Leading Lady: girl working simple/menial job; comfortable, finished with school, in a big city, but a bit lost as to directions in life
Leading Man: an actor, handsome, fresh out of drama school and on his first big project, a primetime family-friendly adventure show
Conflict: bodyswap! gender confusion due to body swap - potential for shenanigans to abound. Leading Lady falls in love with Leading Man’s best friend!
Basic arc: in the beginning, adjusting to each other’s bodies and working up a compromise to make sure they don’t ruin each other’s lives; Leading Man in Lady’s body just has to keep up with work and friends; Leading Lady in Man’s body is at the end of shooting and just has to finish some stunt scenes and then head home. In the middle, Leading Man confesses to Leading Lady’s best friend and she helps him maintain the charade. Leading Lady, so far from Leading Man’s home, feigns partial amnesia due to a stunt gone wrong. In the end, bodies and souls are restored, revelations are had, and romance blooms.
(179 words)
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Teen cliché plot #1
Leading Lady: young, professional, working in a city. Possible backstory as a young widow or perhaps her fiancée died? An eclectic mix of hobbies and likes, a solidly loyal friend or to.
Leading Man: a prince of some random unheard-of country in Europe (because that’s easy), on a quest to find the best woman for him (since marrying commoners is acceptable on The Continent these days).
The ruse: Leading Man disguises self and two bodyguards as homeless people and actually lives the homeless life. Starts at one end of the country and moves westward, traveling through big cities and small towns and looking for a kind soul.
The meeting: Leading Lady is a charitable soul and occasionally brings food to the homeless men who stand on the corner near her apartment building, and one day she brings food to one of Leading Man’s bodyguards.
Conflict: Leading Lady continues to bring food to the ‘homeless men’ and even makes conversation with them; Leading Man is humbled and grateful for her charity but does not know how to tell her who he is; Leading Lady is still heartbroken over her dead fiancée husband.
Resolution: Leading Lady needs time to mourn, and Leading Man realizes he needs to give her time, so he returns to his country, and later they meet and realizations are had and there is happily ever after.
(229 words)
Leading Man: a prince of some random unheard-of country in Europe (because that’s easy), on a quest to find the best woman for him (since marrying commoners is acceptable on The Continent these days).
The ruse: Leading Man disguises self and two bodyguards as homeless people and actually lives the homeless life. Starts at one end of the country and moves westward, traveling through big cities and small towns and looking for a kind soul.
The meeting: Leading Lady is a charitable soul and occasionally brings food to the homeless men who stand on the corner near her apartment building, and one day she brings food to one of Leading Man’s bodyguards.
Conflict: Leading Lady continues to bring food to the ‘homeless men’ and even makes conversation with them; Leading Man is humbled and grateful for her charity but does not know how to tell her who he is; Leading Lady is still heartbroken over her dead fiancée husband.
Resolution: Leading Lady needs time to mourn, and Leading Man realizes he needs to give her time, so he returns to his country, and later they meet and realizations are had and there is happily ever after.
(229 words)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Project #73: Nanowrimo plot bunnies
It's been a terribly long time, and I am so, so sorry. But...I'm back, and WE are back with a vengeance! I'm not going to lie - I don't have the energy to do Nanowrimo this year, not with other writing projects coming back to haunt me. But...brainstorm! Use 500 words or less to spit out a plot you've always wanted to write but never had the chance to do. Store it here and inspire a friend, or give it a chance to air and get some feedback and maybe, one day when you have writer's block, you can come back here to the plot bunny farm and give something a go. If it's ridiculous or bizarre, cliché or genius, let us know what it's like. Go, fight, write!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Forgotten
It was late by the time that Sarah and Chris were finished for the night. They had gone from his small dorm room to sitting in a booth at a local restaurant. Chris had suggested dinner after Sarah's stomach let out a loud rumble around seven o'clock.
"I don't know that I can thank you enough for helping me Chris," I said as my fingers absently tore a bread stick to pieces. Chris had read and reread the case file at least a dozen times, and I was sure that he was bored silly by now. "Is there any way that I can make it up to you for stealing your night? I'm sure you had other plans and many things to do today." I really wished that I could see his face. Just a single glimpse to connect to his voice.
