“You don’t look very impressed,” Amy said. She and Gabriel were in the library, peering out the window down to the street corner where some boys had laid out a linoleum and were showing off acrobatic tricks, spinning on their heads and flipping, tumbling, popping and locking.
“I used to dance like that,” Gabriel said. “Before they put me in here.”
“Do you still do it?” Amy peered at him, curious.
Gabriel wasn’t sure why he was even talking to her. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m in here. They don’t let us have real lives in here. Why else?” he snapped.
Amy shrugged, her shoulders hunched, a little defensive, and Gabriel felt a brief pang of guilt for being so rude.
“It’s just - some people lose things. In the experiments.” She turned her face up to his once more, and Gabriel was startled at how bright her eyes were. Golden. Could people really have eyes that color?
“What do you mean?”
“Like - Jenny used to be able to play piano. And sometimes - sometimes, after a long session in the iso tank I can’t tell time. I didn’t know if you’d lost something, going in there too. It’s just the two of us who go in there, see,” Amy said.
Gabriel watched the group of boys move in synch with each other and decided that he might break out, just for the day, so he could dance again.
(237 words)
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
There but not There
"Just go through the forms and you will be fine," Alec said as he patted Joe in the shoulder.
Joe straitened his ghee nervously, "what if I forget something?"
"How long have you been practicing this?"
"A long time."
"You know what to do. Now do it."
Joe took a deep breath and stepped out onto the mats to begin his trials.
"It was perfect," Alec said as Joe stepped off the mat, "It looked like a dance."
"Thanks Alec," Joe whispered and turned to look his brother that was no longer there. Only the memory and the feeling were there.
"Thanks Alec," Joe said again softly.
Joe straitened his ghee nervously, "what if I forget something?"
"How long have you been practicing this?"
"A long time."
"You know what to do. Now do it."
Joe took a deep breath and stepped out onto the mats to begin his trials.
"It was perfect," Alec said as Joe stepped off the mat, "It looked like a dance."
"Thanks Alec," Joe whispered and turned to look his brother that was no longer there. Only the memory and the feeling were there.
"Thanks Alec," Joe said again softly.
Can You Count to Three?
“I refuse,” Keith said. He crossed his arms over his chest and dared one of the other lads to oppose him.
“Look, old lady McConnell’s just going to make you. Might as well get it over with,” Ste said. He shot Duffy and Shannon pleading looks.
Shannon sighed impatiently. “Look, get out there and do it, and then one of us will follow.”
“How do I know that you won’t hang me out to dry? I won’t be the only one out there making a fool of myself,” Keith said. “If you’re so eager to dance, you pick partners.”
The other three exchanged helpless glances.
Keith started when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and saw the new girl - Hannah or Holly or something - standing behind him. She studied him with solemn golden eyes. Then she broke into a wide grin.
“Heya, fancy a waltz?”
Keith said, “No.”
She tugged on his wrist. “That’s too bad. I’m not botching P.E. because you’re not man enough to step up and make the grade. Now waltz with me.”
“I don’t know how,” Keith protested.
“Can you count to three?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can waltz. On one...”
(198 words)
“Look, old lady McConnell’s just going to make you. Might as well get it over with,” Ste said. He shot Duffy and Shannon pleading looks.
Shannon sighed impatiently. “Look, get out there and do it, and then one of us will follow.”
“How do I know that you won’t hang me out to dry? I won’t be the only one out there making a fool of myself,” Keith said. “If you’re so eager to dance, you pick partners.”
The other three exchanged helpless glances.
Keith started when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and saw the new girl - Hannah or Holly or something - standing behind him. She studied him with solemn golden eyes. Then she broke into a wide grin.
“Heya, fancy a waltz?”
Keith said, “No.”
She tugged on his wrist. “That’s too bad. I’m not botching P.E. because you’re not man enough to step up and make the grade. Now waltz with me.”
“I don’t know how,” Keith protested.
“Can you count to three?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can waltz. On one...”
(198 words)
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
All A Man Can Ask For
“Do you tango?” Angel asked.
Dani started and almost spilled her drink down the front of her dress. “Pardon?” She blinked at him over the top of a volume of Millay.
Angel smiled and offered a hand. “Tango. Will you?”
“With you?”
“I’d prefer if it were with me, but I’m sure if I were to step away, another man would ask in my place,” Angel said.
Dani looked flustered. Angel knew he was taking a risk, dancing with the Padrino’s daughter, but something about her sweet, bookwormish charm had caught his eye while he was in the Padrino’s house, and it had been a while since Angel had had decent conversation with a girl.
Girls in this era were finally starting to become educated and speak their minds again, and Angel had missed it something fierce. Of course, Dakshana had taken off right when Angel might have valued her company, but then they both had jobs to do, and Angel was here, doing his.
Right now, his job was to dance.
Dani accepted his hand. “I can try,” she said.
Angel pulled her into his arms. “That’s all a man can ask for.”
(194 words)
Dani started and almost spilled her drink down the front of her dress. “Pardon?” She blinked at him over the top of a volume of Millay.
Angel smiled and offered a hand. “Tango. Will you?”
“With you?”
“I’d prefer if it were with me, but I’m sure if I were to step away, another man would ask in my place,” Angel said.
Dani looked flustered. Angel knew he was taking a risk, dancing with the Padrino’s daughter, but something about her sweet, bookwormish charm had caught his eye while he was in the Padrino’s house, and it had been a while since Angel had had decent conversation with a girl.
Girls in this era were finally starting to become educated and speak their minds again, and Angel had missed it something fierce. Of course, Dakshana had taken off right when Angel might have valued her company, but then they both had jobs to do, and Angel was here, doing his.
Right now, his job was to dance.
Dani accepted his hand. “I can try,” she said.
Angel pulled her into his arms. “That’s all a man can ask for.”
