --”
“What, you tripped and just happened to fall on my girlfriend?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Clay said.
Bob closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t mean to. I just don’t understand how you could possibly think that kissing Carolyn wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” Clay shrugged, the gesture defensive. “There’s no thinking in love, I guess.”
Bob’s eyes flew open. “You’re in love with Carolyn?”
Clay had to look away. There was a thump; Bob had jumped off the stage. He crossed the stadium floor, caught Clay by the shoulders.
“You’re really in love with her?”
Clay took a deep breath and nodded miserably, unable to look at Bob.
“Aw, hell,” Bob said.
Clay took another deep breath and was horrified when it caught in his throat and sounded like a sob. “I know she chose you. I just had to tell her so she’d understand --”
“That it hurts you too?” Bob said softly.
Clay couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to cry.
Bob pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love her and she loves me and I’m sorry.”
Clay nodded into Bob’s shoulder. “Don’t break up with her because of me. You’re my brother - I want you to be happy.” He sniffled and felt distinctly pathetic.
Bob held him tightly. “We’ll do our best so it doesn’t hurt so much, okay?”
“Okay.”
(340 words)
Clay stood below the stage and watched Bob set up his drums. Almost two days later and Bob’s entire body was still thrumming with fury, every motion jerky with anger. He was still refusing to acknowledge that his brother even existed.
Clay took a deep breath and said, louder, “Tá bron orm.”
Bob paused, lifted his head. Clay cringed, ready for the rage in his brother’s eyes, and shock ricocheted down his spine when he saw hurt instead.
“I heard you the first time.”
Clay jammed his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders. “Bobby, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to --”
“What, you tripped and just happened to fall on my girlfriend?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Clay said.
Bob closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t mean to. I just don’t understand how you could possibly think that kissing Carolyn wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” Clay shrugged, the gesture defensive. “There’s no thinking in love, I guess.”
Bob’s eyes flew open. “You’re in love with Carolyn?”
Clay had to look away. There was a thump; Bob had jumped off the stage. He crossed the stadium floor, caught Clay by the shoulders.
“You’re really in love with her?”
Clay took a deep breath and nodded miserably, unable to look at Bob.
“Aw, hell,” Bob said.
Clay took another deep breath and was horrified when it caught in his throat and sounded like a sob. “I know she chose you. I just had to tell her so she’d understand --”
“That it hurts you too?” Bob said softly.
Clay couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to cry.
Bob pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love her and she loves me and I’m sorry.”
Clay nodded into Bob’s shoulder. “Don’t break up with her because of me. You’re my brother - I want you to be happy.” He sniffled and felt distinctly pathetic.
Bob held him tightly. “We’ll do our best so it doesn’t hurt so much, okay?”
“Okay.”
(340 words)
Overview #44 - Vices
Nice work this week to Madness and Nagi. Seriously, everything this week was awesome. Sorry that I wasn't around much, haven't had a whole lot of computer time, which is where I usually do my writing. I need to get back into writing in notebooks again.
I thought my one post this week was okay... I kind of want to establish characters, but at the same time I don't. Do you guys think I need a name and a face to connect my little vignettes to? Or are they fine just the way they are?
This week's winner is Nagi... just because she rarely gets stuff written for her. She's usually the one writing for everybody else. So name your prize, darlin'.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Overview #44 - Vices
This week was interesting for me. Mostly because I am still trying to establish cannon, so I am hesitant to give my characters anything to big that I don't think that I can handle as a writer yet. So I chose to accentuate some of their habits into extreme versions; dancing, running, procrastination, etc...
So in the future, they will probably have worse problems, but not until I am sure that I can write it right and not make it terrible.
So in the future, they will probably have worse problems, but not until I am sure that I can write it right and not make it terrible.
Project Assignment # 45 - Apologies
Apologies people. Apologies is the name of the game this week. Does Carolyn ever tell them in person that she is sorry. Do the boys of the Special ops even know how to say sorry?
It can be a big apology, or a small one. One that for someone means all the world, or one that they received but never would have thought needed to be apologized for.
A large incident or a passing bump in the hall.
Lets set the limit at 500 words.
Have fun everyone!
It can be a big apology, or a small one. One that for someone means all the world, or one that they received but never would have thought needed to be apologized for.