"It was my pleasure."
I felt the slightest jostle to my plate and heard Dianne move by my feet. Chris was feeding her my bread.
"What time is it?" I asked. I didn't want the night to be finished, but I did have classes the next day and mom would be worried if I didn't come home soon. She had called at least five times, but I had ignored it.
"About nine-thirty," he said.
"I should go," I muttered with a small frown.
"Can I walk you home?" he asked after a moment.
"I would like that." I could feel a large smile replace the frown.
We stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night and I shivered slightly. Although it was officially still summer, the nights could get a little chilly and I had forgotten my sweater. I hadn't counted on being out after all.
A slight weight settled around my shoulders as Chris draped his jacket around me. I pulled it close with one hand, taking in the smell of it. "Thank you," I said.
We ambled slowly down the road towards my house, Dianne knew the way so I let her lead us. We kept up a slow conversation as we walked; mostly question about like and dislikes, and from time to time I would ask him to describe what he saw. He would always paint a vivid mind-picture of whatever he saw- Crimson flowers and wet grass; each petal and blade sparkling with a recent watering.
I knew when we had reached my house, the wind in the reeds around the porch whistled in the breeze. I turned to Chris, "thank you again Chris. I enjoyed every moment," I said.
His voice smiled when he said, "I enjoyed it too. Let me know if you need help again."
"I will." I offered one hand towards him and he took it. His handshake was firm and steady; slightly calloused too, as if he worked with his hands a lot.
"Have a good night Sarah," He said and he stepped away from me. I heard him walk down the path and down the street and I faintly heard him start to whistle.
It took me a moment to realize that he had forgotten his jacket.
"I don't know that I can thank you enough for helping me Chris," I said as my fingers absently tore a bread stick to pieces. Chris had read and reread the case file at least a dozen times, and I was sure that he was bored silly by now. "Is there any way that I can make it up to you for stealing your night? I'm sure you had other plans and many things to do today." I really wished that I could see his face. Just a single glimpse to connect to his voice.
"It was my pleasure."
I felt the slightest jostle to my plate and heard Dianne move by my feet. Chris was feeding her my bread.
"What time is it?" I asked. I didn't want the night to be finished, but I did have classes the next day and mom would be worried if I didn't come home soon. She had called at least five times, but I had ignored it.
"About nine-thirty," he said.
"I should go," I muttered with a small frown.
"Can I walk you home?" he asked after a moment.
"I would like that." I could feel a large smile replace the frown.
We stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night and I shivered slightly. Although it was officially still summer, the nights could get a little chilly and I had forgotten my sweater. I hadn't counted on being out after all.
A slight weight settled around my shoulders as Chris draped his jacket around me. I pulled it close with one hand, taking in the smell of it. "Thank you," I said.
We ambled slowly down the road towards my house, Dianne knew the way so I let her lead us. We kept up a slow conversation as we walked; mostly question about like and dislikes, and from time to time I would ask him to describe what he saw. He would always paint a vivid mind-picture of whatever he saw- Crimson flowers and wet grass; each petal and blade sparkling with a recent watering.
I knew when we had reached my house, the wind in the reeds around the porch whistled in the breeze. I turned to Chris, "thank you again Chris. I enjoyed every moment," I said.
His voice smiled when he said, "I enjoyed it too. Let me know if you need help again."
"I will." I offered one hand towards him and he took it. His handshake was firm and steady; slightly calloused too, as if he worked with his hands a lot.
"Have a good night Sarah," He said and he stepped away from me. I heard him walk down the path and down the street and I faintly heard him start to whistle.
It took me a moment to realize that he had forgotten his jacket.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Little Extra Help
"Please have the case file read and be prepared to discuss it tomorrow in class," Professor Spinelli announced and I felt a stapled sheaf of paper placed in front of me.
I hadn't heard of the case on any of the tapes that I had yet listened to. Maybe it was on one of the next tapes, but I didn't hope overly hard. If it had been in the book then we wouldn't need the handout.
Perfect...