(194 words)
Sturdier Shoes
“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Christian grumbled.
“I didn’t talk you into it. You let yourself be convinced.” Anna straightened his tabard with deft hands. “Now get out there and be charming and win some more land for your father.”
“You’re distressingly amused by the thought of me marrying Lady Vivian.” Christian brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his shoulder.
“Yes, well, she’s a lady, you’re a lord, she has lots of land, what more can your father ask for?”
“Me to be happy.”
“Your brother Ranolfe was happy, and look where it got him? Dead.” Anna stood back and gave him one last once-over. “Time to go dance.”
“But I’m terrible at dancing,” Christian protested.
“Nonsense. You’re a swordsman and full of smooth, dancing grace. Don’t forget that the left turn is on the offbeat.” Anna smiled and pushed him out from behind the tapestries that hid the servants from view.
Halfway through the first song, Lady Vivian learned, up close and personally what on the offbeat meant. To Christian, it meant nothing to do with anything his tutors - or Anna - had taught him. From the sidelines, Anna mused that proper ladies should have learned to wear much sturdier shoes by now.
(208 words)
“I didn’t talk you into it. You let yourself be convinced.” Anna straightened his tabard with deft hands. “Now get out there and be charming and win some more land for your father.”
“You’re distressingly amused by the thought of me marrying Lady Vivian.” Christian brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his shoulder.
“Yes, well, she’s a lady, you’re a lord, she has lots of land, what more can your father ask for?”
“Me to be happy.”
“Your brother Ranolfe was happy, and look where it got him? Dead.” Anna stood back and gave him one last once-over. “Time to go dance.”
“But I’m terrible at dancing,” Christian protested.
“Nonsense. You’re a swordsman and full of smooth, dancing grace. Don’t forget that the left turn is on the offbeat.” Anna smiled and pushed him out from behind the tapestries that hid the servants from view.
Halfway through the first song, Lady Vivian learned, up close and personally what on the offbeat meant. To Christian, it meant nothing to do with anything his tutors - or Anna - had taught him. From the sidelines, Anna mused that proper ladies should have learned to wear much sturdier shoes by now.
(208 words)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Abuse of Modly Powers
Here it is, another abuse of the modpost. Apparently the holidays derailed all of us, so we will continue this challenge through to the next week. Until then, keep on writing, and keep your characters on dancing!
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Club Twitch
“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Riley said.
James grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Just - knock back a few shots of tequila and get out there. Shake your skinny arse to the beat.”
Riley pressed his lips into a thin line. “You really know how to build a man’s self-esteem.”
“The ladies love you and you know it,” James said. “C’mon - admit it. You’ve heard them coo all over you during episode screenings. And during interviews. You’re Riley Finn - they think you’re the cutest thing since puppies and bunnies.”
“Adorable does not equal sexy or - or a good dancer,” Riley said.
James shoved him toward the dance floor. “Go, go!”
Riley ducked his head and sighed, loped into the crowd of writhing bodies. As soon as he was out of James’s sight, he ducked off the dance floor and toward where Serena and Fiona were waiting.
“He’s here, then?” Fiona asked.
Riley nodded. “Yeah. I played nervous a bit, let him give me a good talking to, and so now he’ll be keeping an eye on the dancefloor to watch me make a fool of myself.”
“Good.” Serena nodded decisively. “Any moment now, Asia will be here. She promised us a demonstration of her dancing skills if we could find sufficient music. According to one of the make-up girls, Shakira is a perfectly acceptable substitute for traditional tribal music.”
As if on cue, Asia materialized from the crowd. “We have an agreement, yes? If I get out there and do one solo number, you have to join me on the next one.” She swiveled her hips and cast Serena and Fiona meaningful looks.
“An agreement?” Riley asked. “I know of no agreement.”
Asia smiled at him. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight. Didn’t Fiona and Serena tell you? They want to learn how to belly dance. I told them I’d teach them, but they said they refused to subscribe until I demonstrated my skills.”
“I didn’t realize you could do anything but the usual club twitch like the rest of us,” Riley said. “Isn’t bellydancing a bit...feminine for a girl who swings swords for a living?”
“Don’t make me punch you,” Asia said dryly. “Are you game, ladies?”
“We’re game,” Fiona said. “In fact, here comes your music right now.”
And Shakira poured from the speakers. Asia rolled her eyes. “In a place like this, I reckon this is the best you could get. Out to the dancefloor I go.”
“No one’s going to see you in that crowd - you’re too short,” Fiona said. She craned her neck.
Asia grinned. “I’ll clear a space. Just wait and see.” She started into the crowd.
Riley grinned. “I’m going to go stand by James. If I can get a shot on my camera, I will - the look on his face will be classic.”
It was.
(485 words)
James grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Just - knock back a few shots of tequila and get out there. Shake your skinny arse to the beat.”
Riley pressed his lips into a thin line. “You really know how to build a man’s self-esteem.”
“The ladies love you and you know it,” James said. “C’mon - admit it. You’ve heard them coo all over you during episode screenings. And during interviews. You’re Riley Finn - they think you’re the cutest thing since puppies and bunnies.”
“Adorable does not equal sexy or - or a good dancer,” Riley said.
James shoved him toward the dance floor. “Go, go!”
Riley ducked his head and sighed, loped into the crowd of writhing bodies. As soon as he was out of James’s sight, he ducked off the dance floor and toward where Serena and Fiona were waiting.
“He’s here, then?” Fiona asked.
Riley nodded. “Yeah. I played nervous a bit, let him give me a good talking to, and so now he’ll be keeping an eye on the dancefloor to watch me make a fool of myself.”
“Good.” Serena nodded decisively. “Any moment now, Asia will be here. She promised us a demonstration of her dancing skills if we could find sufficient music. According to one of the make-up girls, Shakira is a perfectly acceptable substitute for traditional tribal music.”
