Sunday, December 13, 2009
Overview #51: Gifts
This assignment was actually pretty hard for me. I figured with Bob and Carolyn, the obvious gift from Bob would be music. I was tempted to make an entire mixtape playlist so people knew what songs Bob had included for Carolyn, but otherwise I was not that motivated, what with finals and all. As for the others - my original intention was to show what every single Sector Five boy got for his incarnation of Asia in his life, but then I ended up showing what Asia might give some of them in return. Honestly, once the team becomes a team and they've all been awakened, things like birthdays sort of disappear and rarely happen, and then Christmas isn't much of a celebration either, so I'd honestly never really thought too hard about what gifts they might give each other, and it was interesting to see how they thought of each other. It was a lot of fun, though, so good times were had all around!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Partying in Style
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Angel stared at the open box, disbelief and pleasure shining in his eyes.
“Check the label,” Asia said.
Angel scooped up the fedora and turned it over, ran his fingers over the soft satin lining until he found the tiny hand-stitched label in the back. “Tanner’s Row? However did you find it?”
“I have connections.” Asia smiled enigmatically.
The rest of the boys clustered around the table, faintly confused, but amused and pleased at their lieutenant’s happiness nonetheless.
Angel placed the fedora on his head, tipped it to a jaunty angle, and grinned. “I didn’t think you could find good haberdashery like this anymore.”
“I don’t think people use the word ‘haberdashery’ anymore,” Gabriel said drily.
“It looks good on you,” Tobias said. “You should throw on your zoot suit and come jitterbugging with me on Friday.”
“No, not on Friday,” Asia said. “Tonight. I rented out the old dance hall and found a twelve-piece band. If we’re going to party, we’re doing it in style.”
DJ arched an eyebrow. “Just the seven of us? That’s kind of a lame party.”
“I’m not that disorganized,” Asia said. “You remember your cover three missions ago?”
“The advertising designer?” DJ asked.
“The model,” Asia said. She waved a shiny Blackberry at him. “I still have all your coworkers’ phone numbers.”
Keith looked aggrieved. “You get Angel an antique hat and a room full of supermodels for his birthday, and all I get is a fuil-sgian?”
“I made that fuil-sgian myself,” Asia huffed. She prodded Christian in the shoulder. “Go, go, get dressed!”
(270 words)
“Check the label,” Asia said.
Angel scooped up the fedora and turned it over, ran his fingers over the soft satin lining until he found the tiny hand-stitched label in the back. “Tanner’s Row? However did you find it?”
“I have connections.” Asia smiled enigmatically.
The rest of the boys clustered around the table, faintly confused, but amused and pleased at their lieutenant’s happiness nonetheless.
Angel placed the fedora on his head, tipped it to a jaunty angle, and grinned. “I didn’t think you could find good haberdashery like this anymore.”
“I don’t think people use the word ‘haberdashery’ anymore,” Gabriel said drily.
“It looks good on you,” Tobias said. “You should throw on your zoot suit and come jitterbugging with me on Friday.”
“No, not on Friday,” Asia said. “Tonight. I rented out the old dance hall and found a twelve-piece band. If we’re going to party, we’re doing it in style.”
DJ arched an eyebrow. “Just the seven of us? That’s kind of a lame party.”
“I’m not that disorganized,” Asia said. “You remember your cover three missions ago?”
“The advertising designer?” DJ asked.
“The model,” Asia said. She waved a shiny Blackberry at him. “I still have all your coworkers’ phone numbers.”
Keith looked aggrieved. “You get Angel an antique hat and a room full of supermodels for his birthday, and all I get is a fuil-sgian?”
“I made that fuil-sgian myself,” Asia huffed. She prodded Christian in the shoulder. “Go, go, get dressed!”
(270 words)
Friday, December 11, 2009
Mothers and Sons
“Happy birthday.”
Tobias looked up from where he was cleaning one of his guns and blinked. “Uh. Commander. Hi.” He froze, trying to decide whether he should jump up and salute or hit the floor and do push-ups for being caught unawares.
Asia leaned in the doorway, one hand outstretched, a box resting on her palm. The box was heavy padded velvet and tied with an intricate bow.
“None of the others remembered,” she said, “but then I doubt most of them remember their own birthdays.”
“I think, for some of them, their two birthdays get jumbled,” Tobias said.
“That’s funny,” Asia said, “since I doubt that most of them had proper first birthdays.” She thrust the box at him.
Tobias rose up and accepted it gingerly. He peered at it, then at her. “I, er, should I open it now?”
“It’s yours to do with as you like.”
“Well...thank you.” Tobias smiled at her.
She smiled back, though the emotion in her eyes was unreadable, and left the room. As soon as her footsteps were out of earshot and Tobias couldn’t hear her breathing - he shifted into panther temporarily to make sure her heat signature was gone too - he opened the box.
Inside were...photographs. Letters. Tied in neat bundles with a rhythm. The note on top was in Asia’s handwriting.
“I found these. I wasn’t sure if they matter anymore, but I thought you’d like to have them.”
Tobias fished the photos and letters out, untied them and leafed through them. Most of them featured a lovely young woman, pale-skinned and dark-haired, her eyes familiar. In one picture she was playing a violin, and in another she was holding a tiny baby. The letters were all addressed to ‘my son’ and signed ‘Lillian, your mother.’
It wasn’t until Tobias got to the bottom of the stack of letters and found the birth certificate that he realized Lillian was his mother. Then he picked up the first letter and read through it properly.
He was still reading when Keith got back from his mission three days later.
(352 words)
Tobias looked up from where he was cleaning one of his guns and blinked. “Uh. Commander. Hi.” He froze, trying to decide whether he should jump up and salute or hit the floor and do push-ups for being caught unawares.
Asia leaned in the doorway, one hand outstretched, a box resting on her palm. The box was heavy padded velvet and tied with an intricate bow.
“None of the others remembered,” she said, “but then I doubt most of them remember their own birthdays.”
“I think, for some of them, their two birthdays get jumbled,” Tobias said.
“That’s funny,” Asia said, “since I doubt that most of them had proper first birthdays.” She thrust the box at him.
Tobias rose up and accepted it gingerly. He peered at it, then at her. “I, er, should I open it now?”
“It’s yours to do with as you like.”
“Well...thank you.” Tobias smiled at her.
She smiled back, though the emotion in her eyes was unreadable, and left the room. As soon as her footsteps were out of earshot and Tobias couldn’t hear her breathing - he shifted into panther temporarily to make sure her heat signature was gone too - he opened the box.
Inside were...photographs. Letters. Tied in neat bundles with a rhythm. The note on top was in Asia’s handwriting.
“I found these. I wasn’t sure if they matter anymore, but I thought you’d like to have them.”
Tobias fished the photos and letters out, untied them and leafed through them. Most of them featured a lovely young woman, pale-skinned and dark-haired, her eyes familiar. In one picture she was playing a violin, and in another she was holding a tiny baby. The letters were all addressed to ‘my son’ and signed ‘Lillian, your mother.’
It wasn’t until Tobias got to the bottom of the stack of letters and found the birth certificate that he realized Lillian was his mother. Then he picked up the first letter and read through it properly.
He was still reading when Keith got back from his mission three days later.
(352 words)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Happy Anniversary
“...What is this?” Carolyn asked.
Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”
It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.
Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”
Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”
Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.
Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.
“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”
Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”
Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love it,” she said.
“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”
(274 words)
Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”
It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.
Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”
Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”
Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.
Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.
“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”
Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”
Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love it,” she said.
“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”
(274 words)
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Lovely, Love You
“For Valentine’s Day? D’you think I’m a bloody girl?”
Holly slewed him a glance. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I was thinking you’re a girl, would I?”
Keith eyed her for a moment longer, took a deep drag off his cigarette. Then he dropped it, ground it out with the heel of his shoe, and accepted the clumsily wrapped package. “Could you have made a bigger mess of this? Are you sure you’re a lass?”
“You’d know best.” Holly’s golden eyes glittered.
Keith tore the newsprint off with awkward, hurried hands. He cast the paper aside - ignored Holly’s tuts about littering - and found a box. A shoe-box. Covered in duct tape. He lifted his head, confused.
“A lad needs to work for his gift.” Holly gestured for him to hurry up.
Keith reached into his pocket for a switchblade. He flicked it open and grinned at her, then proceeded to saw his way into the box. Holly rolled her eyes and took a drag off her own cigarette.
She smoked cloves, which Keith thought was pretentious, but he wouldn’t deny how good it tasted when they kissed.
Inside the shoebox was - more newsprint. Crumpled up and shoved in there to pad - something. Keith arched an eyebrow at his girlfriend and then fished around and came up with a lovely silver lighter. It was heart-shaped and filigreed and almost looked girly, but for the sinister eye engraved in one side.
He flipped it open and tested its flame.
“So you don’t need one of those cheap Bics you’re constantly losing,” Holly said.
Keith cupped his palm around the flame and tested it, working his gift over it. Holly stared pointedly at the horizon, pretending she couldn’t see.
Keith grinned. Then he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, kissed her thoroughly.
“’S lovely,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Love you,” she murmured back, and he laughed.
Flames danced on his fingertips.
(326 words)
Holly slewed him a glance. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I was thinking you’re a girl, would I?”
Keith eyed her for a moment longer, took a deep drag off his cigarette. Then he dropped it, ground it out with the heel of his shoe, and accepted the clumsily wrapped package. “Could you have made a bigger mess of this? Are you sure you’re a lass?”
“You’d know best.” Holly’s golden eyes glittered.
Keith tore the newsprint off with awkward, hurried hands. He cast the paper aside - ignored Holly’s tuts about littering - and found a box. A shoe-box. Covered in duct tape. He lifted his head, confused.
“A lad needs to work for his gift.” Holly gestured for him to hurry up.
Keith reached into his pocket for a switchblade. He flicked it open and grinned at her, then proceeded to saw his way into the box. Holly rolled her eyes and took a drag off her own cigarette.
She smoked cloves, which Keith thought was pretentious, but he wouldn’t deny how good it tasted when they kissed.
Inside the shoebox was - more newsprint. Crumpled up and shoved in there to pad - something. Keith arched an eyebrow at his girlfriend and then fished around and came up with a lovely silver lighter. It was heart-shaped and filigreed and almost looked girly, but for the sinister eye engraved in one side.
He flipped it open and tested its flame.
“So you don’t need one of those cheap Bics you’re constantly losing,” Holly said.
Keith cupped his palm around the flame and tested it, working his gift over it. Holly stared pointedly at the horizon, pretending she couldn’t see.
Keith grinned. Then he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, kissed her thoroughly.
“’S lovely,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Love you,” she murmured back, and he laughed.
Flames danced on his fingertips.
(326 words)
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
So Different and so the Same
Mark and Bryan sat around the tree in their small apartment, completely disregarding what little furniture there was in the room. The tree was a little one that they had cut from the local forest plot. They figured that no one would miss a two foot sapling. The tree was strung about with strands of popcorn and construction paper chains, a single candle acted as the star on the top of the tree. Only two presents sat under the tree.