I shuffled my notes into a neat pile and placed them in my bag along with the packet of papers. Dianne was already on her feet, anticipating the walk to the library; which is where I would usually go after this class was finished.
"Office," I commanded her as soon as we were out the door of the lecture hall. After a moments pause, instead of leading me left she turned to the right.
53...54...55...56...curve to the right... up the stairs.
I was only distantly aware of keeping count of steps and direction in the back of my mind, my predominant thoughts resting on my problem as I walked towards Joyce's office.
***************
"Well hello Darlin," Joyce said as the door to the office swung closed silently behind me. I could hear the smile in her voice, "what can I help you with? It's not your usual pick up day."
"I have a bit of a problem," I said and leaned on the counter, "Professor Spinelli gave us an additional case to read and I didn't know if it was by any chance on tape somewhere." I handed her the case file.
"Hmm, I don't believe so my dear," she said, "in fact I'm almost positive that it's not on tape."
I knew that it had been a long shot, "I guess I'll figure something out," I said and turned to head home. Maybe I could get my mother to read it to me.
"Wait," she called as my hand hit the door handle, "what about the boy that reads for you. You might be able to have him read it to you a few times."
"He's probably busy," I mumbled, but I couldn't squash the little bit of excitement at the thought of meeting the man who read for me, "and I don't know his name, or where to find him."
"It can't hurt to ask," she said brightly, "His name is Chris Hensley, and he lives over in the dorms." She gave me his building and room number.
"Okay," I said and gave a little smile. I hoped I wasn't blushing.
**********************
After a little confusion in getting Dianne to go where I wanted I finally found myself on the proper floor in front of the right door; after asking a few people to direct me.
After a moments hesitation I knocked firmly on the door. The thin wood was no barrier against the squeak of furniture and a growl of irritation that I could hear from behind the closed door.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea," I whispered to Dianne.
The door was pulled open quickly and I heard Chris's voice say, “Look, Eric’s not here, and I’m not going to keep giving you his stuff --” The irritation in his voice was very evident.
“I don’t know who Eric is," I said. I was pretty certain now that this was not a good idea.
"Hi,” Chris said. I wasn't quite certain of the emotion in his voice with that one short word.
“I think you have the wrong room," he said. I couldn't help loving the sound of his voice, of feeling like he was a friend. "One floor up or one floor down - those are both girls’ halls,” he said.
“I’m looking for Chris Hensley,” I said, even though I knew that was who I was talking to.
“That’s me,” he said.
“I knew as soon as you spoke,” I said and could have smacked myself for blurting that out. Instead I reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I listen to your voice all the time.” I could feel myself blushing.
"You do?" he asked. I wasn't sure if it was surprise or something else that colored his tone.
“Yeah. You read textbooks for me.”
“Oh. Right. What can I do for you?”
My smile faltered just a little at that. I ducked my head; a habit from my seeing days, in an attempt to avoid eye contact. My grip on Dianne's harness tightened in nervousness.
“I didn’t know where else to go. Professor Spinelli handed out an additional case for tomorrow’s reading assignment, one that wasn’t in the book, and it wasn’t on the tape, and when I went to the office, Joyce said maybe you could help me...”
“Of course,” Chris said. “Do you have the case with you?”
I nodded. “It’s in my bag. I’m really sorry - I can come back later if it’s a more convenient time for you."
“Now is fine,” Chris said, "my roommate’s out but why don’t you come in and have a seat?”
"Thanks," I said and stepped past him into the room, catching a hint of sweat and some aftershave that was quite appealing. Dianne lead me to a chair. He didn't close the door and I nodded slightly in approval.
I heard the bed squeak just to my left, close enough that I could almost feel him.
“All right. What have you got for me?” he asked
Was it excitement or something else in his voice now? I was so used to listening to him reading dry legal texts that I wasn't used to hearing his emotions. I was uncertain and I didn't like that.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the briefing that was handed out in class.
“Here,” I said. “Will you read to me?”
He took the papers from my hand, "sure," he said.
I smiled at him, "Thanks."
I hadn't heard of the case on any of the tapes that I had yet listened to. Maybe it was on one of the next tapes, but I didn't hope overly hard. If it had been in the book then we wouldn't need the handout.