As if on cue, Asia materialized from the crowd. “We have an agreement, yes? If I get out there and do one solo number, you have to join me on the next one.” She swiveled her hips and cast Serena and Fiona meaningful looks.
“An agreement?” Riley asked. “I know of no agreement.”
Asia smiled at him. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight. Didn’t Fiona and Serena tell you? They want to learn how to belly dance. I told them I’d teach them, but they said they refused to subscribe until I demonstrated my skills.”
“I didn’t realize you could do anything but the usual club twitch like the rest of us,” Riley said. “Isn’t bellydancing a bit...feminine for a girl who swings swords for a living?”
“Don’t make me punch you,” Asia said dryly. “Are you game, ladies?”
“We’re game,” Fiona said. “In fact, here comes your music right now.”
And Shakira poured from the speakers. Asia rolled her eyes. “In a place like this, I reckon this is the best you could get. Out to the dancefloor I go.”
“No one’s going to see you in that crowd - you’re too short,” Fiona said. She craned her neck.
Asia grinned. “I’ll clear a space. Just wait and see.” She started into the crowd.
Riley grinned. “I’m going to go stand by James. If I can get a shot on my camera, I will - the look on his face will be classic.”
It was.
(485 words)
Night Out
Bryan's feet were twitching as soon as he got out of the car. He couldn't hear the music yet, but he could feel the vibrations in the cement beneath his feet, could feel it echoing in his body, thumping in time to his heartbeat.
The doormen smiled and waved him through as he approached the door, bypassing all the people still waiting in line. Bryan stepped from the dark night into a twilight; strobe lights only partly illuminated the large room that was filled to almost overflowing with people. A heavy beat was rocking through the room, he could feel it in the core of his bones. Bryan let his eyes slide closed as he nodded his head to the beat; felt his body begin to move, rocking in time to the music.
Bryan's eyes snapped open and he flowed onto the dance floor, moving with perfect precision between all the other dancers, his body moving sinuously. He paused now and then to dance with a not so pretty girl, spinning her around the floor before returning her to where they started. He smiled slyly and kissed their hands before slipping away into the crowds.
Bryan found himself near one of the platforms that people used to display their dancing skills. He grinned as he jumped up on the small stage and whipped off his shirt. He was dimly aware of the cheers that met this action as he showed off his tightly muscled core and sharply defined arms, but most of his mind was lost in the music. Bryan let his eyes close again and let his body move to the beat, not paying attention to how he looked or what he did.
After he was finished dancing Bryan jumped down from the stage only to find his shirt gone. He looked briefly around, then shrugged and walked towards the door.
"Hey Bryan, loose your shirt again?" John as he waved a couple more people through the doors.
Bryan shrugged again, "Guess I did," he said and grinned before dancing out into the night.
The doormen smiled and waved him through as he approached the door, bypassing all the people still waiting in line. Bryan stepped from the dark night into a twilight; strobe lights only partly illuminated the large room that was filled to almost overflowing with people. A heavy beat was rocking through the room, he could feel it in the core of his bones. Bryan let his eyes slide closed as he nodded his head to the beat; felt his body begin to move, rocking in time to the music.
Bryan's eyes snapped open and he flowed onto the dance floor, moving with perfect precision between all the other dancers, his body moving sinuously. He paused now and then to dance with a not so pretty girl, spinning her around the floor before returning her to where they started. He smiled slyly and kissed their hands before slipping away into the crowds.
Bryan found himself near one of the platforms that people used to display their dancing skills. He grinned as he jumped up on the small stage and whipped off his shirt. He was dimly aware of the cheers that met this action as he showed off his tightly muscled core and sharply defined arms, but most of his mind was lost in the music. Bryan let his eyes close again and let his body move to the beat, not paying attention to how he looked or what he did.
After he was finished dancing Bryan jumped down from the stage only to find his shirt gone. He looked briefly around, then shrugged and walked towards the door.
"Hey Bryan, loose your shirt again?" John as he waved a couple more people through the doors.
Bryan shrugged again, "Guess I did," he said and grinned before dancing out into the night.
Project Assignment # 54 - Dancing
Take your characters dancing. Do they dance alone or do they club? Do they never dance or are they always dancing?
Max 500
Max 500
Overview #53: Resolutions
At first I thought this would be easy, but then I realized it might border on painfully repetitive. After all, New Year's resolutions are made at new year, which meant all my stories would be set at the same time, and that seemed kinda lame. I tried switching up universes to give things a little variety, and I think combining Riley's birthday wish with Asia's new year's resolution was a nice touch. Possibly the best thing that came out of this week is that I finally came up with a decent end to the Carolyn-verse. That made me very, very happy. The juxtaposition of Bob's new year's resolutions when he's fresh off the end of his relationship with Carolyn to Carolyn's resolutions after she's married Bob were pretty powerful (or so I like to think), and even though this is a fractured universe, it's one that, in its fractured state, is done. I suspect that sometime down the road I'll come through and finish it off properly, like the fractured universe I started in high school. Maybe that's what I'm doomed to do - write fractured universes left and right and let them simmer before I come back to them years later.
This is precisely the sort of writing revelation that M&M is meant to inspire.
A few finishing notes on the Carolyn-verse: in my head, the story ends like this - Bob and Carolyn get married. Carolyn continues working as a lawyer, but she retires from heavy business litigation and becomes an estate planner. Bob goes back to school and gets his teaching degree and ends up teaching English at some nice school in the south, probably Tennessee because that's where Clay is working and recording still (after an unsuccessful gander at Hollywood). Dan and Joey stay up in Calgary and Dan eventually works his way up to detective. Scott gets engaged to a girl but then breaks it off when she cheats on him, and he still works as an EMT, though he continues to write music with his brothers and on his own. Thanksgiving is always at Shelley and Dinah's, and Kevin is usually invited. The boys spend Christmases with their own families, but once in a blue moon John crashes Carolyn and Bob's Christmas. Scott ends up marrying Carolyn's law school friend Melanie.