Both of the twins were bright eyed with anticipation as they handed each other their gifts, one wrapped in blue and one in green.
"Ready?" Bryan asked.
"Ready."
"GO!"
The twins tore into the simple paper quickly, pulling out the gift from the one that knew him best.
A brief look of confusion passed over each of their faces before they broke out in loud gales of laughter. Each of them held up an identical Ipods.
Both of the twins were bright eyed with anticipation as they handed each other their gifts, one wrapped in blue and one in green.
"Ready?" Bryan asked.
"Ready."
"GO!"
The twins tore into the simple paper quickly, pulling out the gift from the one that knew him best.
A brief look of confusion passed over each of their faces before they broke out in loud gales of laughter. Each of them held up an identical Ipods.
Use It or String It
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” DJ said.
“It’s your birthday. Of course I had to get you something.” Celia smiled and pressed the small wrapped package into his hands.
He didn’t dare say what he was thinking, that she was from that part of town and couldn’t afford to feed herself and her brothers if she kept spending money on him like this, but he accepted the tiny thing.
“You can open it now,” Celia said. “It’s not like I bought something viciously embarrassing.”
DJ took a deep breath. Then, with deliberate hands, he peeled back the wrapping paper, careful to preserve the edges and seams. Beneath the paper was a matchbox. He set the paper aside and then pushed the matchbox open.
Inside lay a guitar pick, gleaming metal. DJ turned the box and tipped the pick onto his palm. It turned over as it landed on his skin, cool, and he saw, engraved in delicate cursive on one side of the pick, two names.
Dylan and Celia.
Celia smiled at him. “You can use it to play me songs, or just string it on a necklace, or --”
He pulled her close and kissed her.
(198 words)
“It’s your birthday. Of course I had to get you something.” Celia smiled and pressed the small wrapped package into his hands.
He didn’t dare say what he was thinking, that she was from that part of town and couldn’t afford to feed herself and her brothers if she kept spending money on him like this, but he accepted the tiny thing.
“You can open it now,” Celia said. “It’s not like I bought something viciously embarrassing.”
DJ took a deep breath. Then, with deliberate hands, he peeled back the wrapping paper, careful to preserve the edges and seams. Beneath the paper was a matchbox. He set the paper aside and then pushed the matchbox open.
Inside lay a guitar pick, gleaming metal. DJ turned the box and tipped the pick onto his palm. It turned over as it landed on his skin, cool, and he saw, engraved in delicate cursive on one side of the pick, two names.
Dylan and Celia.
Celia smiled at him. “You can use it to play me songs, or just string it on a necklace, or --”
He pulled her close and kissed her.
(198 words)
Grooves and Teeth
“Merry Christmas,” Amy whispered. She reached out to shake Gabriel’s hand, and he paused, confused. Why would she shake his hand?
She thrust her hand at him insistently.
“Uh, Merry Christmas to you too, Amy,” Gabriel said, and ran over some times tables in his head. None of the other telepaths at the facility were as strong as him, but he could never be too cautious. He shook her hand.
And felt her slide cold metal against his palm. Grooves. Teeth. A key. She smiled at him and then walked away.
Later that night, when all of the other residents were sleeping and the only lights on were the Christmas lights strung haphazardly in the hallways by the clumsy telekinetics, Gabriel tried the key.
It opened the door to the stairwell.
Gabriel supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Amy, bundled in layers and layers of sweaters and scarves, was hiding on the second landing. She thrust a large coat at him, and then a pair of gloves.
“Where are we going?” Gabriel asked, but he followed her anyway.
“You said you wanted to find your mother’s grave,” Amy said. “I got access to some city planning records in the library and I found it.”
Gabriel’s feet slowed. “You - you did?”
Amy nodded. “Yeah. I figured - you know. We could go sing her Christmas carols or something.”
Warmth curled through Gabriel’s limbs for the first time since winter had fallen over the facility. “Okay. Let’s.”
(245 words)
She thrust her hand at him insistently.
“Uh, Merry Christmas to you too, Amy,” Gabriel said, and ran over some times tables in his head. None of the other telepaths at the facility were as strong as him, but he could never be too cautious. He shook her hand.
And felt her slide cold metal against his palm. Grooves. Teeth. A key. She smiled at him and then walked away.
Later that night, when all of the other residents were sleeping and the only lights on were the Christmas lights strung haphazardly in the hallways by the clumsy telekinetics, Gabriel tried the key.
It opened the door to the stairwell.
Gabriel supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Amy, bundled in layers and layers of sweaters and scarves, was hiding on the second landing. She thrust a large coat at him, and then a pair of gloves.
“Where are we going?” Gabriel asked, but he followed her anyway.
“You said you wanted to find your mother’s grave,” Amy said. “I got access to some city planning records in the library and I found it.”
Gabriel’s feet slowed. “You - you did?”
Amy nodded. “Yeah. I figured - you know. We could go sing her Christmas carols or something.”
Warmth curled through Gabriel’s limbs for the first time since winter had fallen over the facility. “Okay. Let’s.”
(245 words)
Monday, December 7, 2009
Cocoon
Ariana eagerly unwrapped the large soft object that David had placed in her lap. They were gathered around her families Christmas tree. Bright colored paper went flying as she tore through it with ease. After a few seconds she held up the big quilt. It was blue and green and white. It looked thick and warm.
"Oh, David. It's perfect!" she reached over and kissed him soundly before throwing the new quilt around David and herself, pulling him back against her so they could be cocooned away from everyone. Ariana giggled when David poked her in the side, the tepee that surrounded them shuddering with the movement of the laughter.
"Oh, David. It's perfect!" she reached over and kissed him soundly before throwing the new quilt around David and herself, pulling him back against her so they could be cocooned away from everyone. Ariana giggled when David poked her in the side, the tepee that surrounded them shuddering with the movement of the laughter.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Project #51: Gifts
It's the holiday season. So...what do your characters buy for each other for...Christmas? Birthdays? Valentine's Day? How do they choose. How well does David accept a new silencer for his gun? What does five-year-old Joe ask for in his letter to Santa? Since it's that time of the year, think about gifts, gifts, and more gifts. 100-400 words. Enjoy!
Overview #50: Dear Diary
First of all, woohoo! Fifty challenges delivered and answered! I was originally planning on doing this week's challenge as straight diary entries, and this would have been a serious exercise in voice and POV. I think I did that with the first entry, but after that it was a matter of creativity and seeing what I could do with a journal entry. I think Carolyn's journal was the one that mirrored most closely the effect I'd intended when I'd set out to write it. The monster Moffatts nostalgia run wasn't at all what I was expecting, and anyone looking very closely will see that the lyrics can't possibly match up with the timeline as I've established it, but it was a fun project. I felt a little lame for stealing lyrics left and right like I did, but I tried to make each character's sense of journaling different. Clay's made me smile. Bob's, of course, came the hardest, if only because I hadn't really pictured any of the brothers but Scott and Dan keeping journals.
Overall, however, it was a great experience and a learning one.
Overall, however, it was a great experience and a learning one.
Overview #50 - Dear Diary
okay so I all kinds of tanked this week. But i had a semi legitimate distraction. I could blame him, but I'm not going to. I did enjoy the posts that I made though. At least for the most part. I know David has a journal entry kicking around in my brain somewhere, but....
this weeks winner is Nagi. Pick your prize my friend.
this weeks winner is Nagi. Pick your prize my friend.
Sometimes, Sometimes
Dear Carolyn,
Another day, another dollar. Have I mentioned I hate high school? I keep my head down as much as I can, and having short hair helps, but some of the girls have recognized me, and I know that as soon as word gets out, some of the rugby players will have it out for me. I can see the way they look at me, betrayed and sad and a little star-struck. I’ve seen fans ask, on the internet, why my brothers and I don’t get back together.
They don’t know what betrayal is, do they? I spaced out in calculus today, wondering how much of what you told me was true. Is Carolyn even really your name? Were you really even from Nebraska? Obviously John wasn’t actually your foster-father, but...
It feels like my days pass in a haze of je m’en fiche and struggle. I just need to graduate, pass le bac, and go away. Do something. College, maybe? Who knows. I need to get out of this town, out of this life, find a place where no one will recognize me and where I’ll never hear your name.
Until then, homework calls.
Sometimes I still miss life on the road.
Bob closed his journal and shoved it into his bass drum, screwed the head back into place, and then headed downstairs to dinner.
Sometimes, in his dreams, Carolyn wrote back.
Another day, another dollar. Have I mentioned I hate high school? I keep my head down as much as I can, and having short hair helps, but some of the girls have recognized me, and I know that as soon as word gets out, some of the rugby players will have it out for me. I can see the way they look at me, betrayed and sad and a little star-struck. I’ve seen fans ask, on the internet, why my brothers and I don’t get back together.
They don’t know what betrayal is, do they? I spaced out in calculus today, wondering how much of what you told me was true. Is Carolyn even really your name? Were you really even from Nebraska? Obviously John wasn’t actually your foster-father, but...
It feels like my days pass in a haze of je m’en fiche and struggle. I just need to graduate, pass le bac, and go away. Do something. College, maybe? Who knows. I need to get out of this town, out of this life, find a place where no one will recognize me and where I’ll never hear your name.
Until then, homework calls.
Sometimes I still miss life on the road.
Bob closed his journal and shoved it into his bass drum, screwed the head back into place, and then headed downstairs to dinner.
Sometimes, in his dreams, Carolyn wrote back.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
Lessons learned from yesterday: when there are fans in the foyer of the hotel, chances are they have located the service elevator, and singing your own songs at the top of your lungs on the way back from the restaurant isn’t the best way to stay incognito. It is also common courtesy to not trip your brother in the hopes that the fans catch him first.
Things to be remembered from today: Just because Dad says you’re old enough to do something doesn’t mean you should rush out and do it. Also, holding Scott’s hair back while he pukes after drinking too many beers might be legitimate grounds for demanding that he cut his hair already.
Hopes for tomorrow: Whatever is eating away at Bobby should be gone by then. He’s been moody and broody, and he won’t tell his other half what’s going on. Intervention via phone call from Mom is definitely an option. Or get Carolyn to beat it out of him.
ETA: Apparently Bob was all bent out of shape about Carolyn. He kissed her.
Why do I feel like he stabbed me in the chest?
(189 words)
Things to be remembered from today: Just because Dad says you’re old enough to do something doesn’t mean you should rush out and do it. Also, holding Scott’s hair back while he pukes after drinking too many beers might be legitimate grounds for demanding that he cut his hair already.
Hopes for tomorrow: Whatever is eating away at Bobby should be gone by then. He’s been moody and broody, and he won’t tell his other half what’s going on. Intervention via phone call from Mom is definitely an option. Or get Carolyn to beat it out of him.
ETA: Apparently Bob was all bent out of shape about Carolyn. He kissed her.
Why do I feel like he stabbed me in the chest?