Perfect...
I shuffled my notes into a neat pile and placed them in my bag along with the packet of papers. Dianne was already on her feet, anticipating the walk to the library; which is where I would usually go after this class was finished.
"Office," I commanded her as soon as we were out the door of the lecture hall. After a moments pause, instead of leading me left she turned to the right.
53...54...55...56...curve to the right... up the stairs.
I was only distantly aware of keeping count of steps and direction in the back of my mind, my predominant thoughts resting on my problem as I walked towards Joyce's office.
***************
"Well hello Darlin," Joyce said as the door to the office swung closed silently behind me. I could hear the smile in her voice, "what can I help you with? It's not your usual pick up day."
"I have a bit of a problem," I said and leaned on the counter, "Professor Spinelli gave us an additional case to read and I didn't know if it was by any chance on tape somewhere." I handed her the case file.
"Hmm, I don't believe so my dear," she said, "in fact I'm almost positive that it's not on tape."
I knew that it had been a long shot, "I guess I'll figure something out," I said and turned to head home. Maybe I could get my mother to read it to me.
"Wait," she called as my hand hit the door handle, "what about the boy that reads for you. You might be able to have him read it to you a few times."
"He's probably busy," I mumbled, but I couldn't squash the little bit of excitement at the thought of meeting the man who read for me, "and I don't know his name, or where to find him."
"It can't hurt to ask," she said brightly, "His name is Chris Hensley, and he lives over in the dorms." She gave me his building and room number.
"Okay," I said and gave a little smile. I hoped I wasn't blushing.
**********************
After a little confusion in getting Dianne to go where I wanted I finally found myself on the proper floor in front of the right door; after asking a few people to direct me.
After a moments hesitation I knocked firmly on the door. The thin wood was no barrier against the squeak of furniture and a growl of irritation that I could hear from behind the closed door.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea," I whispered to Dianne.
The door was pulled open quickly and I heard Chris's voice say, “Look, Eric’s not here, and I’m not going to keep giving you his stuff --” The irritation in his voice was very evident.
“I don’t know who Eric is," I said. I was pretty certain now that this was not a good idea.
"Hi,” Chris said. I wasn't quite certain of the emotion in his voice with that one short word.
“I think you have the wrong room," he said. I couldn't help loving the sound of his voice, of feeling like he was a friend. "One floor up or one floor down - those are both girls’ halls,” he said.
“I’m looking for Chris Hensley,” I said, even though I knew that was who I was talking to.
“That’s me,” he said.
“I knew as soon as you spoke,” I said and could have smacked myself for blurting that out. Instead I reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I listen to your voice all the time.” I could feel myself blushing.
"You do?" he asked. I wasn't sure if it was surprise or something else that colored his tone.
“Yeah. You read textbooks for me.”
“Oh. Right. What can I do for you?”
My smile faltered just a little at that. I ducked my head; a habit from my seeing days, in an attempt to avoid eye contact. My grip on Dianne's harness tightened in nervousness.
“I didn’t know where else to go. Professor Spinelli handed out an additional case for tomorrow’s reading assignment, one that wasn’t in the book, and it wasn’t on the tape, and when I went to the office, Joyce said maybe you could help me...”
“Of course,” Chris said. “Do you have the case with you?”
I nodded. “It’s in my bag. I’m really sorry - I can come back later if it’s a more convenient time for you."
“Now is fine,” Chris said, "my roommate’s out but why don’t you come in and have a seat?”
"Thanks," I said and stepped past him into the room, catching a hint of sweat and some aftershave that was quite appealing. Dianne lead me to a chair. He didn't close the door and I nodded slightly in approval.
I heard the bed squeak just to my left, close enough that I could almost feel him.
“All right. What have you got for me?” he asked
Was it excitement or something else in his voice now? I was so used to listening to him reading dry legal texts that I wasn't used to hearing his emotions. I was uncertain and I didn't like that.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the briefing that was handed out in class.
“Here,” I said. “Will you read to me?”
He took the papers from my hand, "sure," he said.
I smiled at him, "Thanks."