I guess, for once, this one ends happily ever after.
Sometimes John still has to shoot people to keep Bob alive.
This is precisely the sort of writing revelation that M&M is meant to inspire.
A few finishing notes on the Carolyn-verse: in my head, the story ends like this - Bob and Carolyn get married. Carolyn continues working as a lawyer, but she retires from heavy business litigation and becomes an estate planner. Bob goes back to school and gets his teaching degree and ends up teaching English at some nice school in the south, probably Tennessee because that's where Clay is working and recording still (after an unsuccessful gander at Hollywood). Dan and Joey stay up in Calgary and Dan eventually works his way up to detective. Scott gets engaged to a girl but then breaks it off when she cheats on him, and he still works as an EMT, though he continues to write music with his brothers and on his own. Thanksgiving is always at Shelley and Dinah's, and Kevin is usually invited. The boys spend Christmases with their own families, but once in a blue moon John crashes Carolyn and Bob's Christmas. Scott ends up marrying Carolyn's law school friend Melanie.
I guess, for once, this one ends happily ever after.
Sometimes John still has to shoot people to keep Bob alive.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Big Plans
Carolyn sat on the roof and waited for fireworks to light up the sky. Ten minutes before the show was set to start, Bob scrambled up the ladder and skimmed across the tiles to sit beside her. He was armed with a thermos and two mugs.
“Hot cocoa?” He smiled at her.
“Please.”
Once the hot cocoa was poured, Bob and Carolyn leaned into each other and clutched their mugs to absorb some of the warmth.
“Aren’t the others coming?” Carolyn asked.
“Joey hates the cold, so Dan’s trying to work his silver-tongued magic,” Bob said. “Scott and Clay will be here before too long. They’re probably trying to give us privacy or something.”
Carolyn pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and laughed. “Even after all these years, they’re still bashful about catching us kissing. They never actually caught us in flagrante delicto, you know. I don’t know what they’re so worried about.”
“I’m sure they’re just being polite,” Bob said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “So, what are your big plans for the new year?”
To not think about the past, Carolyn thought. To be able to close my eyes and dream of something other than felled bodies and blood on my hands. To wake without a lie on my lips. She said, “To remember to answer to Mrs. Summers.”
Just as Clay and Scott made it up the ladder, Bob leaned in and kissed her.
(243 words)
“Hot cocoa?” He smiled at her.
“Please.”
Once the hot cocoa was poured, Bob and Carolyn leaned into each other and clutched their mugs to absorb some of the warmth.
“Aren’t the others coming?” Carolyn asked.
“Joey hates the cold, so Dan’s trying to work his silver-tongued magic,” Bob said. “Scott and Clay will be here before too long. They’re probably trying to give us privacy or something.”
Carolyn pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and laughed. “Even after all these years, they’re still bashful about catching us kissing. They never actually caught us in flagrante delicto, you know. I don’t know what they’re so worried about.”
“I’m sure they’re just being polite,” Bob said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “So, what are your big plans for the new year?”
To not think about the past, Carolyn thought. To be able to close my eyes and dream of something other than felled bodies and blood on my hands. To wake without a lie on my lips. She said, “To remember to answer to Mrs. Summers.”
Just as Clay and Scott made it up the ladder, Bob leaned in and kissed her.
(243 words)
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wishes and Resolutions
“Happy Birthday, Riley.” Asia clinked her champagne glass with his. She wasn’t drunk in the least, even though she’d drained every glass someone had shoved at her. In retrospect, she should have been more cautious, because anyone who was sober would have realized she should have been passed out drunk after consuming as much as she had, yet she was still hanging onto Fiona’s keys and was nominated designated driver for the ladies.
“Happy New Year.” Riley’s blue eyes shone, and he finished off the champagne. “So, in the spirit of the new year, what vice are you going to give up? What new habit do you want to acquire?”
“What did you wish for when you blew out your candles?” Asia asked. Two could play at this game.
“I see you still have that whole quid pro quo thing going,” Riley said. “Fine. I will show you mine if you show me yours.”
“If I didn’t know you and how utterly sweet you are, I’d think you’d just made a dishonorable proposition,” Asia said. But she grinned. “This year, I am going to leave the past behind me.”
Riley blinked. “That’s all? That hardly seems much of a struggle.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Of course, knowing our cipher of a stunt girl, that’s got some deeper meaning to it, doesn’t it?” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Tell your Uncle Riley all about it, luv.”
“It just means that when I look at a man I’m not going to see a former love in his place, no matter how similar their faces appear,” Asia said.
“This former love break your heart?” Riley asked.
“No. He just died.” Asia nudged him lightly in the ribs. “What about you? What did you wish for?”
“True love,” Riley said promptly. “What else does a romantic actor wish for?”
(308 words)
“Happy New Year.” Riley’s blue eyes shone, and he finished off the champagne. “So, in the spirit of the new year, what vice are you going to give up? What new habit do you want to acquire?”
“What did you wish for when you blew out your candles?” Asia asked. Two could play at this game.
“I see you still have that whole quid pro quo thing going,” Riley said. “Fine. I will show you mine if you show me yours.”
“If I didn’t know you and how utterly sweet you are, I’d think you’d just made a dishonorable proposition,” Asia said. But she grinned. “This year, I am going to leave the past behind me.”
Riley blinked. “That’s all? That hardly seems much of a struggle.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Of course, knowing our cipher of a stunt girl, that’s got some deeper meaning to it, doesn’t it?” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Tell your Uncle Riley all about it, luv.”
“It just means that when I look at a man I’m not going to see a former love in his place, no matter how similar their faces appear,” Asia said.