A large incident or a passing bump in the hall.
Lets set the limit at 500 words.
Have fun everyone!
Overview #44: Vices
Ah. I This week I wasn't sure I did the right thing. I spent more time on Carolyn than I would have liked. Also, it would have been a hell of a lot of fun to get into Scott's vices, since he has alcohol on the list as well. It was difficult for me to come up with vices that aren't typical rock-star vices for the boys. Carolyn's vices are pretty much my own. As are some of Bob's. Still, any chance I have to delve into the nooks and crannies of a character is much appreciated. As usual, Clay surprised me, as did Dan.
I still want to know what Clay hides in his room.
I still want to know what Clay hides in his room.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Daydreaming
Every time Clay closed his eyes, he could see her, feel her. The best part of waking up was that first indrawn breath when he could smell the lingering traces of her perfume on the pillow beside his. He’d wait just inside the door, checking his watch every two seconds, eager for her to come home, and as soon as she was through the door he’d slam it shut, press her against it and kiss her breathless.
She’d laugh softly into the kiss and run her fingers through his hair, cradle him close, and he would smile. He loved the moment of completion he felt as soon as she was in his arms, because while she was gone he was only half a self, broken and faded, but as soon as she was with him he was himself again, and he could breathe.
“I love you,” he would whisper in her ear, and she’d whisper it right back.
He’d lean down and nip playfully at her collarbone, dart sly fingers at the buttons on her blouse, and she’d bat his hands away, giggle.
“If you’re going to be like that, we need a bed,” she’d said, and he’d pull back, tug her by the wrist, lead her back toward the bedroom. They’d tumble onto the sheets, a twining of limbs and a meeting of mouths, and --
A shoe connected sharply with his ankle.
Dan shot him a look.
Bob arched an eyebrow.
Scott made a rude gesture below Carolyn’s eye-level to imply that he knew precisely what Clay had been thinking about.
Carolyn cleared her throat pointedly. “If you want to pass your next geography test, you need to know this,” she said.
Clay ducked his head, penitent.
Later, when Shelley had relieved Carolyn of her schoolmistress duties, Dan said,
“You really have to stop spacing out like that. It’s gonna show in your grades, and Dad will get mad.”
Clay was quite sure that his father would be the least of his problems if the others knew what he day-dreamed about.
(344 words)
She’d laugh softly into the kiss and run her fingers through his hair, cradle him close, and he would smile. He loved the moment of completion he felt as soon as she was in his arms, because while she was gone he was only half a self, broken and faded, but as soon as she was with him he was himself again, and he could breathe.
“I love you,” he would whisper in her ear, and she’d whisper it right back.
He’d lean down and nip playfully at her collarbone, dart sly fingers at the buttons on her blouse, and she’d bat his hands away, giggle.
“If you’re going to be like that, we need a bed,” she’d said, and he’d pull back, tug her by the wrist, lead her back toward the bedroom. They’d tumble onto the sheets, a twining of limbs and a meeting of mouths, and --
A shoe connected sharply with his ankle.
Dan shot him a look.
Bob arched an eyebrow.
Scott made a rude gesture below Carolyn’s eye-level to imply that he knew precisely what Clay had been thinking about.
Carolyn cleared her throat pointedly. “If you want to pass your next geography test, you need to know this,” she said.
Clay ducked his head, penitent.
Later, when Shelley had relieved Carolyn of her schoolmistress duties, Dan said,
“You really have to stop spacing out like that. It’s gonna show in your grades, and Dad will get mad.”
Clay was quite sure that his father would be the least of his problems if the others knew what he day-dreamed about.
(344 words)
Two Types of Pain
"Are you finished with your applications yet?" David asked as he leaned in Ariana's doorway, "they're due tomorrow by nine in the morning."
"Ummm..."
"Ari," David sighed, "I though you said you were going to get it done by tonight so that we could go out."
"Now when you say finished, do you mean done done, or just sort of done?" Ariana asked, a blush infusing her face.
"Done, done, Ari. As in finished, complete, nothing left to do," David said as he rolled his eyes at her.
Ariana stood up from her desk, "It can get done later. I swear it will be finished by tomorrow," she said as she got ready to go out.
David shook his head, "no, Ari. We're not going until you are finished."