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Stranger in his Own Space
Chris had just been about to peel off his shirt and check for cracked ribs - Dan had definitely broken skin today, and there was another unsalvageable shirt down the drain - when there was another knock at the door. Chris growled and heaved himself off his bed. If it was Eric’s lab partner, back for yet another notebook, Chris was going to throttle the kid.
“Look,” he said, “Eric’s not here, and I’m not going to keep giving you his stuff --”
“I don’t know who Eric is.” Sarah stood in the doorway, mouth pressed into an uncertain line. Dianne sat obediently beside her.
“...Hi.” Chris was careful not to say her name; as far as she was concerned, he had no reason to know her name. “I think you have the wrong room. One floor up or one floor down - those are both girls’ halls.”
“I’m looking for Chris Hensley,” she said.
“That’s me,” Chris said. How did she know his full name?
“I knew as soon as you spoke,” she said, and she reached up, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I listen to your voice all the time.” Then she blushed.
“You do?” Chris asked stupidly.
“Yeah. You read textbooks for me.”
“Oh. Right. What can I do for you?”
Sarah ducked her head. “I didn’t know where else to go. Professor Spinelli handed out an additional case for tomorrow’s reading assignment, one that wasn’t in the book, and it wasn’t on the tape, and when I went to the office, Joyce said maybe you could help me --” Her grip on Dianne’s harness was white-knuckled.
“Of course,” Chris said. “Do you have the case with you?”
Sarah nodded. “It’s in my bag. I’m really sorry - I can come back later if it’s more convenient --”
“Now is fine,” Chris said, and he wanted to kick himself. He sounded too eager, didn’t he? “My roommate’s out. Why don’t you come in and have a seat?”
“Thanks.” Sarah stepped over the threshold into Chris’s room, let Dianne lead her over to the desk, and then she sat down in Chris’s chair. He went to close the door behind her, then thought better of it.
And then he panicked. His picture of her was right there over his desk for anyone to see -- expect her. Right.
He perched tentatively on the edge of his bed, close to her, and he hadn’t felt like a stranger in his own room since he was a child.
“All right. What have you got for me?”
Sarah reached into her book bag, searching with deft hands. It was a touch uncanny, the way she felt without turning her head toward her bag. She handed Chris stack of papers stapled together in one corner.
“Here,” she said. “Will you read to me?”
Chris accepted the paper gingerly. “Sure,” he said.
And she smiled at him. “Thanks.”
(481 words)
“Look,” he said, “Eric’s not here, and I’m not going to keep giving you his stuff --”
“I don’t know who Eric is.” Sarah stood in the doorway, mouth pressed into an uncertain line. Dianne sat obediently beside her.
“...Hi.” Chris was careful not to say her name; as far as she was concerned, he had no reason to know her name. “I think you have the wrong room. One floor up or one floor down - those are both girls’ halls.”
“I’m looking for Chris Hensley,” she said.
“That’s me,” Chris said. How did she know his full name?
“I knew as soon as you spoke,” she said, and she reached up, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I listen to your voice all the time.” Then she blushed.
“You do?” Chris asked stupidly.
“Yeah. You read textbooks for me.”
“Oh. Right. What can I do for you?”
Sarah ducked her head. “I didn’t know where else to go. Professor Spinelli handed out an additional case for tomorrow’s reading assignment, one that wasn’t in the book, and it wasn’t on the tape, and when I went to the office, Joyce said maybe you could help me --” Her grip on Dianne’s harness was white-knuckled.
“Of course,” Chris said. “Do you have the case with you?”
Sarah nodded. “It’s in my bag. I’m really sorry - I can come back later if it’s more convenient --”
“Now is fine,” Chris said, and he wanted to kick himself. He sounded too eager, didn’t he? “My roommate’s out. Why don’t you come in and have a seat?”
“Thanks.” Sarah stepped over the threshold into Chris’s room, let Dianne lead her over to the desk, and then she sat down in Chris’s chair. He went to close the door behind her, then thought better of it.
And then he panicked. His picture of her was right there over his desk for anyone to see -- expect her. Right.
He perched tentatively on the edge of his bed, close to her, and he hadn’t felt like a stranger in his own room since he was a child.
“All right. What have you got for me?”