(189 words)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Living This Way
Scott stared down at the diary open on his knee, at the fragments of sentences he’d scribbled while drunk. What had he been trying to say? He scooped up his guitar and tested a few chords, then squinted down at his journal some more.
He paused, scooped up a pencil, and drew line breaks between some of the sentences and phrases.
Then, alone on the cold empty floor of his house, he began to sing.
“Wake me up and I'm tired again.
A good night’s sleep is around the bend.
I know in your arms is the only place I'll be disarmed.
I smoke to much so I'm trying to quit.
It's so hard, with no one to quit with,
Back on track with an insecure wrath.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?
I look in my diary almost every day,
See how bad life's been
And how much better things could be.
I can't face the truth ‘cause then I'd be facing you.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?”
Scott considered the diary some more, then reached out and grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka by the neck. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth, spat it aside, and then took a long pull.
After a few deep breaths, Scott picked up his guitar and tried the song again. It had sounded, oddly enough, better when he was sober. That was a good sign. He reached out and turned on the cheap little recorder he’d bought.
Once the song was done, he turned the page in his diary and considered his writing some more.
(285 words - lyrics from Kissing & Bleeding by Scott, Clint, and Bob Moffatt)
He paused, scooped up a pencil, and drew line breaks between some of the sentences and phrases.
Then, alone on the cold empty floor of his house, he began to sing.
“Wake me up and I'm tired again.
A good night’s sleep is around the bend.
I know in your arms is the only place I'll be disarmed.
I smoke to much so I'm trying to quit.
It's so hard, with no one to quit with,
Back on track with an insecure wrath.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?
I look in my diary almost every day,
See how bad life's been
And how much better things could be.
I can't face the truth ‘cause then I'd be facing you.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?”
Scott considered the diary some more, then reached out and grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka by the neck. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth, spat it aside, and then took a long pull.
After a few deep breaths, Scott picked up his guitar and tried the song again. It had sounded, oddly enough, better when he was sober. That was a good sign. He reached out and turned on the cheap little recorder he’d bought.
Once the song was done, he turned the page in his diary and considered his writing some more.
(285 words - lyrics from Kissing & Bleeding by Scott, Clint, and Bob Moffatt)
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Few and Far Between
Mark flipped through a few pages of the old and worn book in his hands, the dates of the entry's were far apart.
He reread one entry from the middle of the book, calling to mind the memory of the day that he and his brother had decided to join the military. Their father had been proud of them.
The next entry was dated a year later. 'We have been placed in Major David Cole's command.
And the next and last entry three years later. "David gave his life for us today. Bryan is in the hospital, and Joe is missing. Steve is taking this hard.
Mark flipped the book closed and placed it back on his drawer. He didn't know when he would write in it next. Some things he would prefer to forget.
(rather pathetic I know)
He reread one entry from the middle of the book, calling to mind the memory of the day that he and his brother had decided to join the military. Their father had been proud of them.
The next entry was dated a year later. 'We have been placed in Major David Cole's command.
And the next and last entry three years later. "David gave his life for us today. Bryan is in the hospital, and Joe is missing. Steve is taking this hard.
Mark flipped the book closed and placed it back on his drawer. He didn't know when he would write in it next. Some things he would prefer to forget.
(rather pathetic I know)
Carrier Log
Carolyn and John didn’t keep anything from each other. They didn’t have heart-to-heart father-daughter chats or anything of the like. Carolyn kept a journal, a discreet black, leather-bound thing that gave off enough journal vibes to keep the boys away from it.
It wasn’t a journal in the strictest sense - Carolyn didn’t record her dreams or hopes. Like everything in her life, her journal was all about The Carrier.
8/17: attempted infiltration, south side stage door. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 22:45.
8/18: all secure. Carrier down with flu. Chicken noodle soup administered.
8/21: attempted retrieval, two blocks southeast of venue. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 19:04.
8/24: contact attempted by civilian female (read: fan). Interception by Agent Simon. Security reestablished at perimeter of hotel.
8/25: Orphaneer surveillance detected at mile marker 55 on I-80 eastbound. Countersurveillance established. Estimated time of strike unknown. Agent Simon dispatched to make undercover contact at gas station at mile marker 183.
8/26: attempted retrieval at hotel. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 05:15.
8/27: he kissed me.
8/28: attempted sedation via breakfast. Carrier grumpy and hungry. Orphaneer as yet undetected. Security at venue double-checked. 19:27 Orphaneer attempted retrieval. Intercepted. Wounded but not eliminated. Agent Simon on follow-up.
8/29: 03:32 Orphaneer eliminated. Janitors called 03:37. Bed-check revealed no disturbances with Carrier and siblings. (21:47 Clay kissed me. Trouble???)
9/1: all secure. (Robbie and Clay in a fight and not speaking. Potential for security breach due to angry carelessness?)
9/2: all secure. (Robbie and Clay still not speaking. Dan and Scott are catching on.)
9/3: all secure. (Robbie and Clay made up. Dan and Scott have figured things out. Need to keep Frank and Shelley out of the loop.)
9/4: attempted retrieval 23:02. Intercepted. Eliminated. (Good thing I was up late watching movies with the boys.) Janitors called 23:17. Reported to Agent Simon for medic check. Limited mobility in lower left quadrant, bruised ribs, sprained wrist. Agent Simon on high alert until healed.
9/5: all secure. (Robbie brought me hot chocolate so I would feel better after I “fell down the stairs” at the hotel.)
(376 words)
It wasn’t a journal in the strictest sense - Carolyn didn’t record her dreams or hopes. Like everything in her life, her journal was all about The Carrier.
8/17: attempted infiltration, south side stage door. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 22:45.
8/18: all secure. Carrier down with flu. Chicken noodle soup administered.
8/21: attempted retrieval, two blocks southeast of venue. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 19:04.
8/24: contact attempted by civilian female (read: fan). Interception by Agent Simon. Security reestablished at perimeter of hotel.
8/25: Orphaneer surveillance detected at mile marker 55 on I-80 eastbound. Countersurveillance established. Estimated time of strike unknown. Agent Simon dispatched to make undercover contact at gas station at mile marker 183.
8/26: attempted retrieval at hotel. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 05:15.
8/27: he kissed me.
8/28: attempted sedation via breakfast. Carrier grumpy and hungry. Orphaneer as yet undetected. Security at venue double-checked. 19:27 Orphaneer attempted retrieval. Intercepted. Wounded but not eliminated. Agent Simon on follow-up.
8/29: 03:32 Orphaneer eliminated. Janitors called 03:37. Bed-check revealed no disturbances with Carrier and siblings. (21:47 Clay kissed me. Trouble???)
9/1: all secure. (Robbie and Clay in a fight and not speaking. Potential for security breach due to angry carelessness?)
9/2: all secure. (Robbie and Clay still not speaking. Dan and Scott are catching on.)
9/3: all secure. (Robbie and Clay made up. Dan and Scott have figured things out. Need to keep Frank and Shelley out of the loop.)
9/4: attempted retrieval 23:02. Intercepted. Eliminated. (Good thing I was up late watching movies with the boys.) Janitors called 23:17. Reported to Agent Simon for medic check. Limited mobility in lower left quadrant, bruised ribs, sprained wrist. Agent Simon on high alert until healed.
9/5: all secure. (Robbie brought me hot chocolate so I would feel better after I “fell down the stairs” at the hotel.)
(376 words)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Why Am I Here
'Sometimes I ask myself why I am here. Not here as in the world, here as in my situation. I had a fairly normal life. How did I end up here in a black-ops unit saving the world day after day? Always another mission, always another life to save, always our way of life to uphold. Am I a glutton for punishment? Did fate just deal me these cards, though I really don't believe in fate. Fate as in something you can't escape... Nope, I don't think there is a point to that. Why do I do it and what do I hope to gain from it?'
Steve slowly closed his pocket journal and slipped it back in his bunk. These questions always rattled around in his head.
Steve slowly closed his pocket journal and slipped it back in his bunk. These questions always rattled around in his head.
Skeletons of their Music
Kevin found it behind the desk in his sons' old bedroom, a battered spiral-bound notebook full of scribbled lyrics, chord progressions, production notes, and doodles. It was a songbook, the heart and soul of almost ten years of songwriting. Kevin sat down and paged through the smatterings of lyrics, tracing the handwriting and knowing instinctively whose hand had written what.
He’d lost his sons somewhere along the way, and all he had left was skeletons of their music.
Kevin settled back against Scott’s old bedstead and read.
Antifreeze and aeroplanes
Killing you and killing me
Tell you what? We can fly away
She makes me touch the sky
She makes me cry
Stole my heart and made me bleed
I don’t mind when she goes
Bang Bang Boom
I open my eyes and see her face
But I want one more night
in California, one more night with you
She’s all right, but
She’s a hangover I can’t get over
I call up her machine just to hear her voice
Call the doctor - she’s in my head
Every town I pass, your name’s on the road sign
Your voice is on the wind
Tell me if I make it back there again you’ll let me in
Carolyn
You keep moving, you’re tired of the places you call “there”
You are the girl of my dreams
All alone in my room wishing that you were here
I’m going down in flames
I’ll never be the same
No hard feelings
You left me breathing
How does it feel?
I don’t want you to want me
Tonight I’ll hold you tight
but I won’t come back again
I mean
I’ll be there for you
Isn’t it funny how time seems to slip away so fast?
If life is so short
I’m going to love you endlessly
But I won’t forget
Love isn’t always going to find me
Misery is when I touch you and
You can’t feel me
When I look in your eyes
Can you see me?
I look good with my heart in my throat
I’m perilously here and
She is gone
I’d say you were a supermodel, so
Tell me why do these walls
Lead me to a place
Where I can’t think about your face
Without missing you
So raise a glass to a love long past
This one’s for you
Every drink you down you taste reluctantly
Free yourself, be yourself, or lie my pretty
Venus butterfly
I’m walking behind while
They’re banging on every door
Hoping you’re alive
What were they looking for?
When you touch me it’s like
Nothing I have ever known, but
I’ve seen you looking at him
Who do you love?
We can take our time
Take it on
Take it all in till it’s all gone
In the moonlight you’re
Wide-eyed and lovely
I want to be wild at heart but
Without you my world
came
undone
Maybe it’s wrong to have fun
(493 words)
He’d lost his sons somewhere along the way, and all he had left was skeletons of their music.
Kevin settled back against Scott’s old bedstead and read.
Antifreeze and aeroplanes
Killing you and killing me
Tell you what? We can fly away
She makes me touch the sky
She makes me cry
Stole my heart and made me bleed
I don’t mind when she goes
Bang Bang Boom
I open my eyes and see her face
But I want one more night
in California, one more night with you
She’s all right, but
She’s a hangover I can’t get over
I call up her machine just to hear her voice
Call the doctor - she’s in my head
Every town I pass, your name’s on the road sign
Your voice is on the wind
Tell me if I make it back there again you’ll let me in
Carolyn
You keep moving, you’re tired of the places you call “there”
You are the girl of my dreams
All alone in my room wishing that you were here
I’m going down in flames
I’ll never be the same
No hard feelings
You left me breathing
How does it feel?