"But this is the last night of the Comet," Ariana pouted.
"There are two types of pain," David said in return, "the pain of discipline and the pain of regret. Now, it will hurt to have to miss out on the comet to do your college applications, but it will hurt less than the pain of regret when tomorrow comes and you are not done and you don't get accepted to the school you want."
Ariana slumped in defeat, "alright, I'll get them done," she said.
"That's my girl," David said as he embraced her and dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth, "procrastination is a terrible habit.
"Ummm..."
"Ari," David sighed, "I though you said you were going to get it done by tonight so that we could go out."
"Now when you say finished, do you mean done done, or just sort of done?" Ariana asked, a blush infusing her face.
"Done, done, Ari. As in finished, complete, nothing left to do," David said as he rolled his eyes at her.
Ariana stood up from her desk, "It can get done later. I swear it will be finished by tomorrow," she said as she got ready to go out.
David shook his head, "no, Ari. We're not going until you are finished."
"But this is the last night of the Comet," Ariana pouted.
"There are two types of pain," David said in return, "the pain of discipline and the pain of regret. Now, it will hurt to have to miss out on the comet to do your college applications, but it will hurt less than the pain of regret when tomorrow comes and you are not done and you don't get accepted to the school you want."
Ariana slumped in defeat, "alright, I'll get them done," she said.
"That's my girl," David said as he embraced her and dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth, "procrastination is a terrible habit.
Friday, October 2, 2009
On the Papasan
Bob knew he slept too much. These days it was easier than listening to his father and Shelley yell at each other. It was easier than standing around talking to his brothers and turning to share a joke with Dan, only to realize he wasn’t there.
The best place in the world was on the papasan chair shoved into the corner of the den. He was getting a little too tall for it, but if he curled up on his side in a teeny tiny ball he fit, as if cupped in the palm of giant hand, and he could sleep.
All he had to do was wait till no one was looking, slip into the den, curl up, and fling an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Shelley and his mother let it go, murmuring about how much the ‘illness’ was taking out of him. Bob liked to think he was finally catching up on seventeen years’ worth of sleep deficit from touring all the time.
The best way to nap was to crawl up onto the papasan while Clay was there and curl up behind him, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel the reassuring warmth of his presence, and listen while he practiced his bass softly. Without the amp, all he could hear was the rhythmic twang of the strings, but it was lulling, gentle. It was better when Clay hummed under his breath, a counterpoint to the beat.
Bob liked it when he woke up and Clay was still playing.
(260 words)
The best place in the world was on the papasan chair shoved into the corner of the den. He was getting a little too tall for it, but if he curled up on his side in a teeny tiny ball he fit, as if cupped in the palm of giant hand, and he could sleep.
All he had to do was wait till no one was looking, slip into the den, curl up, and fling an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Shelley and his mother let it go, murmuring about how much the ‘illness’ was taking out of him. Bob liked to think he was finally catching up on seventeen years’ worth of sleep deficit from touring all the time.
The best way to nap was to crawl up onto the papasan while Clay was there and curl up behind him, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel the reassuring warmth of his presence, and listen while he practiced his bass softly. Without the amp, all he could hear was the rhythmic twang of the strings, but it was lulling, gentle. It was better when Clay hummed under his breath, a counterpoint to the beat.
Bob liked it when he woke up and Clay was still playing.
(260 words)
Stubborn to a Fault
"Take a rest Mark," Steve said. There was still six miles left to camp and the sun was going down. It was just Mark and Steve out for a run.
"Come on, we can make it to camp before night if we keep going," Mark said, he didn't sit down as indicated by his superior officer.
"You are on the verge of collapse already," Steve noted in a dry tone, "take a rest and we will get to camp when we get there, an hour after sunset, no more."
"I don't need to rest Sir. I can make it," Mark said.
"Just sit down for a few moments."
"I can make it. There is no need to coddle me."
"I'm not. You won't make it if you keep pushing yourself."
"I know I can make it back before sunset."
"And if you pass out once you are there? Then what?"
"Sir..."
"Just sit down Allard. Take a breather for twenty and then we will be on our way."
Mark still didn't sit down.
"Do I have to make that an order Allard?"
"No Sir," Mark said as he sat down at last, "but I still think I could have made it."