Sarah reached into her book bag, searching with deft hands. It was a touch uncanny, the way she felt without turning her head toward her bag. She handed Chris stack of papers stapled together in one corner.
“Here,” she said. “Will you read to me?”
Chris accepted the paper gingerly. “Sure,” he said.
And she smiled at him. “Thanks.”
(481 words)
Action After Hours
Chris tugged his hoodie up to shield his face - his black eye was painful and obvious, and even the ever-oblivious Eric would ask questions. He jammed his hands into the pockets and started toward the park. He’d deal with the bloody sports tape later.
And then he saw Sarah and Dianne walking along the pavement ahead of him. What was she doing out this late? Blind people weren’t at the same disadvantage at night as seeing people, but campus was downtown, and it wasn’t safe for her, not when - not when a guy like Blake was leaning under a lamppost, drinking from a hip flask and eyeing Sarah like she was his next meal. Chris’s hands curled into fists.
Blake arched an eyebrow when he noticed Sarah’s cane, and he stuck a foot out, kicked a tiny pebble. Sarah jumped, tugged on Dianne’s harness, and Dianne paused obediently.
Something akin to fear crossed Sarah’s face. "Let's go," she said.
Blake peeled himself away from the lamppost and fell into step behind her. Chris automatically ducked back into the shadows; Blake hadn’t seen him yet.
Dianne, on the other hand, had noticed Blake, and she growled. Chris saw Sarah flinch. She called out, “Who’s there?” and then Dianne snarled.
"Hey sugar.” Blake stepped up behind Sarah, and his grin went from amused to dangerous.
Sarah’s shoulders tightened, and she shifted away from him, almost imperceptibly.
"Now don't be like that honey,” Blake drawled. "Tell Fido to calm down and we can get to know each other."
"I don't think that I want to get to know you.” Sarah’s words were bold, but even Chris could tell she was afraid.
Blake raised his eyebrows, circled her like a shark eyeing a fish separated from its shining school. He chuckled when Dianne snarled again, hunkered down in front of Sarah with her fur standing on end.
Blake reached into his jacket, and Chris remembered that Blake liked to keep a butterfly blade on hand; he thought he looked hardcore because he could flip it open like a 1950’s greaser.
Chris stepped forward, into the wan yellow glow of a streetlight. “Leave the woman alone, why don’t you?”
Blake blinked and took a step back from Sarah. “This doesn’t concern you.”
"Clearly she doesn't want to have anything to do with you,” Chris said, moving closer to Sarah, “and the best thing for you to do would be to go away and leave her alone.”
"And what if I don't?" Blake looked Chris up and down, smirking disdainfully.
Chris tugged back his hood. "Then I will just have to make you.”
Blake laughed, spread his arms wide. "Bring it on!"
After twelve years of bare-knuckle boxing, a guy like Blake was an easy match. He was strong, but he wasn’t as fast as he thought he was, and he lacked the necessary form to hit very hard. Chris had to duck and weave to avoid Blake’s knife, but he landed a solid uppercut that sent Blake sprawling. Once he was sure Blake was unconscious, he turned to find Sarah, who was huddled beside Dianne and shaking like a leaf.
"Are you all right?" Chris stood beside her, unsure of whether to hunker down beside her or just keep standing. Was he looming?
Sarah nodded, though she kept her face buried in Dianne’s fur.
Chris offered a hand even though she couldn’t see the gesture. "Can I help you?"
A sound half like laughter, half like a sob spilled from Sarah. “I think you already did.”
Chris glanced back to where Blake was lying on the pavement; he wasn’t sure he’d been that much help. "Can I walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safe. You shouldn't walk alone at this time of night."
“Yes.” Sarah patted Dianne gently, and Chris realized that Dianne hadn’t growled at him once.
“I would be grateful,” Sarah added. “This way.”
Chris actually knew where she lived by virtue of having seen her paperwork in the office, but he walked beside her anyway, letting her interject directions into his long ramble about Kierkegaard. He knew she was shaken, that she wouldn’t say more, but he was sure that if she said too much she would recognize his voice, and then what could he possibly say?
Maybe he could tell her how much he liked her.