“This former love break your heart?” Riley asked.
“No. He just died.” Asia nudged him lightly in the ribs. “What about you? What did you wish for?”
“True love,” Riley said promptly. “What else does a romantic actor wish for?”
(308 words)
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
This Year is Your Year
“So,” Keith said. He was sprawled on the cool tile of Angel’s fancy kitchen. He had a champagne flute in one hand and an empty bottle of Bushmills in the other. “What’s your new year’s resolution?”
DJ, who was stubbornly clinging to a bottle of absinthe, said, “To stop drinking alcohol.”
Tobias, whose head was nestled next to DJ’s knee, let out an ungainly laugh. “Yeah right.” He waved his bottle of vodka to emphasize his point.
“In that case,” Christian said, “you’re welcome to take this as paint thinner.” He plunked down his mason jar of moonshine next to DJ’s ear.
“The day you stop drinking alcohol,” Gabriel said, “is the day Keith stops setting things on fire for fun.” He paused, then waved his shot glass. “That’s probably a good new year’s resolution for you, Keith. Because Asia’s gonna crumple you into a ball and throw you down the Marianna Trench if you keep burning her stuff.”
“Why do we even bother writing new year’s resolutions?” Keith asked. “We’re gonna live forever. If we actually followed through with any of them, we’d be perfect in a century, easy.”
“You know what my new year’s resolution is?” Tobias asked. “To get Asia to kiss me. Just one more time. Before I die.”
“You make it sound like you’re going to die sometime this year,” Christian said.
“He will, if he manages to get within kissing distance of her,” Gabriel said. “That’s killing distance too, you know.”
“It’d be nice to kiss her again, though,” Christian conceded.
“Then we should make it a team effort,” DJ said. “This year, Tobias gets his kiss. Next year, we nominate someone else.”
“I like it,” Tobias said.
“That’s because this year is your year,” Keith said. “But - all right. I’m in.”
“Happy new year, Tobias,” DJ said.
In the other room, crowded with Angel’s supermodels, starlets, and assorted floozies, people were cheering.
Six men stared up at the kitchen ceiling and contemplated the coming year.
(332 words)
DJ, who was stubbornly clinging to a bottle of absinthe, said, “To stop drinking alcohol.”
Tobias, whose head was nestled next to DJ’s knee, let out an ungainly laugh. “Yeah right.” He waved his bottle of vodka to emphasize his point.
“In that case,” Christian said, “you’re welcome to take this as paint thinner.” He plunked down his mason jar of moonshine next to DJ’s ear.
“The day you stop drinking alcohol,” Gabriel said, “is the day Keith stops setting things on fire for fun.” He paused, then waved his shot glass. “That’s probably a good new year’s resolution for you, Keith. Because Asia’s gonna crumple you into a ball and throw you down the Marianna Trench if you keep burning her stuff.”
“Why do we even bother writing new year’s resolutions?” Keith asked. “We’re gonna live forever. If we actually followed through with any of them, we’d be perfect in a century, easy.”
“You know what my new year’s resolution is?” Tobias asked. “To get Asia to kiss me. Just one more time. Before I die.”
“You make it sound like you’re going to die sometime this year,” Christian said.
“He will, if he manages to get within kissing distance of her,” Gabriel said. “That’s killing distance too, you know.”
“It’d be nice to kiss her again, though,” Christian conceded.
“Then we should make it a team effort,” DJ said. “This year, Tobias gets his kiss. Next year, we nominate someone else.”
“I like it,” Tobias said.
“That’s because this year is your year,” Keith said. “But - all right. I’m in.”
“Happy new year, Tobias,” DJ said.
In the other room, crowded with Angel’s supermodels, starlets, and assorted floozies, people were cheering.
Six men stared up at the kitchen ceiling and contemplated the coming year.
(332 words)
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Not Again; Next Year Another
Not again, Scott had told himself. Not again.
But sitting beside his brother’s hospital bed, listening to the dull roar-hiss of the machines keeping him alive, made him crave the bitter-sweet shock of absinthe and sambuca all the more.
“He’ll be all right,” Joey said in a low voice.
“He’s the best out of the four of us,” Scott said. “Trained the hardest, fought the longest, made the highest belt - he only had two more ranks to go before he made black. But he always panicked in a skirmish, and --”
Joey squeezed his shoulder.
Scott fell silent.
“How long has it been?” Joey asked.
“Nine months,” Scott said. “Since I tasted even a drop. I told myself that this year I’d make it to the one year mark.”
“How was it going?”
“At the party last night I was Designated Dave and proud of it.” Scott stood up. “Here. This seat is yours. I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“You should put cigarettes down on your new year do nots,” Joey said, but he sank down into the orange plastic chair anyway. “You’re a singer.”
Scott reached into his jacket and felt for his battered pack of smokes. He still had a neat little silver hip flask, but these days more often than not it was filled with coffee or that freaky herbal tea of Clay’s that he pretended he hated.
Scott stepped out onto the small balcony and shivered in the winter air; he’d forgone his coat like a macho idiot. When the first hit of nicotine spiked in his veins, he sighed in relief. He’d given up the worse of the two vices. Next year he’d give up another.
(283 words)
But sitting beside his brother’s hospital bed, listening to the dull roar-hiss of the machines keeping him alive, made him crave the bitter-sweet shock of absinthe and sambuca all the more.
“He’ll be all right,” Joey said in a low voice.
“He’s the best out of the four of us,” Scott said. “Trained the hardest, fought the longest, made the highest belt - he only had two more ranks to go before he made black. But he always panicked in a skirmish, and --”
Joey squeezed his shoulder.
Scott fell silent.
“How long has it been?” Joey asked.
“Nine months,” Scott said. “Since I tasted even a drop. I told myself that this year I’d make it to the one year mark.”
“How was it going?”