"Come on, we can make it to camp before night if we keep going," Mark said, he didn't sit down as indicated by his superior officer.
"You are on the verge of collapse already," Steve noted in a dry tone, "take a rest and we will get to camp when we get there, an hour after sunset, no more."
"I don't need to rest Sir. I can make it," Mark said.
"Just sit down for a few moments."
"I can make it. There is no need to coddle me."
"I'm not. You won't make it if you keep pushing yourself."
"I know I can make it back before sunset."
"And if you pass out once you are there? Then what?"
"Sir..."
"Just sit down Allard. Take a breather for twenty and then we will be on our way."
Mark still didn't sit down.
"Do I have to make that an order Allard?"
"No Sir," Mark said as he sat down at last, "but I still think I could have made it."
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Can't Move On.
"Are you going to come with us tonight Boss?" Steve asked as he straitened his collar in the mirror. He knew what the answer would be before he asked, but he wanted to offer anyway.
David didn't even look up from where he was working at the table, "No, but you men have fun," he said.
"Come on Boss, just once. Come out for the night. It's not like the paperwork is going to disappear in the few hours we'll be gone," Steve said.
David looked up at last at his subordinate officer. He could see the worry in his eyes. He glanced down at the papers on the table and sighed, "alright," he agreed.
Steve broke into a wide grin, "It will be great!" he said as he clapped David on the shoulder.
David stood up from the table and walked to his room where he flicked on the light. He looked in his closet and pulled out a slightly dusty dress shirt and a pair of slacks; these he brushed off and quickly changed into.
David was the last out the door. The soon arrived at the club and the others split off to their various pursuits; Bryan and Mark to the dance floor and Joe to a poker table.
Steve hung back with David, wanting to introduce him to some of the regular people that he knew. His eyes brightened as they fell on Loreena. Perfect, he thought to himself. He gestured to Loreena to come over.
Steve watched her approach and thought of the possibilities for David. Loreena was a petite blond woman with delicate features and porcelain skin. She was clad in a simple black dress that fell to just above her knees.
"David, this is Loreena," he nodded at the pretty woman, "Loreena, this is David, he's my commanding officer," Steve said, making the introductions.
Loreena smiled an offered her hand to David who shook it firmly, "It's nice to finally meet you David. Steve has mentioned you frequently."
A smile ghosted across David's face, a smile that didn't quite warm his eyes. "It's nice to meet you too," he said.
"Would you like to dance?" Loreena asked.
David was about to decline when Steve nudged him discreetly. "Alright," David said and held out a hand to her.
*****************************************
David sighed as he closed the front door, it was after midnight and he still had work to do. He shouldn't have gone to the club.
"So, did you have fun?" Steve asked as he poked his head around the corner.
David paused before answering, "Yes. I did enjoy myself," he said.
Steve grinned, "so are you going to see her again? I know that she liked you."
"No," David said as he hung up his jacket, "no I won't be seeing her again."
Steve's face creased with puzzlement, "why not? It's not like you're married or anything," he said.
"You wouldn't understand," David said as he walked past Steve towards his desk.
Steve perched on the edge of the desk as David began to work. After a few moments of silence; broken only by the faint rustle of papers and the infinitesimal click of the pen, Steve finally asked, "is this about Ariana?"
David's head jerked up, shock written on his face, "how do you know about that?" he demanded.
Steve hesitated before pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to David. "This landed at my feet about a month ago," he said.
David swallowed hard. He knew what this was even before he unfolded it. His hands shook as he held the letter that he had sent heavenward.
"I think that she would want you to move on," Steve said quietly.
David's eyes flashed to the younger mans face, fire darting about in those dark eyes. "I can't," he said as he pushed back the chair roughly.
"Why?" Steve asked to David's turned back, a back that was tense with pent up emotion. It was almost a whisper, pleading to have it explained.
"Because I still love her," David said, his voice no louder than Steve's.
Steve shook his head as David stalked out the door towards his bedroom.
David knew that he could never love another. He knew that he couldn't move on. That was the reality of his life. And he would not give up on that, because without her, he was nothing.
(okay, I know this one ran kinda long, but here it is nevertheless.)
David didn't even look up from where he was working at the table, "No, but you men have fun," he said.