I don’t want you to want me
Tonight I’ll hold you tight
but I won’t come back again
I mean
I’ll be there for you
Isn’t it funny how time seems to slip away so fast?
If life is so short
I’m going to love you endlessly
But I won’t forget
Love isn’t always going to find me
Misery is when I touch you and
You can’t feel me
When I look in your eyes
Can you see me?
I look good with my heart in my throat
I’m perilously here and
She is gone
I’d say you were a supermodel, so
Tell me why do these walls
Lead me to a place
Where I can’t think about your face
Without missing you
So raise a glass to a love long past
This one’s for you
Every drink you down you taste reluctantly
Free yourself, be yourself, or lie my pretty
Venus butterfly
I’m walking behind while
They’re banging on every door
Hoping you’re alive
What were they looking for?
When you touch me it’s like
Nothing I have ever known, but
I’ve seen you looking at him
Who do you love?
We can take our time
Take it on
Take it all in till it’s all gone
In the moonlight you’re
Wide-eyed and lovely
I want to be wild at heart but
Without you my world
undone
Maybe it’s wrong to have fun
(493 words)
Voice from the Past
Joe stood shuffling through a stack of papers and items. He had gathered everything up when he left the foster home. Everything.
Joe pulled another box towards himself where he sat on the floor in his tiny one room flat. He swallowed down a lump when he saw the box was labeled 'Alec.' He gently opened the flaps on the top and looked over a confusion of papers and assorted bits of the past.
Joe lingered over the papers, reading his brothers words, hearing his voice in his head. As Joe reached into the box for the final load of papers, his fingers encountered a book that was somewhat thicker than the normal composition books that had been filled with snatches of prose and bits of poetry.
The book was large and Joe could tell immediately that it was some kind of journal. Joe closed his eyes and flipped the book open to where the bookmark was inserted, to where Alec had written his thought for the last time.
'September 20
I've just been accepted to Purdue. I don't know though if I will go. Joe needs me here. The old man is such a bastard. I can't bear to think what he would do, what he would do worse if I were to leave. I can't do that to Joe. He's so innocent sometimes. I hate to see what the world is doing to him. Everyday I see the sparkle lessen in his eyes. Everyday that he has to face down the Bastard, every time he gets a beating. I can take it. I know eventually Joe would be able to bear that too, but he shouldn't have to. I will make a deal with the Bastard. He leaves Joe alone and he had whup me as much as he wants. I want Joe to have a happy life; well at least as happy as it can be, all things considered.
I won't go to Purdue. I won't leave Joe to that Bastard. the local college will be good enough for me. And when I get a good paying job, me and Joe will move out to a simple apartment, and Joe can just be a kid.'
Joe felt the salt drying on his cheek hours later, felt the tightening of the skin, the tightening of his heart. He gently placed the journal back into the box and placed it on a high shelf. A memory to be stored and returned to later.
Joe pulled another box towards himself where he sat on the floor in his tiny one room flat. He swallowed down a lump when he saw the box was labeled 'Alec.' He gently opened the flaps on the top and looked over a confusion of papers and assorted bits of the past.
Joe lingered over the papers, reading his brothers words, hearing his voice in his head. As Joe reached into the box for the final load of papers, his fingers encountered a book that was somewhat thicker than the normal composition books that had been filled with snatches of prose and bits of poetry.
The book was large and Joe could tell immediately that it was some kind of journal. Joe closed his eyes and flipped the book open to where the bookmark was inserted, to where Alec had written his thought for the last time.
'September 20
I've just been accepted to Purdue. I don't know though if I will go. Joe needs me here. The old man is such a bastard. I can't bear to think what he would do, what he would do worse if I were to leave. I can't do that to Joe. He's so innocent sometimes. I hate to see what the world is doing to him. Everyday I see the sparkle lessen in his eyes. Everyday that he has to face down the Bastard, every time he gets a beating. I can take it. I know eventually Joe would be able to bear that too, but he shouldn't have to. I will make a deal with the Bastard. He leaves Joe alone and he had whup me as much as he wants. I want Joe to have a happy life; well at least as happy as it can be, all things considered.
I won't go to Purdue. I won't leave Joe to that Bastard. the local college will be good enough for me. And when I get a good paying job, me and Joe will move out to a simple apartment, and Joe can just be a kid.'
Joe felt the salt drying on his cheek hours later, felt the tightening of the skin, the tightening of his heart. He gently placed the journal back into the box and placed it on a high shelf. A memory to be stored and returned to later.
Monday, November 30, 2009
To My Brothers
Dear Scott, Clay, and Bob,
I know you’re reading this (dirty traitors) so I will dispense with pretenses and get straight to the heart of things.
Scott was off key during the second chorus of Crazy tonight. Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but while I was helping Bob set up his drums someone - I suspect Clay - spoke to the sound engineer and had him remix my monitor so Scott’s voice was the loudest. Clay was a little off his game tonight, but then he started flirting with some girl in the first row and things might have been going well - until the forty-year-old woman behind the teenage girl thought Clay was flirting with her and --
Well, Clay has good reflexes. He ducked.
Which meant poor Bob ended up with some strange woman’s bra hanging from his crash cymbal. Luckily for Bob, he could hide his embarrassingly bright blush behind his pretty long hair.
We’re professionals, though, and none of us laughed.
Until we made it off stage.
Even Carolyn laughed. Apparently Dad had asked her to skip onto stage between songs and rescue the bra - none of the guys on crew wanted to go near it - but she was laughing too hard to be of any use.
Bob really, really needs to cut his hair.
Or at least clean it out of the drain in the shower after he’s done, because I don’t much appreciate getting his hair wound around my toe while I’m showering first thing in the morning.
From now on, when we get two rooms, I am so rooming with Clay. Let the long-haired monsters share the shower.
Adieu,
Dan
(276 words)
I know you’re reading this (dirty traitors) so I will dispense with pretenses and get straight to the heart of things.
Scott was off key during the second chorus of Crazy tonight. Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but while I was helping Bob set up his drums someone - I suspect Clay - spoke to the sound engineer and had him remix my monitor so Scott’s voice was the loudest. Clay was a little off his game tonight, but then he started flirting with some girl in the first row and things might have been going well - until the forty-year-old woman behind the teenage girl thought Clay was flirting with her and --
Well, Clay has good reflexes. He ducked.
Which meant poor Bob ended up with some strange woman’s bra hanging from his crash cymbal. Luckily for Bob, he could hide his embarrassingly bright blush behind his pretty long hair.
We’re professionals, though, and none of us laughed.
Until we made it off stage.
Even Carolyn laughed. Apparently Dad had asked her to skip onto stage between songs and rescue the bra - none of the guys on crew wanted to go near it - but she was laughing too hard to be of any use.
Bob really, really needs to cut his hair.
Or at least clean it out of the drain in the shower after he’s done, because I don’t much appreciate getting his hair wound around my toe while I’m showering first thing in the morning.
From now on, when we get two rooms, I am so rooming with Clay. Let the long-haired monsters share the shower.
Adieu,
Dan
(276 words)
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Project Assignment #50 - Dear Diary
Okay, lets pretend for a second that your characters keep diaries or journals, or whatever. What would an entry look like? Do they keep a daily record, or is it a once in a while thing as major events happen?
500 word max
Have fun writers!!
500 word max
Have fun writers!!
Overview #49: Fairytale Remix
Once we did a longer, more complex version of this challenge on Heavy Noir, and recently I read through some fairytale remixes, and I thought it would be fun to do some brief ones, in the vein of the comic A Softer World or maybe even A Merlin World. I like mythological and fairytale remixes, especially in urban fantasy settings the way Neil Gaiman does them. It's also fun to play with gender roles or give characters more personality or spine than they had in the original tale and see where that takes us, or to suggest that a less pleasant, less romantic version is the true version.
I'm pretty lame at most genres besides action thrillers and badly-ending romances, and I figure a few exercises in other genres is a lot of fun.
I couldn't resist a little Arthurian Legend thrown in for good measure.
I'm pretty lame at most genres besides action thrillers and badly-ending romances, and I figure a few exercises in other genres is a lot of fun.
I couldn't resist a little Arthurian Legend thrown in for good measure.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Matter of Merlin
He was tall, blond, muscular, and far more handsome than the first dozen or so princes who had come through the court seeking to win the Princess’s hand.
He also looked very surprised when the King tried to hand him a sword.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m actually quite useless with a sword.”
The King blinked.
The young man smiled and lifted one hand, conjured a ball of light on his palm. “I’m a sorcerer, not a warrior. My prince, however, is a fine swordsman.”
The prince was a few inches taller than the sorcerer, whipcord thin, and pale, dark-haired. He had lovely blue eyes, but his cheekbones and mouth were distressingly pretty, and it looked as though the armor he was wearing had been made for a twelve-year-old squire. He did, however, accept the sword with easy grace, as one used to wielding a weapon, and he bowed.
“Well, Prince, er, Merlin, I’m sure my daughter is looking forward to your prowess in single combat. Isn’t that right, Guinevere?” The King cast his daughter a look.
She wrenched her gaze away from the sorcerer and nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Good luck, Prince Merlin.”
He bowed and kissed her hand, and when he smiled, she felt something in her chest hitch. “Thank you, my princess,” he said, and he straightened up, strode into the ring where the kingdom’s finest warrior was waiting.
“Is he good?” Guinevere asked the sorcerer.
“He’s better than he looks,” the sorcerer said. He smiled and added, “My name’s Arthur, by the way.”
(260 words)
He also looked very surprised when the King tried to hand him a sword.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m actually quite useless with a sword.”
The King blinked.
The young man smiled and lifted one hand, conjured a ball of light on his palm. “I’m a sorcerer, not a warrior. My prince, however, is a fine swordsman.”
The prince was a few inches taller than the sorcerer, whipcord thin, and pale, dark-haired. He had lovely blue eyes, but his cheekbones and mouth were distressingly pretty, and it looked as though the armor he was wearing had been made for a twelve-year-old squire. He did, however, accept the sword with easy grace, as one used to wielding a weapon, and he bowed.
“Well, Prince, er, Merlin, I’m sure my daughter is looking forward to your prowess in single combat. Isn’t that right, Guinevere?” The King cast his daughter a look.
She wrenched her gaze away from the sorcerer and nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. Good luck, Prince Merlin.”
He bowed and kissed her hand, and when he smiled, she felt something in her chest hitch. “Thank you, my princess,” he said, and he straightened up, strode into the ring where the kingdom’s finest warrior was waiting.
“Is he good?” Guinevere asked the sorcerer.
“He’s better than he looks,” the sorcerer said. He smiled and added, “My name’s Arthur, by the way.”
(260 words)
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Door in the Tower
She sighed and picked disconsolately at the tapestry she was supposed to be making. She didn’t even remember what the picture was supposed to be anymore. Before she could fling herself restlessly onto her bed, she heard the familiar call, that ridiculous name Aunt had picked and that stupid chant about her hair.