“At the party last night I was Designated Dave and proud of it.” Scott stood up. “Here. This seat is yours. I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“You should put cigarettes down on your new year do nots,” Joey said, but he sank down into the orange plastic chair anyway. “You’re a singer.”
Scott reached into his jacket and felt for his battered pack of smokes. He still had a neat little silver hip flask, but these days more often than not it was filled with coffee or that freaky herbal tea of Clay’s that he pretended he hated.
Scott stepped out onto the small balcony and shivered in the winter air; he’d forgone his coat like a macho idiot. When the first hit of nicotine spiked in his veins, he sighed in relief. He’d given up the worse of the two vices. Next year he’d give up another.
(283 words)
Monday, December 21, 2009
I Will Not
This year, Bob told himself, I will not think of her.
He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the IV where it hung beside its bed. Through the plastic and translucent liquid, the world beyond was concave, as if he were looking through a fishbowl. Idly, he wondered if this was what it really looked like for fish or if they constantly suffered from double vision because their eyes were on either side of their head.
The squeak of wheels on linoleum roused him from his contemplation, and he turned. A nurse - unfamiliar, if young and pretty - wheeled in a tray of food. She smiled brightly at him.
“Hey there, happy new year! Is your family coming to visit?”
“I think they said they’d come by for dinner,” Bob said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fidgeted with the blankets. If she’d been older and motherly, he might have let the nurse fluff his pillows and fuss over him, but she was young enough and pretty enough that Bob blushed, if only a little. He missed being able to hide behind his hair.
“That’ll be nice.” The nurse smiled at him and set the tray in front of him.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Um...where’s Janice?”
“Home with her family,” the nurse said. “I’m low man on the totem pole, as it were, so I’m working the holiday. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
Bob felt his insides clench, but then he forced the sensation away. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
There. He’d done it. He’d said her name.
“You too. Enjoy your lunch!” And the nurse walked away.
Bob stared at the food for a long time, but he wasn’t hungry. He went back to looking at the IV bag.
(295 words)
He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the IV where it hung beside its bed. Through the plastic and translucent liquid, the world beyond was concave, as if he were looking through a fishbowl. Idly, he wondered if this was what it really looked like for fish or if they constantly suffered from double vision because their eyes were on either side of their head.
The squeak of wheels on linoleum roused him from his contemplation, and he turned. A nurse - unfamiliar, if young and pretty - wheeled in a tray of food. She smiled brightly at him.
“Hey there, happy new year! Is your family coming to visit?”
“I think they said they’d come by for dinner,” Bob said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fidgeted with the blankets. If she’d been older and motherly, he might have let the nurse fluff his pillows and fuss over him, but she was young enough and pretty enough that Bob blushed, if only a little. He missed being able to hide behind his hair.
“That’ll be nice.” The nurse smiled at him and set the tray in front of him.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Um...where’s Janice?”
“Home with her family,” the nurse said. “I’m low man on the totem pole, as it were, so I’m working the holiday. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
Bob felt his insides clench, but then he forced the sensation away. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
There. He’d done it. He’d said her name.
“You too. Enjoy your lunch!” And the nurse walked away.
Bob stared at the food for a long time, but he wasn’t hungry. He went back to looking at the IV bag.
(295 words)
No More Drama
"I hereby resolve to not get involved with anyone this year!" Bryan exclaimed, his eyes bright from the sugar coursing through his system.
Mark snorted quietly into his own cup of Pepsi, "Yeah right Bry," he said as he turned to survey the room. It was crowded, bodies packed into the small space, the badly hung crepe not hiding the fact that it was a smelly old gym at a small school.
"I mean it!" Bryan said loudly, "I am through with girls, They are nothing but trouble, and drama, and enormous pests."
Mark looked his twin in the eye, "Bryan, if I know you at all, which I do, then you will fall for the next girl that you kiss. The only way to keep your resolution is to not kiss anyone. And I don't think that you can do that."
"Sure I can."
Mark shook his head, "You mean you won't kiss anyone tonight on the stroke of midnight?"
"Nope."
"Well, I guess we will see in about ten minutes if you can keep your promise. I bet you ten bucks that you can't keep from kissing anyone."
"Your on Bro."
3...
2...
1...
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"
...."I knew you couldn't do it."
Mark snorted quietly into his own cup of Pepsi, "Yeah right Bry," he said as he turned to survey the room. It was crowded, bodies packed into the small space, the badly hung crepe not hiding the fact that it was a smelly old gym at a small school.
"I mean it!" Bryan said loudly, "I am through with girls, They are nothing but trouble, and drama, and enormous pests."
Mark looked his twin in the eye, "Bryan, if I know you at all, which I do, then you will fall for the next girl that you kiss. The only way to keep your resolution is to not kiss anyone. And I don't think that you can do that."
"Sure I can."
Mark shook his head, "You mean you won't kiss anyone tonight on the stroke of midnight?"
"Nope."
"Well, I guess we will see in about ten minutes if you can keep your promise. I bet you ten bucks that you can't keep from kissing anyone."
"Your on Bro."
3...
2...
1...
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"
...."I knew you couldn't do it."
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Project #53: Resolutions
It's not the new year yet, but there's no harm in thinking ahead. What do you characters choose as a new year's resolution? How good are they at keeping it? What do their friends say about it? Why do they choose to make a certain resolution? You have 100-400 words to show how your characters are resolved. Write on!
Overview #52: Finals
I did my best not to do conventional final exams. I went with some conventional ones, obviously, as with Bob and Dan, but I tried to take them from unconventional angles, where Dan's is during the homeschool days and Bob's is during his brief stint in high school. When it came to the other characters, I had a much harder time thinking up finals that were obvious. Since Sector Five is all about the wetwork, kills as finals was the obvious choice, and I didn't want to do that. I know that sometimes an actual production is the final for a number of theatre courses, and I'm still working James out in my head, so I figured I'd throw some of that in there.