"Come on Boss, just once. Come out for the night. It's not like the paperwork is going to disappear in the few hours we'll be gone," Steve said.
David looked up at last at his subordinate officer. He could see the worry in his eyes. He glanced down at the papers on the table and sighed, "alright," he agreed.
Steve broke into a wide grin, "It will be great!" he said as he clapped David on the shoulder.
David stood up from the table and walked to his room where he flicked on the light. He looked in his closet and pulled out a slightly dusty dress shirt and a pair of slacks; these he brushed off and quickly changed into.
David was the last out the door. The soon arrived at the club and the others split off to their various pursuits; Bryan and Mark to the dance floor and Joe to a poker table.
Steve hung back with David, wanting to introduce him to some of the regular people that he knew. His eyes brightened as they fell on Loreena. Perfect, he thought to himself. He gestured to Loreena to come over.
Steve watched her approach and thought of the possibilities for David. Loreena was a petite blond woman with delicate features and porcelain skin. She was clad in a simple black dress that fell to just above her knees.
"David, this is Loreena," he nodded at the pretty woman, "Loreena, this is David, he's my commanding officer," Steve said, making the introductions.
Loreena smiled an offered her hand to David who shook it firmly, "It's nice to finally meet you David. Steve has mentioned you frequently."
A smile ghosted across David's face, a smile that didn't quite warm his eyes. "It's nice to meet you too," he said.
"Would you like to dance?" Loreena asked.
David was about to decline when Steve nudged him discreetly. "Alright," David said and held out a hand to her.
*****************************************
David sighed as he closed the front door, it was after midnight and he still had work to do. He shouldn't have gone to the club.
"So, did you have fun?" Steve asked as he poked his head around the corner.
David paused before answering, "Yes. I did enjoy myself," he said.
Steve grinned, "so are you going to see her again? I know that she liked you."
"No," David said as he hung up his jacket, "no I won't be seeing her again."
Steve's face creased with puzzlement, "why not? It's not like you're married or anything," he said.
"You wouldn't understand," David said as he walked past Steve towards his desk.
Steve perched on the edge of the desk as David began to work. After a few moments of silence; broken only by the faint rustle of papers and the infinitesimal click of the pen, Steve finally asked, "is this about Ariana?"
David's head jerked up, shock written on his face, "how do you know about that?" he demanded.
Steve hesitated before pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to David. "This landed at my feet about a month ago," he said.
David swallowed hard. He knew what this was even before he unfolded it. His hands shook as he held the letter that he had sent heavenward.
"I think that she would want you to move on," Steve said quietly.
David's eyes flashed to the younger mans face, fire darting about in those dark eyes. "I can't," he said as he pushed back the chair roughly.
"Why?" Steve asked to David's turned back, a back that was tense with pent up emotion. It was almost a whisper, pleading to have it explained.
"Because I still love her," David said, his voice no louder than Steve's.
Steve shook his head as David stalked out the door towards his bedroom.
David knew that he could never love another. He knew that he couldn't move on. That was the reality of his life. And he would not give up on that, because without her, he was nothing.
(okay, I know this one ran kinda long, but here it is nevertheless.)
A Little Pain
It was like a hot spark across his skin, followed by an icy-cool aftershock to dull the pain. Then adrenaline cranked through his veins, rushing to fill his limbs and his mind with lightning energy.
Scott eased his fingertips away from the burn and straightened up.
Carolyn stood in a high fighting stance, fists up to guard her core, but she was watching him, concerned.
“Did I hit too hard? I can pull my hits.”
Scott bit his lip and felt the old burns on his hip flare, but he shook his head. “No holding back. I want a black belt, and I’m willing to work for it.”
“All right.” Carolyn’s gaze went oddly blank - Dan said it was Zen - and then she was in his space, kicking and striking, almost too fast for him to see. Each contact was a fresh blossom of pain against his ribs, his chest, his upper arms, and he hoped he bruised, but he attacked her right back, meeting strike for strike and block for block.
Carolyn was better than all of them, and they knew it, but Scott refused to give up.
Until she had him facedown on the mat, arm twisted up behind his back, and he had to tap out.
“That was good,” Carolyn said. “You’re getting better, but you’re still walking a fine line. You used to overthink, but now I think you’re not focusing quite enough.”