She bundled her hair up, hauled it across the tower, and peered out.
Another buffoon in fancy armor on a horse. Of course.
She sighed again and let her hair down, and when he made it to the top she kissed him on the cheek before Aunt burst out of nowhere and chased the boy off with magic.
“You can’t be so picky,” Aunt said after the knight tumbled to the ground and staggered away, blinded and cursed.
“I want an interesting boy, thank you very much,” Rapunzel said, and plopped down in front of the tapestry next door.
“You won’t be young and pretty forever, and if I keep cursing those knights soon no one will be telling your story in the courts,” Aunt said.
Rapunzel shrugged and picked at the tapestry some more.
***
She woke in the middle of the night to find a young man perched on her windowsill. A scarf covered the lower half of his face, and he had a wicked-looking dagger instead of a sword.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A thief,” he said. “I heard there was a fancy tapestry here that would fetch good money. Go to sleep, let me take the tapestry, and I won’t hurt you.”
“Well,” Rapunzel said, “how about you cut all this stupid hair off, marry me, and then for once, someone can use the stupid door at the bottom of the tower?”
“Why should I marry you?”
“I’m a princess.”
(298 words)
She bundled her hair up, hauled it across the tower, and peered out.
Another buffoon in fancy armor on a horse. Of course.
She sighed again and let her hair down, and when he made it to the top she kissed him on the cheek before Aunt burst out of nowhere and chased the boy off with magic.
“You can’t be so picky,” Aunt said after the knight tumbled to the ground and staggered away, blinded and cursed.
“I want an interesting boy, thank you very much,” Rapunzel said, and plopped down in front of the tapestry next door.
“You won’t be young and pretty forever, and if I keep cursing those knights soon no one will be telling your story in the courts,” Aunt said.
Rapunzel shrugged and picked at the tapestry some more.
She woke in the middle of the night to find a young man perched on her windowsill. A scarf covered the lower half of his face, and he had a wicked-looking dagger instead of a sword.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A thief,” he said. “I heard there was a fancy tapestry here that would fetch good money. Go to sleep, let me take the tapestry, and I won’t hurt you.”
“Well,” Rapunzel said, “how about you cut all this stupid hair off, marry me, and then for once, someone can use the stupid door at the bottom of the tower?”
“Why should I marry you?”
“I’m a princess.”
(298 words)
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Logic From a Former Mermaid
“Well,” she mused over the side of the deck to her sisters, “if he was willing to forget me so easily, perhaps he doesn’t love me as much as I thought he did.”
One sister blinked. “As you said, he was enchanted.”
“This is true, but enchantments can be broken by true love. Apparently his love is not so true.”
Another sister nodded. “Then do what you must.” She swam closer to the deck, reared up on the cap of a wave and offered her tool. “Take it and return to live with us forever.”
The former mermaid nodded and accepted the knife.
A few minutes later, she realized that, even if her prince’s heart had not been true, it had at least been quite healthy. She sank her teeth into the thickness of the muscle, tasted iron on her tongue, and when it was done, she flung herself overboard --
And vanished beneath the waves with a splash and a flick of her shiny new tail.
(166 words)
One sister blinked. “As you said, he was enchanted.”
“This is true, but enchantments can be broken by true love. Apparently his love is not so true.”
Another sister nodded. “Then do what you must.” She swam closer to the deck, reared up on the cap of a wave and offered her tool. “Take it and return to live with us forever.”
The former mermaid nodded and accepted the knife.
A few minutes later, she realized that, even if her prince’s heart had not been true, it had at least been quite healthy. She sank her teeth into the thickness of the muscle, tasted iron on her tongue, and when it was done, she flung herself overboard --
And vanished beneath the waves with a splash and a flick of her shiny new tail.
(166 words)
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Role Reversal
"I tell you I saw one. I'm not lying," cub said, trying to get anyone's attention.
Everyone passed by the young one, ignoring what he was saying.
"Please, you've got to believe me," he begged, trying to get anyone to stop and listen to him.
"Do you really think that anyone is going to believe that there are humans out there," one said as they brushed past the cub.
"But."
"Give it up," another said and bumped him back.
The young cub sulked as he trotted to the edge of the clearing, "No one believed me."
"Can you blame them?" A voice asked from behind him.
Everyone passed by the young one, ignoring what he was saying.
"Please, you've got to believe me," he begged, trying to get anyone to stop and listen to him.
"Do you really think that anyone is going to believe that there are humans out there," one said as they brushed past the cub.
"But."
"Give it up," another said and bumped him back.
The young cub sulked as he trotted to the edge of the clearing, "No one believed me."
"Can you blame them?" A voice asked from behind him.
House of Brick
“I think,” First said, “that dynamite might be apropos at this point.”
Second tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Look, just because wind and fire haven’t worked at this point doesn’t mean we need to be quite so extreme. Maybe a high-powered blast of water? What say you, Third?”
Third already had a detonator, a pair of pliers, and several blocks of plastique out on his work bench.
“Then the majority has ruled,” First said. “Dynamite it is.”
Second sighed and shook his head. He turned back toward the brick house and called out. “Really, Mr. Wolf, this is becoming quite tiresome! This is the third house of yours we’re going to have to demolish. You might as well give up now.”
“No!” came the muffled reply from behind the front door. “Go away!”
“Look,” Third said drolly, “he’s lit a fire to prevent us from crawling down the chimney.”
First reached for the pliers. “Let’s get to work, brothers.”
(159 words)
Second tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Look, just because wind and fire haven’t worked at this point doesn’t mean we need to be quite so extreme. Maybe a high-powered blast of water? What say you, Third?”
Third already had a detonator, a pair of pliers, and several blocks of plastique out on his work bench.
“Then the majority has ruled,” First said. “Dynamite it is.”
Second sighed and shook his head. He turned back toward the brick house and called out. “Really, Mr. Wolf, this is becoming quite tiresome! This is the third house of yours we’re going to have to demolish. You might as well give up now.”
“No!” came the muffled reply from behind the front door. “Go away!”
“Look,” Third said drolly, “he’s lit a fire to prevent us from crawling down the chimney.”
First reached for the pliers. “Let’s get to work, brothers.”
(159 words)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Musings from the Psuedo Grave
"I bet no one ever told you that it was a nightmare, this tale over which you sigh romantically. I bet they never told you while you listened to some sweet fairytale, that it wasn't all a path lined with roses. I'm sure that you realized that at one point, but I am just as sure that you ignored it. How do you know that the slipper didn't have a nail through it, or the kiss of life wasn't really just an excuse to put the moves on a helpless woman. Did you ever stop to wonder if I'm really asleep, or whether I can still hear and think. That I have been slowly going crazy year after year. Every storm I've heard, every rap on my glass coffin, every step in the woods."
"Yup. Slowly going crazy..."
"Yup. Slowly going crazy..."
Deceptive Beauty
What no one realized was that she could hear everything. Over time she’d learned to tell who people were, where they were, just by the sound of their footsteps and voices. Slow, shuffling footsteps accompanied by wheezing breath and a voice like a creaky door meant some old woman - a hedge-witch, likely - collecting herbs. Quick, light steps and bright, sparkling laughter meant children exploring the ancient, overgrown castle.
She wasn’t quite sure how time passed, because she couldn’t see anything and had no concept of light or dark, day or night, but she knew one voice that came regularly. She was quite sure he was the only one who knew she was there, and he would talk to her - about everything. About how his mother nagged him, about how he was doing his best to fill his dead father’s shoes, about how his little sister let the goat loose again.
So when she heard the almost-forgotten clank of armor and swirl of a heavy cape and knew that some prince had arrived, she knew her time had come.
When he kissed her, she could feel the spell that had weighed her limbs down for so long begin to stir, pull free. But she kept very, very still and waited until he left, heavy footsteps slow with disappointment.
And then she heard that familiar light, easy gait, that gentle tenor.
“Good day, my sleeping princess. It’s been quite a madcap out there - someone left the bull’s pen open and he’s been marauding in the village. We just barely managed to wrangle him back into place.”
She felt him settle on the edge of her bed.
She opened her eyes and sat up.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Aurora.” And she kissed him.
(294 words)
She wasn’t quite sure how time passed, because she couldn’t see anything and had no concept of light or dark, day or night, but she knew one voice that came regularly. She was quite sure he was the only one who knew she was there, and he would talk to her - about everything. About how his mother nagged him, about how he was doing his best to fill his dead father’s shoes, about how his little sister let the goat loose again.
So when she heard the almost-forgotten clank of armor and swirl of a heavy cape and knew that some prince had arrived, she knew her time had come.
When he kissed her, she could feel the spell that had weighed her limbs down for so long begin to stir, pull free. But she kept very, very still and waited until he left, heavy footsteps slow with disappointment.
And then she heard that familiar light, easy gait, that gentle tenor.
“Good day, my sleeping princess. It’s been quite a madcap out there - someone left the bull’s pen open and he’s been marauding in the village. We just barely managed to wrangle him back into place.”
She felt him settle on the edge of her bed.
She opened her eyes and sat up.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Aurora.” And she kissed him.
(294 words)
Monday, November 23, 2009
Warts
"All you have to do is kiss me and I'll turn back into a prince," the frog croaked.
"Yeah, but won't I get warts or something," the young girl asked. She looked skeptically at the little frog. she had just been sitting near the pond resting when the creature had hopped up next to her and started talking.
"Nope. Trust me," the frog pleaded, trying his best to get her to come nearer.
"You know, my mother always warned me about talking animals. I think I had better not," She said as she stepped away from the little green amphibian.
"Yeah, but won't I get warts or something," the young girl asked. She looked skeptically at the little frog. she had just been sitting near the pond resting when the creature had hopped up next to her and started talking.
"Nope. Trust me," the frog pleaded, trying his best to get her to come nearer.
"You know, my mother always warned me about talking animals. I think I had better not," She said as she stepped away from the little green amphibian.
Little Red's True Colours
"Sorry Grandma," Little Red said.
She gazed at the sleeping wolf for a little longer, then brought the axe squarely down on its neck.
"But I want the inheritance."
Then Little Red stepped out of the house in the woods, threw her head back, and screamed. The woodcutter who had spotted her walking along the trail with her basket full of baked treats came running. She cried prettily for him, and he held her, comforted her.
As soon as the funeral was done and the will was probated, Little Red split the proceeds with her mother.
None of the wolves on the edge of the forest ever came near Little Red again.
(112 words)
She gazed at the sleeping wolf for a little longer, then brought the axe squarely down on its neck.
"But I want the inheritance."
Then Little Red stepped out of the house in the woods, threw her head back, and screamed. The woodcutter who had spotted her walking along the trail with her basket full of baked treats came running. She cried prettily for him, and he held her, comforted her.
As soon as the funeral was done and the will was probated, Little Red split the proceeds with her mother.
None of the wolves on the edge of the forest ever came near Little Red again.