As for Angel - well, a friend sent me the video, and it stuck with me, and I knew I had to do something with it. So I did. Because Angel has technically already made Operations agent already, so he needed a new test.
I am both proud and disappointed in John's entry, partially because it was so much exposition and so little story, but in the end it solved a lot of things about Carolyn, and that made me happy.
As for Angel - well, a friend sent me the video, and it stuck with me, and I knew I had to do something with it. So I did. Because Angel has technically already made Operations agent already, so he needed a new test.
I am both proud and disappointed in John's entry, partially because it was so much exposition and so little story, but in the end it solved a lot of things about Carolyn, and that made me happy.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Prove Yourself
“I think this qualifies as a test in humiliation,” Rastaban said.
Dakshana stood in the wings of the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “This will prove your ultimate dedication to the cause, won’t it?”
“And what, exactly, did you have to do to prove yourself?” Rastaban asked.
Dakshana’s eyes were opaque, although the corners of her mouth were curved up in the faintest traces of amusement. “It might have involved kissing you.”
Rastaban, who’d been frowning down at the ridiculousness of his performance costume, lifted his head sharply. “What? I couldn’t have been that horrible a kisser -”
Dakshana reached up and straightened his headdress. “Do you know who I was before I dealt with you?” She leaned in and whispered, her breath against his ear sending shivers down his spine. “I was a queen and a goddess, a mother and a daughter, a wife and a sister, a priestess and a whore. I was everything a woman could be and had been, and it was all my choice. And then you came along - this bumbling, blustering, arrogant strip of a boy who fancied himself man enough to lead an army. And I had to pretend you were worth kissing.”
Icy shock shot down Rastaban’s spine. He sucked in a deep breath. “Dakshana -”
“Or maybe what I had to do is none of your business and you’ll never know and given how easy it is to yank your chain, maybe you don’t deserve to earn field command.” Dakshana shoved him toward the makeshift curtain. “Now get out there and dance.”
Dakshana stood in the wings of the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “This will prove your ultimate dedication to the cause, won’t it?”
“And what, exactly, did you have to do to prove yourself?” Rastaban asked.
Dakshana’s eyes were opaque, although the corners of her mouth were curved up in the faintest traces of amusement. “It might have involved kissing you.”
Rastaban, who’d been frowning down at the ridiculousness of his performance costume, lifted his head sharply. “What? I couldn’t have been that horrible a kisser -”
Dakshana reached up and straightened his headdress. “Do you know who I was before I dealt with you?” She leaned in and whispered, her breath against his ear sending shivers down his spine. “I was a queen and a goddess, a mother and a daughter, a wife and a sister, a priestess and a whore. I was everything a woman could be and had been, and it was all my choice. And then you came along - this bumbling, blustering, arrogant strip of a boy who fancied himself man enough to lead an army. And I had to pretend you were worth kissing.”
Icy shock shot down Rastaban’s spine. He sucked in a deep breath. “Dakshana -”
“Or maybe what I had to do is none of your business and you’ll never know and given how easy it is to yank your chain, maybe you don’t deserve to earn field command.” Dakshana shoved him toward the makeshift curtain. “Now get out there and dance.”
Friday, December 18, 2009
Just a Bit Pathetic
“Are you scared?” James asked.
Tobias lifted his head, straightened his crown of oak leaves absently. “Why would I be scared?”
“Our entire semester rides on this one performance.” James tugged impatiently at his sword-belt. “I still look like an idiot with a sword at my side. How did anyone back then get around without banging into everything?”
Tobias reached out and used the loose end of James’s belt to hitch the sword up to a neater angle. “There. Now you won’t accidentally kneecap your lovely Hermia.”
James blinked. He tugged at the sword hilt experimentally, then grinned at his roommate. “You’re full of random useful skills. Thanks.”
“Yes, well, even though I’m not afraid, I don’t want to fail this class either.” He straightened his green tunic. “It’d be pathetic if I failed my Shakespeare course at a British drama academy, wouldn’t it?”
“Just a bit pathetic,” James agreed. “Is your family coming to watch?”
“No,” Tobias said. “Uncle Angel is on business, DJ’s on the runways in Paris or something stupid. Everyone else has jobs and things - I’m the only idiot who’s still in school.”
James slung an arm around his shoulders. “Well, my parents are here, and I’m sure my mum would love to coo over how pale and underfed you look.”
Tobias laughed but, for the first time, didn’t shrug him off. “I’m only underfed because you keep stealing my food.”
One of the directors came over and hissed at them, “Curtain in three. Take your marks.”
“Good luck, Puck,” James said, and started for the wings.
Tobias grinned. “Break a leg, Lysander.”
Beyond the curtain, the audience went quiet.
(275 words)
Tobias lifted his head, straightened his crown of oak leaves absently. “Why would I be scared?”
“Our entire semester rides on this one performance.” James tugged impatiently at his sword-belt. “I still look like an idiot with a sword at my side. How did anyone back then get around without banging into everything?”
Tobias reached out and used the loose end of James’s belt to hitch the sword up to a neater angle. “There. Now you won’t accidentally kneecap your lovely Hermia.”
James blinked. He tugged at the sword hilt experimentally, then grinned at his roommate. “You’re full of random useful skills. Thanks.”
“Yes, well, even though I’m not afraid, I don’t want to fail this class either.” He straightened his green tunic. “It’d be pathetic if I failed my Shakespeare course at a British drama academy, wouldn’t it?”
“Just a bit pathetic,” James agreed. “Is your family coming to watch?”
“No,” Tobias said. “Uncle Angel is on business, DJ’s on the runways in Paris or something stupid. Everyone else has jobs and things - I’m the only idiot who’s still in school.”