Scott nodded, shook her hand and bowed. “Thanks.” He checked his watch. “I better go shower and change for soundcheck.”
Carolyn nodded. “Go on - I got the mats.”
* * *
Scott showered under too-hot water, cranked up the pressure to high and felt the needle-sting of pounding water against his fresh wounds. He slid a hand up to his ribs and pressed, felt the new bruises there, and he had to bite his lip so he didn’t make a sound. The fresh rush of adrenaline and agony made him dizzy.
Every now and again, he just wanted a little pain.
Scott eased his fingertips away from the burn and straightened up.
Carolyn stood in a high fighting stance, fists up to guard her core, but she was watching him, concerned.
“Did I hit too hard? I can pull my hits.”
Scott bit his lip and felt the old burns on his hip flare, but he shook his head. “No holding back. I want a black belt, and I’m willing to work for it.”
“All right.” Carolyn’s gaze went oddly blank - Dan said it was Zen - and then she was in his space, kicking and striking, almost too fast for him to see. Each contact was a fresh blossom of pain against his ribs, his chest, his upper arms, and he hoped he bruised, but he attacked her right back, meeting strike for strike and block for block.
Carolyn was better than all of them, and they knew it, but Scott refused to give up.
Until she had him facedown on the mat, arm twisted up behind his back, and he had to tap out.
“That was good,” Carolyn said. “You’re getting better, but you’re still walking a fine line. You used to overthink, but now I think you’re not focusing quite enough.”
Scott nodded, shook her hand and bowed. “Thanks.” He checked his watch. “I better go shower and change for soundcheck.”
Carolyn nodded. “Go on - I got the mats.”
Scott showered under too-hot water, cranked up the pressure to high and felt the needle-sting of pounding water against his fresh wounds. He slid a hand up to his ribs and pressed, felt the new bruises there, and he had to bite his lip so he didn’t make a sound. The fresh rush of adrenaline and agony made him dizzy.
Every now and again, he just wanted a little pain.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Gotta Dance
Bryan buried his head in his pillow when the sunlight reached his eyes, Mark had pulled up the shades again when he got up. Bryan couldn't fathom how Mark could enjoy getting up before dawn, and yet he did. Every morning.
Bryan tried to succumb to sleep again, desperately seeking that nirvana of oblivion where he didn't have to think to much. It had been a late night last night, in fact, so had all the nights for the last week and a half. When the sun went down, it was like electricity started coursing through his body and Bryan just had to get out; had to relieve all the pent up energy and passions. Almost every night this week Bryan had hit the clubs; occasionally accompanied by on of the others, but mostly by himself. He never sought out anybody there, preferring to dance. And dance he did. Shifting styles as the music shifted. Bumping and grinding, swaying to a smooth jazz rift, or jumping up on a box and whipping off his shirt for the heck of it.
"You know, you wouldn't be so tired in the morning if you dragged yourself home at a reasonable hour," Mark said as he walked into the room, towel wrapped about his waist and freshly showered after his morning run.
"Can't help it," Bryan mumbled from under his pillow, "gotta dance." Bryan groaned as visions of Gene Kelley in a tux danced through his thoughts.
Bryan tried to succumb to sleep again, desperately seeking that nirvana of oblivion where he didn't have to think to much. It had been a late night last night, in fact, so had all the nights for the last week and a half. When the sun went down, it was like electricity started coursing through his body and Bryan just had to get out; had to relieve all the pent up energy and passions. Almost every night this week Bryan had hit the clubs; occasionally accompanied by on of the others, but mostly by himself. He never sought out anybody there, preferring to dance. And dance he did. Shifting styles as the music shifted. Bumping and grinding, swaying to a smooth jazz rift, or jumping up on a box and whipping off his shirt for the heck of it.
"You know, you wouldn't be so tired in the morning if you dragged yourself home at a reasonable hour," Mark said as he walked into the room, towel wrapped about his waist and freshly showered after his morning run.
"Can't help it," Bryan mumbled from under his pillow, "gotta dance." Bryan groaned as visions of Gene Kelley in a tux danced through his thoughts.
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)
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)
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
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.
"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)
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)
Monday, September 28, 2009
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.
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)
“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.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
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!
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.
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