(112 words)
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Project #49: Fairytale Remix
I've decided that it's been a while since we took on a genre assignment, so here I thought we would take fairytales and remix them. Think Neil Gaiman's "Snow, Glass, Apples" if you're confused about what this means. What if the princess instead of the prince were the frog? What if Snow White didn't wake up? What if the stepmother wasn't really evil? Give yourself 100-300 words to turn the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen on their heads.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Mod Post Again
That's right. Another mod post.
So totally no one took me up on the free-write. No new challenge will be up until Sunday, when we will resume our usual posting schedule. I think I have plans for the challenge since I think it's my turn in the rotation again. In the meantime...cogitate on fairytales. I think it will be awesome.
Welcome back, writers!
So totally no one took me up on the free-write. No new challenge will be up until Sunday, when we will resume our usual posting schedule. I think I have plans for the challenge since I think it's my turn in the rotation again. In the meantime...cogitate on fairytales. I think it will be awesome.
Welcome back, writers!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Mod Post
Yes, I abuse this post title a lot.
Okay...so, I had the plague over the weekend. And I have a horrifically important trial competition coming up. The sort of thing that makes or breaks a law student's soul, if not her career. So things may be...quiet. Around here. For a while. But we will get caught up, don't get me wrong. In the meantime, feel free to take a gander through your own universe. In the grand Madness tradition...freewrite! Freedom! And writing! For all! Up to 500 words.
-- Nagi out.
Okay...so, I had the plague over the weekend. And I have a horrifically important trial competition coming up. The sort of thing that makes or breaks a law student's soul, if not her career. So things may be...quiet. Around here. For a while. But we will get caught up, don't get me wrong. In the meantime, feel free to take a gander through your own universe. In the grand Madness tradition...freewrite! Freedom! And writing! For all! Up to 500 words.
-- Nagi out.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Hard On Yourself
(continued from this post)
“Why would you want to kill me?” Bob asked quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but the words just spilled from his lips.
Carolyn shook her head. “No. No - I never wanted to kill you. Ever.” She hiccuped softly. “But - Command had orders. For if - if they ever took you, I was supposed to make sure they couldn’t...use you.”
Bob closed his eyes, swallowed hard. “I see. Would it have been quick and painless?”
“For you,” Carolyn said. “For me it would have lasted forever.” She buried her face against his neck, and she was trembling. “I’m so, so sorry, Robbie. I fell in love with you and I’m not sure I could’ve done what I was supposed to, and then, when they took you, they would have tortured you, and you would have been in pain. For hours. Because I loved you and couldn’t do it and --”
Bob hushed her gently, wrapped his arms around her and held her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said. Relief curled through his limbs, echoed by the warmth of her body against his. He swallowed hard. All these years he’d done his best to hate her, forget her, and she’d tortured herself with the knowledge that loving him was failing him. Who were these people in command, that they’d do this to a girl? Because she’d been just a girl when she’d started on the road with them.
He could still hear her words, some of the last words she’d said to him all those years ago.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive.”
“Carolyn,” he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Robbie.” Carolyn pulled back. “Now c’mon - we have to get out of here.”
She reached into her jacket and drew out a handgun.
Bob blinked, then stood up, offered her a hand. “Let’s go.”
(340 words)
“Why would you want to kill me?” Bob asked quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but the words just spilled from his lips.
Carolyn shook her head. “No. No - I never wanted to kill you. Ever.” She hiccuped softly. “But - Command had orders. For if - if they ever took you, I was supposed to make sure they couldn’t...use you.”
Bob closed his eyes, swallowed hard. “I see. Would it have been quick and painless?”
“For you,” Carolyn said. “For me it would have lasted forever.” She buried her face against his neck, and she was trembling. “I’m so, so sorry, Robbie. I fell in love with you and I’m not sure I could’ve done what I was supposed to, and then, when they took you, they would have tortured you, and you would have been in pain. For hours. Because I loved you and couldn’t do it and --”
Bob hushed her gently, wrapped his arms around her and held her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said. Relief curled through his limbs, echoed by the warmth of her body against his. He swallowed hard. All these years he’d done his best to hate her, forget her, and she’d tortured herself with the knowledge that loving him was failing him. Who were these people in command, that they’d do this to a girl? Because she’d been just a girl when she’d started on the road with them.
He could still hear her words, some of the last words she’d said to him all those years ago.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive.”
“Carolyn,” he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Robbie.” Carolyn pulled back. “Now c’mon - we have to get out of here.”
She reached into her jacket and drew out a handgun.
Bob blinked, then stood up, offered her a hand. “Let’s go.”
(340 words)
Friday, October 30, 2009
What's To Love?
“That’s pretty harsh,” Melanie said. She and Carolyn stood on the front porch and peered through the open door to where Clay was roundly dressing down his younger brother for running out on him while they were both still supposed to be teaching school.
Bob had his head bowed and kept nodding apologetically. After a while, Clay ran out of steam, and then he stepped forward, pulled Bob into a hug.
“So,” Melanie said, “all those times I was being a crazy fangirl, you thought I was creepy obsessed, huh?”
“No.” Carolyn smiled at her friend. “Not at all. You love them just as much as I do.”
“Yeah, but you grew up with them. You love them because you know them. I love them because --”
“Because they’re talented and attractive and nice guys,” Carolyn said. “Same as me.”
Melanie floundered for a moment. “Yeah, but -- you got to kiss one of them.”
“Two, actually,” Carolyn said absently.
Melanie’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Clay fell out of love with me a long time ago,” Carolyn said.
“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked. She peered at Carolyn and saw that Carolyn’s gaze was distant; she was lost in memory.
“He saw who and what I really am, and he couldn’t deal.”
“And Bob could?”
“I think, by then, Robbie just didn’t care.”
Melanie nudged Carolyn’s shoulder with hers. “It couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you’re just a crazy prodigy law student. What’s not to love about brains and good looks?”
Carolyn said, almost too softly for Melanie to hear, “What’s to love about lies and bloodstained hands?”
Bob crossed the den and opened the screen door. He was still blushing faintly, but he was smiling.
“Clay’s done being all big brother on me. Sorry to kick you out of your own place, Carolyn.”
The smile she offered him could have outstripped a thousand suns. “I’m just glad you two made up.” Then she turned to her friend. “C’mon, Melanie. Want to meet half of Four Times Summer?”
(339 words)
Bob had his head bowed and kept nodding apologetically. After a while, Clay ran out of steam, and then he stepped forward, pulled Bob into a hug.
“So,” Melanie said, “all those times I was being a crazy fangirl, you thought I was creepy obsessed, huh?”
“No.” Carolyn smiled at her friend. “Not at all. You love them just as much as I do.”
“Yeah, but you grew up with them. You love them because you know them. I love them because --”
“Because they’re talented and attractive and nice guys,” Carolyn said. “Same as me.”
Melanie floundered for a moment. “Yeah, but -- you got to kiss one of them.”
“Two, actually,” Carolyn said absently.
Melanie’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Clay fell out of love with me a long time ago,” Carolyn said.
“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked. She peered at Carolyn and saw that Carolyn’s gaze was distant; she was lost in memory.
“He saw who and what I really am, and he couldn’t deal.”
“And Bob could?”
“I think, by then, Robbie just didn’t care.”
Melanie nudged Carolyn’s shoulder with hers. “It couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you’re just a crazy prodigy law student. What’s not to love about brains and good looks?”
Carolyn said, almost too softly for Melanie to hear, “What’s to love about lies and bloodstained hands?”
Bob crossed the den and opened the screen door. He was still blushing faintly, but he was smiling.
“Clay’s done being all big brother on me. Sorry to kick you out of your own place, Carolyn.”
The smile she offered him could have outstripped a thousand suns. “I’m just glad you two made up.” Then she turned to her friend. “C’mon, Melanie. Want to meet half of Four Times Summer?”
(339 words)
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Always About Him
A fist to the ribs. Carolyn could feel the ribs breaking beneath her knuckles. She followed her victim as he staggered back, spun into a roundhouse kick that probably broke his jaw. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and then Carolyn had to pause, assess.
No breathing, no voices, no footsteps within hearing distance. She spun, scanned her surroundings, listening to her victim’s weak gasps all the while. No witnesses, then.
Carolyn knelt, flipped open her switchblade. Sometimes it was just easier to make it look like a mugging. Too professional a hit and local cops started asking questions, started running into bureaucratic walls. If she made this look like a proper wet job, it would be one too many in a string of hits - the Orphaneers were getting damned persistent - and some idiot with Mulder-doggedness would come sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted.
The Orphaneer was young, Carolyn’s age, but far less experienced. She was beyond caring at this point.
“You tried to kill Robbie, you bastard,” she whispered, and plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Covered his mouth with her other hand while he gasped and gurgled as blood pooled into his lungs. When she stood up, she kicked the corpse for good measure.
She was halfway back to the stage door when she realized her vision was blurry from tears and her hands were still covered in blood. Carolyn stumbled into the nearest bathroom to wash her face and hands. It took a good drubbing in ice-cold water before she looked presentable again.
John’s words ricocheted through her brain.
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you.”
The blood all over her hands was always about him.
She wanted to cry some more.
And then the shrill screams of teenage fangirls broke the sound barrier.
The show had just begun.
(311)
No breathing, no voices, no footsteps within hearing distance. She spun, scanned her surroundings, listening to her victim’s weak gasps all the while. No witnesses, then.
Carolyn knelt, flipped open her switchblade. Sometimes it was just easier to make it look like a mugging. Too professional a hit and local cops started asking questions, started running into bureaucratic walls. If she made this look like a proper wet job, it would be one too many in a string of hits - the Orphaneers were getting damned persistent - and some idiot with Mulder-doggedness would come sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted.
The Orphaneer was young, Carolyn’s age, but far less experienced. She was beyond caring at this point.
“You tried to kill Robbie, you bastard,” she whispered, and plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Covered his mouth with her other hand while he gasped and gurgled as blood pooled into his lungs. When she stood up, she kicked the corpse for good measure.
She was halfway back to the stage door when she realized her vision was blurry from tears and her hands were still covered in blood. Carolyn stumbled into the nearest bathroom to wash her face and hands. It took a good drubbing in ice-cold water before she looked presentable again.
John’s words ricocheted through her brain.
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you.”
The blood all over her hands was always about him.
She wanted to cry some more.
And then the shrill screams of teenage fangirls broke the sound barrier.
The show had just begun.
(311)
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Nothing to Lose
Joe took the blow to the side without uttering a single sound, not even a whimper as the air rushed from his lungs, barely defended himself when he felt a rib crack from the next blow.
The jeers and yells from the gathered men were just a noise in his head, he knew that if he carried on long enough that he would collapse, and then he could rest. Joe looked at the large and burly man opposite him in the makeshift ring, his eyes filled with blood lust and his gaze fixed on Joe. Joe brought his fists up in a defensive position and the man smiled; Joe knew that he appeared exactly what he really was, a scrawny nineteen year old boy with nothing to lose.
"Joe!" a strong female voice called out. Joe looked up in surprise and was knocked backwards as his opponent took the opportunity to strike. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, and the men around cheered as the victor walked out of the ring.
"Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" A voice said from beside him. Joe looked up, dazed, into the familiar beautiful features of Jen.
"Jen," he said, his words slightly slurred, "what are you doing here?"
"I came to find you. I've been worried about you," she said as she cradled his head in her lap and dabbed at the blood on his face. "Why are you doing this Joe?" she whispered.
"It helps," he said simply. "It helps me forget, helps take away the pain and the guilt."
Jen's eyes flashed in anger, "and I suppose I mean nothing to you?"
Joe tried to roll over so that he could face her, "no, Jen, it's not like that."
"Then what is it like? Are you trying to get yourself killed? I don't suppose it occurred to you that I could help you, that I could help take away the pain. Did you stop to consider that?" Jen asked as she stepped out of reach.
"Jen, I'm sorry, I didn't want you to have to worry about me. I..."
Jen cut him off, "But I do worry about you, ever since the first time I saw you in the hospital I have worried about you. but I guess that means nothing to you," she said. Not giving him a chance to respond, Jen hurried to the door and out into the night.
Joe could hear her words echoing in his mind, 'I could help take away the pain...I guess I mean nothing to you...'
The jeers and yells from the gathered men were just a noise in his head, he knew that if he carried on long enough that he would collapse, and then he could rest. Joe looked at the large and burly man opposite him in the makeshift ring, his eyes filled with blood lust and his gaze fixed on Joe. Joe brought his fists up in a defensive position and the man smiled; Joe knew that he appeared exactly what he really was, a scrawny nineteen year old boy with nothing to lose.
"Joe!" a strong female voice called out. Joe looked up in surprise and was knocked backwards as his opponent took the opportunity to strike. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, and the men around cheered as the victor walked out of the ring.
"Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" A voice said from beside him. Joe looked up, dazed, into the familiar beautiful features of Jen.
"Jen," he said, his words slightly slurred, "what are you doing here?"
"I came to find you. I've been worried about you," she said as she cradled his head in her lap and dabbed at the blood on his face. "Why are you doing this Joe?" she whispered.
"It helps," he said simply. "It helps me forget, helps take away the pain and the guilt."
Jen's eyes flashed in anger, "and I suppose I mean nothing to you?"
Joe tried to roll over so that he could face her, "no, Jen, it's not like that."
"Then what is it like? Are you trying to get yourself killed? I don't suppose it occurred to you that I could help you, that I could help take away the pain. Did you stop to consider that?" Jen asked as she stepped out of reach.
"Jen, I'm sorry, I didn't want you to have to worry about me. I..."
Jen cut him off, "But I do worry about you, ever since the first time I saw you in the hospital I have worried about you. but I guess that means nothing to you," she said. Not giving him a chance to respond, Jen hurried to the door and out into the night.
Joe could hear her words echoing in his mind, 'I could help take away the pain...I guess I mean nothing to you...'
Be Careful
“Do you know what your father will do to you if he finds out about this?” Shelley demanded.
Bob ducked his head, stared down at his shoes. Carolyn met Shelley’s gaze, then looked away. Shelley saw that Carolyn was looking at John, who loomed in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a very grim expression.
Finally, Bob lifted his head. “Dad doesn’t get to have a say on - on who we date. Or even if we date.”
“And when the fans ask --”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Bob said.
John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Shelley. They’re teenagers - they’re not seeing reason.” His gaze bored into Carolyn, but she kept her head held high. “They’re too young to understand the consequences of their actions.”
Shelley flinched, surprised by the icy fury in John’s tone. He was looking at Carolyn steadily, and something passed between them, something Shelley didn’t understand. She had the feeling that John was talking about something more than the fans finding out that one of the brothers had a girlfriend.
“Did it not occur to you that we are capable of doing a cost-benefit analysis and that we found the odds, despite the risks, weigh in our favor?” Carolyn’s voice was cutting.
John shook his head. “You’re being an idiot and you know it. There are things in this world that are bigger than you two, or have you forgotten who are you? If you think you can take them on you’re more of an arrogant fool than I thought.”
Bob realized something else was going on and cast his step-mother a look. Then he stepped in front of Carolyn. “John, it’s not as bad as you think --”
John didn’t even look at him, hurling his words right at his daughter. “You have no idea what you’re risking. What we’re all risking. What I’m risking. What he is risking.”
Bob flinched. “John --”
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you,” John said, “and you’d better remember that.”
Shelley blinked when John spun on his heel and walked away. Then she turned back to Bob and Carolyn. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Dad hasn’t caught us yet,” Bob said, “and he won’t.”
“I know,” Shelley said. “But be careful.”
Bob caught on the second time and turned bright red. Carolyn was still staring after her foster-father, looking as if she’d just been hit.
(399 words)
Bob ducked his head, stared down at his shoes. Carolyn met Shelley’s gaze, then looked away. Shelley saw that Carolyn was looking at John, who loomed in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a very grim expression.
Finally, Bob lifted his head. “Dad doesn’t get to have a say on - on who we date. Or even if we date.”
“And when the fans ask --”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Bob said.
John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Shelley. They’re teenagers - they’re not seeing reason.” His gaze bored into Carolyn, but she kept her head held high. “They’re too young to understand the consequences of their actions.”
Shelley flinched, surprised by the icy fury in John’s tone. He was looking at Carolyn steadily, and something passed between them, something Shelley didn’t understand. She had the feeling that John was talking about something more than the fans finding out that one of the brothers had a girlfriend.
“Did it not occur to you that we are capable of doing a cost-benefit analysis and that we found the odds, despite the risks, weigh in our favor?” Carolyn’s voice was cutting.
John shook his head. “You’re being an idiot and you know it. There are things in this world that are bigger than you two, or have you forgotten who are you? If you think you can take them on you’re more of an arrogant fool than I thought.”
Bob realized something else was going on and cast his step-mother a look. Then he stepped in front of Carolyn. “John, it’s not as bad as you think --”
John didn’t even look at him, hurling his words right at his daughter. “You have no idea what you’re risking. What we’re all risking. What I’m risking. What he is risking.”
Bob flinched. “John --”
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you,” John said, “and you’d better remember that.”
Shelley blinked when John spun on his heel and walked away. Then she turned back to Bob and Carolyn. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Dad hasn’t caught us yet,” Bob said, “and he won’t.”
“I know,” Shelley said. “But be careful.”
Bob caught on the second time and turned bright red. Carolyn was still staring after her foster-father, looking as if she’d just been hit.
(399 words)
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Perfectly Balanced
The voice that crackled over the intercom was several shades past displeased.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The monitor in the middle of the room hummed to life, and the lighting took a moment to fade up, but as soon as John saw the entwined silhouettes he knew what was going on. Damn Carolyn for - for what? For being human? For being a teenager?
It was grainy video, and badly shot. John’s first thought was that some rabid Four Times Summer fangirl would have given her first three children to get her hands on this footage. His second thought was that what the girl would see would break her heart. She’d see Bob and Carolyn, tucked into an alcove backstage at some random venue in some nameless foreign city, pressed up against a wall and kissing each other hungrily. Bob was still wearing his gloves, and his hair was damp with sweat where it curled at the nape of his neck - he’d just come offstage. Carolyn had one hand fisted in his t-shirt, the other buried in his hair, and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbone when Bob lowered his head to her throat.
“Agent Pierce was your responsibility, Agent Simon. Her job is to ensure The Carrier is secure. Not...this.”
John took a deep breath. The Generals knew they were walking a fine line when they’d decided to take on a project like Carolyn. To make her an effective agent, she had to be the perfectly balanced blend of killing machine and empathizer. Apparently she was too much of an empathizer for their tastes.
“Sir, Carolyn is ensuring The Carrier is secure. As his girlfriend, she has better access to him than ever before.” John wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “The Carrier is being protected during periods when he was usually at high-risk, such as while he’s asleep.”
“Agent Pierce’s job is to make sure the Orphaneers never get their hands on him, not to moon over him like a lovesick calf. If they take him, she must finish him. And then she will be terminated. Do your job, Agent Simon, or someone else will do it for you.”
And the intercom went dead.
(371 words)
“What is the meaning of this?”
The monitor in the middle of the room hummed to life, and the lighting took a moment to fade up, but as soon as John saw the entwined silhouettes he knew what was going on. Damn Carolyn for - for what? For being human? For being a teenager?
It was grainy video, and badly shot. John’s first thought was that some rabid Four Times Summer fangirl would have given her first three children to get her hands on this footage. His second thought was that what the girl would see would break her heart. She’d see Bob and Carolyn, tucked into an alcove backstage at some random venue in some nameless foreign city, pressed up against a wall and kissing each other hungrily. Bob was still wearing his gloves, and his hair was damp with sweat where it curled at the nape of his neck - he’d just come offstage. Carolyn had one hand fisted in his t-shirt, the other buried in his hair, and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbone when Bob lowered his head to her throat.
“Agent Pierce was your responsibility, Agent Simon. Her job is to ensure The Carrier is secure. Not...this.”
John took a deep breath. The Generals knew they were walking a fine line when they’d decided to take on a project like Carolyn. To make her an effective agent, she had to be the perfectly balanced blend of killing machine and empathizer. Apparently she was too much of an empathizer for their tastes.
“Sir, Carolyn is ensuring The Carrier is secure. As his girlfriend, she has better access to him than ever before.” John wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “The Carrier is being protected during periods when he was usually at high-risk, such as while he’s asleep.”
“Agent Pierce’s job is to make sure the Orphaneers never get their hands on him, not to moon over him like a lovesick calf. If they take him, she must finish him. And then she will be terminated. Do your job, Agent Simon, or someone else will do it for you.”
And the intercom went dead.
(371 words)
Wasn't Thinking
"I'm sorry man. I don't know what else to say," Bryan stammered out an apology to his brother. He watched warily from where Mark couldn't reach him, watched the emotions play across his face; shock, disbelief, anger.
Mark stood in the doorway to their room, he could still hear the echo of the door slamming downstairs as Shandra left the house, probably for the last time.
"I guess I just wasn't thinking," Bryan said after an awkward pause.
"That's always been your problem Bryan," Mark said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You never think. You never stop to consider what may or may not happen, who you might hurt or how your actions might be taken in the wrong way. Did it ever occur to you that what you do affects other people?"
Bryan swallowed his shame, he knew that he shouldn't have, and it's not like it's his fault that Marks girlfriend can't tell them apart, it had just happened.
"Mark, I'm sorry, it just happened. I looked up and smiled at her, and suddenly she was kissing me, and my brain just stopped," Bryan said quietly, "I hope the two of you can work it out. Tell her I'm sorry will you?"
Mark looked at his twin, his almost perfect mirror image in everything, "No, I don't think that I will; and I doubt that this can be fixed," he said. Turning on his heel, Mark left the room, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Bryan said again to the empty space.
Mark stood in the doorway to their room, he could still hear the echo of the door slamming downstairs as Shandra left the house, probably for the last time.
"I guess I just wasn't thinking," Bryan said after an awkward pause.