James slung an arm around his shoulders. “Well, my parents are here, and I’m sure my mum would love to coo over how pale and underfed you look.”
Tobias laughed but, for the first time, didn’t shrug him off. “I’m only underfed because you keep stealing my food.”
One of the directors came over and hissed at them, “Curtain in three. Take your marks.”
“Good luck, Puck,” James said, and started for the wings.
Tobias grinned. “Break a leg, Lysander.”
Beyond the curtain, the audience went quiet.
(275 words)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Successful Replacement
“This is it, your big test. If you make it through tonight, you’re ready,” Chase said.
Jade nodded, wiped his clammy hands on his palms. “Okay. But I think Chris is getting a little...suspicious. He keeps looking at me funny, and I think I’ve been missing out on some of his inside jokes.”
“Look, just nail the performance tonight. Chris gets on edge because he’s Chris. And...he feels guilty. For making Justin fall down the stairs.” Chase smiled gently, smoothed a hand over Jade’s curls.
Jade scowled and knocked his hand aside. “I’m not a poodle. Don’t pet me.”
Something unreadable flickered in Chase’s eyes, but he let his hand fall to his side. “Oui. Je suis desolé.”
“Sorry,” Jade said. He knew it was bad when Chase kicked back into French. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just - nervous.”
Joe chose that moment to poke his head into the dressing room. “C’mon, Mouseketeers, we gotta show Germany how we rock it.”
Jade bounced to his feet and gave Joe a high-five. “All right. Let’s rock this joint!”
And rock the joint they did. Jade knew he hit every mark like clockwork, that every smile and every wink for the girls in the front row was perfect, because after the last encore the curtain fell and Chris swooped him into a hug and gave him a noogie.
The affection in Chris’s eyes was genuine for the first time in the three weeks Jade had been living with them, and the jubilation of success was tainted with the guilt of dishonesty. Jade had finally replaced Justin, and no one would ever be the wiser.
(276 words)
Jade nodded, wiped his clammy hands on his palms. “Okay. But I think Chris is getting a little...suspicious. He keeps looking at me funny, and I think I’ve been missing out on some of his inside jokes.”
“Look, just nail the performance tonight. Chris gets on edge because he’s Chris. And...he feels guilty. For making Justin fall down the stairs.” Chase smiled gently, smoothed a hand over Jade’s curls.
Jade scowled and knocked his hand aside. “I’m not a poodle. Don’t pet me.”
Something unreadable flickered in Chase’s eyes, but he let his hand fall to his side. “Oui. Je suis desolé.”
“Sorry,” Jade said. He knew it was bad when Chase kicked back into French. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just - nervous.”
Joe chose that moment to poke his head into the dressing room. “C’mon, Mouseketeers, we gotta show Germany how we rock it.”
Jade bounced to his feet and gave Joe a high-five. “All right. Let’s rock this joint!”
And rock the joint they did. Jade knew he hit every mark like clockwork, that every smile and every wink for the girls in the front row was perfect, because after the last encore the curtain fell and Chris swooped him into a hug and gave him a noogie.
The affection in Chris’s eyes was genuine for the first time in the three weeks Jade had been living with them, and the jubilation of success was tainted with the guilt of dishonesty. Jade had finally replaced Justin, and no one would ever be the wiser.
(276 words)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
His Last Test
“You think you have what it takes to be a field handler?” The Colonel asked.
John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”
The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”
John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.
John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.
The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.
John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.
John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.
Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.
(323 words)
John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”
The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”
John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.
John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.
The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.
John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.
John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.
Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.
(323 words)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Exactly the Same
I don't know how the two of you did it!" Mrs. Marsh said in exasperation. "Both of you got the exact same score, and the exact questions wrong, but you were both sitting on opposite ends of the room. How did you do it?"
Mark and Bryan looked at each other and then back at their calculus teacher, "well, we are twins," Bryan said, but swallowed the rest of his statement when she shot his a glare.
"Mrs. Marsh," Mark spoke up softly, "the most simple answer is that we study together, so what one of us know, the other also knows. We drill and drill, if we didn't get it right it's because we didn't study that hard enough. Simple as that," Mark finished just as softly as he had started.
Mrs. Marsh looked from Bryan's smiling face to Mark's quietly composed face, shrugged and shooed them out the door.
Mark and Bryan looked at each other and then back at their calculus teacher, "well, we are twins," Bryan said, but swallowed the rest of his statement when she shot his a glare.
"Mrs. Marsh," Mark spoke up softly, "the most simple answer is that we study together, so what one of us know, the other also knows. We drill and drill, if we didn't get it right it's because we didn't study that hard enough. Simple as that," Mark finished just as softly as he had started.
Mrs. Marsh looked from Bryan's smiling face to Mark's quietly composed face, shrugged and shooed them out the door.
Under Pressure
“You ready for these?” Kyle asked.
Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”
Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”
“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.
Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”
“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.
Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”
Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”
A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”
“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.
The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”
Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.
(289 words)
Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”
Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”
“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.
Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”
“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.
Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”
Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”
A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”
“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.
The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”
Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.
(289 words)
Twice the Test
Dan didn’t like this one bit. Being crammed into one of these tiny desks for three hours straight, a test administrator hovering the entire time. She’d sent the three of them to the farthest corners of the room from each other, casting them suspicious glances as if somehow being triplets gave them some shared psychic edge over the other students. Dan hadn’t appreciated being stared at while he stood in the doorway anyway, and even now, as he stared anxiously at a quadratic equation, he could feel the weight of multiple gazes on him, wondering.
Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.
Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.
The test administrator called a half hour warning.
Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.
For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.
Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.
(328 words)
Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.
Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.
The test administrator called a half hour warning.
Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.
For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.
Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.
(328 words)
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Project Assignment #52 - Finals
In honor of finals week, let it be finals. Finals for school, mission, life. OR nothing at all if life gets in the way.
Max 500
Max 500
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.
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