"That's always been your problem Bryan," Mark said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "You never think. You never stop to consider what may or may not happen, who you might hurt or how your actions might be taken in the wrong way. Did it ever occur to you that what you do affects other people?"
Bryan swallowed his shame, he knew that he shouldn't have, and it's not like it's his fault that Marks girlfriend can't tell them apart, it had just happened.
"Mark, I'm sorry, it just happened. I looked up and smiled at her, and suddenly she was kissing me, and my brain just stopped," Bryan said quietly, "I hope the two of you can work it out. Tell her I'm sorry will you?"
Mark looked at his twin, his almost perfect mirror image in everything, "No, I don't think that I will; and I doubt that this can be fixed," he said. Turning on his heel, Mark left the room, slamming the door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Bryan said again to the empty space.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Kill Shot
“Do it again, Pierce.”
Carolyn took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fired.
That voice crackled over the intercom. “With your eyes open, brat. You need to look at your target when you fire.”
Another voice broke in. “Easy, easy, she hit the bulls-eye.”
“That’s not the point,” the first voice barked. “Cadet Pierce, eyes on the target at all times, understood?”
Carolyn opened her eyes and stared at the row of targets laid out before her. Each of them was marked with specific red sections - kill shots. She’d become a sufficient marksman; now she had to learn to kill first, ask questions later.
“Again,” the voice commanded.
Carolyn closed her eyes and emptied her clip into the closest target. She could hit a heart from two hundred yards with her eyes closed, but she was tired of this. Before she could open her eyes, someone plucked the gun out of her hand, and hands clamped around her upper arms. She reacted smoothly, instinctually, sliding into the series of motions drilled into her by daily repetition, and began taking down her opponents one by one. But there were too many of them, and they were bigger than her.
When she finally managed to get herself uncuffed and the blindfold untied, she was in a four by six cement cell with only a single light. Any moment, someone would shut it off.
Then she’d have to wait until her body was desperate enough for food to make that kill shot.
(251 words)
Carolyn took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fired.
That voice crackled over the intercom. “With your eyes open, brat. You need to look at your target when you fire.”
Another voice broke in. “Easy, easy, she hit the bulls-eye.”
“That’s not the point,” the first voice barked. “Cadet Pierce, eyes on the target at all times, understood?”
Carolyn opened her eyes and stared at the row of targets laid out before her. Each of them was marked with specific red sections - kill shots. She’d become a sufficient marksman; now she had to learn to kill first, ask questions later.
“Again,” the voice commanded.
Carolyn closed her eyes and emptied her clip into the closest target. She could hit a heart from two hundred yards with her eyes closed, but she was tired of this. Before she could open her eyes, someone plucked the gun out of her hand, and hands clamped around her upper arms. She reacted smoothly, instinctually, sliding into the series of motions drilled into her by daily repetition, and began taking down her opponents one by one. But there were too many of them, and they were bigger than her.
When she finally managed to get herself uncuffed and the blindfold untied, she was in a four by six cement cell with only a single light. Any moment, someone would shut it off.
Then she’d have to wait until her body was desperate enough for food to make that kill shot.
(251 words)
Again and Again
The four men in Commander Cole's unit were huffing for air when they came staggering into the open compound yard after a twenty mile run; Joe immediately collapsed to the ground, heaving for breath.
"On your feet soldier," David barked as he stepped out of the command post.
Joe immediately rolled to his knees and struggled to stand again without blacking out, Bryan and Mark were both doubled over with their hands on their thighs, and Steve was leaning against the wall, swallowing convulsively, as he tried to regain his balance.
"Line up!" David commanded, and watched as they shuffled into a staggered line.
"Not good enough men," David said, looking them up and down, "Dress those lines and come to attention.
It took the four subordinate officers a few seconds to straiten themselves out. They were still breathing hard and sweat was pouring off of their faces in the hot Nevada sun.
"That run took you almost three hours gentlemen," David said disparagingly as he paced back and forth in front of them. "It should have taken you no more than two," he said, and looked each of them in the eye until they looked down. "I will not tolerate such poor standards in my command. You will do it again tomorrow, and it had better be within the time limits. As for right now, you will each give me one hundred push-ups, and then you will run the obstacle course. You will finish in under two minutes. Now Move!" David barked.
The four men dropped to the ground and began the rigorous number of push-ups that came on top of the run; none of them looked forward to the obstacle course. None of them had ever finished in under two minutes.
David watched in silence as his men struggled to make the repetitions that he had required, watched them stagger to their feet again and run to the obstacle course, and watched every one of them fail to make the two minute mark.
"Not good men," David said as he shook his head, "not good at all. Tomorrow will be more of the same, and the next day, and the next. Everyday until you can do it right. Now, dismissed to eat and wash," David said.
The four men said nothing as they turned from their leader and headed towards the barracks, complete exhaustion the only emotion in their faces.
"Just a little harsh don't you think?" Commander Hayes asked as he stepped out of the command post where he had been watching David drill his men.
"Were you any easier on me?" David asked without turning, "If I'm harsh now, they will become better soldiers; quick, agile, disciplined, strong, and resilient. They will live longer, and be prouder of themselves."
"Well, they're your men, I won't interfere, but do remember that they are also pretty young," Hayes said as he turned to leave.
"So was I," David said to no one in particular.
"On your feet soldier," David barked as he stepped out of the command post.
Joe immediately rolled to his knees and struggled to stand again without blacking out, Bryan and Mark were both doubled over with their hands on their thighs, and Steve was leaning against the wall, swallowing convulsively, as he tried to regain his balance.
"Line up!" David commanded, and watched as they shuffled into a staggered line.
"Not good enough men," David said, looking them up and down, "Dress those lines and come to attention.
It took the four subordinate officers a few seconds to straiten themselves out. They were still breathing hard and sweat was pouring off of their faces in the hot Nevada sun.
"That run took you almost three hours gentlemen," David said disparagingly as he paced back and forth in front of them. "It should have taken you no more than two," he said, and looked each of them in the eye until they looked down. "I will not tolerate such poor standards in my command. You will do it again tomorrow, and it had better be within the time limits. As for right now, you will each give me one hundred push-ups, and then you will run the obstacle course. You will finish in under two minutes. Now Move!" David barked.
The four men dropped to the ground and began the rigorous number of push-ups that came on top of the run; none of them looked forward to the obstacle course. None of them had ever finished in under two minutes.
David watched in silence as his men struggled to make the repetitions that he had required, watched them stagger to their feet again and run to the obstacle course, and watched every one of them fail to make the two minute mark.
"Not good men," David said as he shook his head, "not good at all. Tomorrow will be more of the same, and the next day, and the next. Everyday until you can do it right. Now, dismissed to eat and wash," David said.
The four men said nothing as they turned from their leader and headed towards the barracks, complete exhaustion the only emotion in their faces.
"Just a little harsh don't you think?" Commander Hayes asked as he stepped out of the command post where he had been watching David drill his men.
"Were you any easier on me?" David asked without turning, "If I'm harsh now, they will become better soldiers; quick, agile, disciplined, strong, and resilient. They will live longer, and be prouder of themselves."
"Well, they're your men, I won't interfere, but do remember that they are also pretty young," Hayes said as he turned to leave.
"So was I," David said to no one in particular.
Project Assignment #48 - Harsh
Okay, this week is a chance to let your characters harsher side make an appearance. Haow harsh is Carolyn with Bob or Clay? How harsh is John on Carolyn? Does David come down on his men hard?
Have fun this week and let the harshness out for a stroll.
word limit of 500
Have fun this week and let the harshness out for a stroll.
word limit of 500
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Overview #47: Confessions
Hah. This was a pretty good one. Some of the confessions weren't as overt as I'd have liked them to be. Once again, it was a week of confessions for everyone. I was quite pleased that this week's lot of entries actually did some good as far as moving the plot along - I got some key scenes in. There were a couple of double confessions, as it were, about things, wherein two things were confessed even if only one thing was the main issue at dispute between the characters. It would've been nice if at least one of the confessions were happy, but thus is the way of things. I was a little leery about letting Dinah in on the secret, but it sort of had to be done. John needed to get things off his chest as well, and I think what I ended up doing with him worked.
Of course, the most important post was the last.
Carolyn finally said it.
Of course, the most important post was the last.
Carolyn finally said it.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Like I'm Supposed To
(continued from this post)
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to know something,” Bob said. “Just one thing.”
Carolyn searched his gaze. “Robbie, I can’t --”
“Please.” He caught her by the shoulders and leaned down, so close their foreheads were almost touching. “I need to know. I’ve needed to know since I watched you walk away. Do you love me?”
Carolyn reached up slowly and curled a hand around the nape of his neck, gazing into his eyes. A small sound caught in her throat, like a sob, and she closed her eyes. Then she looked at him again. “Yes. Yes, I love you.”
He covered her mouth with his.
She clung to him, fingers tight against his skin, and he held her. She loved him. All this time, she’d loved him. He couldn’t believe she was real,in his arms. Five years of missing her, of hating her and wanting her, and it all came down to never wanting to let her go.
He pulled back and buried his face in her neck, breathless. “I love you. Tell me you love me,” he whispered against her skin.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you.” Then she tugged on his shirt. “Robbie, we have to go, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”
“But you love me, right?” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. He had to make sure.
She was trembling in his arms. “I do love you. More than my own life. Now come on.” She tugged on him again, and he saw that the emotion in her eyes was more fear than love. “We can’t stay here. Please.”
“Why?”
“They’re coming to take you, and I - I can’t kill you.”
Ice crept through Bob’s veins. “Kill me?”
“Like I’m supposed to.”
(298 words)
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to know something,” Bob said. “Just one thing.”
Carolyn searched his gaze. “Robbie, I can’t --”
“Please.” He caught her by the shoulders and leaned down, so close their foreheads were almost touching. “I need to know. I’ve needed to know since I watched you walk away. Do you love me?”
Carolyn reached up slowly and curled a hand around the nape of his neck, gazing into his eyes. A small sound caught in her throat, like a sob, and she closed her eyes. Then she looked at him again. “Yes. Yes, I love you.”
He covered her mouth with his.
She clung to him, fingers tight against his skin, and he held her. She loved him. All this time, she’d loved him. He couldn’t believe she was real,in his arms. Five years of missing her, of hating her and wanting her, and it all came down to never wanting to let her go.
He pulled back and buried his face in her neck, breathless. “I love you. Tell me you love me,” he whispered against her skin.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you.” Then she tugged on his shirt. “Robbie, we have to go, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”
“But you love me, right?” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. He had to make sure.
She was trembling in his arms. “I do love you. More than my own life. Now come on.” She tugged on him again, and he saw that the emotion in her eyes was more fear than love. “We can’t stay here. Please.”
“Why?”
“They’re coming to take you, and I - I can’t kill you.”
Ice crept through Bob’s veins. “Kill me?”
“Like I’m supposed to.”
(298 words)
Friday, October 23, 2009
Yes It Is
“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)
“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)
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.
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