And then he saw Sarah and Dianne walking along the pavement ahead of him. What was she doing out this late? Blind people weren’t at the same disadvantage at night as seeing people, but campus was downtown, and it wasn’t safe for her, not when - not when a guy like Blake was leaning under a lamppost, drinking from a hip flask and eyeing Sarah like she was his next meal. Chris’s hands curled into fists.
Blake arched an eyebrow when he noticed Sarah’s cane, and he stuck a foot out, kicked a tiny pebble. Sarah jumped, tugged on Dianne’s harness, and Dianne paused obediently.
Something akin to fear crossed Sarah’s face. "Let's go," she said.
Blake peeled himself away from the lamppost and fell into step behind her. Chris automatically ducked back into the shadows; Blake hadn’t seen him yet.
Dianne, on the other hand, had noticed Blake, and she growled. Chris saw Sarah flinch. She called out, “Who’s there?” and then Dianne snarled.
"Hey sugar.” Blake stepped up behind Sarah, and his grin went from amused to dangerous.
Sarah’s shoulders tightened, and she shifted away from him, almost imperceptibly.
"Now don't be like that honey,” Blake drawled. "Tell Fido to calm down and we can get to know each other."
"I don't think that I want to get to know you.” Sarah’s words were bold, but even Chris could tell she was afraid.
Blake raised his eyebrows, circled her like a shark eyeing a fish separated from its shining school. He chuckled when Dianne snarled again, hunkered down in front of Sarah with her fur standing on end.
Blake reached into his jacket, and Chris remembered that Blake liked to keep a butterfly blade on hand; he thought he looked hardcore because he could flip it open like a 1950’s greaser.
Chris stepped forward, into the wan yellow glow of a streetlight. “Leave the woman alone, why don’t you?”
Blake blinked and took a step back from Sarah. “This doesn’t concern you.”
"Clearly she doesn't want to have anything to do with you,” Chris said, moving closer to Sarah, “and the best thing for you to do would be to go away and leave her alone.”
"And what if I don't?" Blake looked Chris up and down, smirking disdainfully.
Chris tugged back his hood. "Then I will just have to make you.”
Blake laughed, spread his arms wide. "Bring it on!"
After twelve years of bare-knuckle boxing, a guy like Blake was an easy match. He was strong, but he wasn’t as fast as he thought he was, and he lacked the necessary form to hit very hard. Chris had to duck and weave to avoid Blake’s knife, but he landed a solid uppercut that sent Blake sprawling. Once he was sure Blake was unconscious, he turned to find Sarah, who was huddled beside Dianne and shaking like a leaf.
"Are you all right?" Chris stood beside her, unsure of whether to hunker down beside her or just keep standing. Was he looming?
Sarah nodded, though she kept her face buried in Dianne’s fur.
Chris offered a hand even though she couldn’t see the gesture. "Can I help you?"
A sound half like laughter, half like a sob spilled from Sarah. “I think you already did.”
Chris glanced back to where Blake was lying on the pavement; he wasn’t sure he’d been that much help. "Can I walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safe. You shouldn't walk alone at this time of night."
“Yes.” Sarah patted Dianne gently, and Chris realized that Dianne hadn’t growled at him once.
“I would be grateful,” Sarah added. “This way.”
Chris actually knew where she lived by virtue of having seen her paperwork in the office, but he walked beside her anyway, letting her interject directions into his long ramble about Kierkegaard. He knew she was shaken, that she wouldn’t say more, but he was sure that if she said too much she would recognize his voice, and then what could he possibly say?
Maybe he could tell her how much he liked her.
Help in the Night
"The time is 11:47 p.m."
A click resounded over the line and I knew I was going to be in trouble. Mom was going to kill me. I slammed shut my text books and stuffed them into my bag. "Come Dianne," I said. I grasped the handle to her harness and commanded, "home."
Dianne immediately started to lead me and we left the Library. I hurried down the steps of the campus Law building as safely as was possible. I could feel the cool night air whisper across my cheek as I picked up the pace. "I can't believe that I let myself lose track of time like that," I muttered. It sounded much different outside now than it usually did; much quieter. I couldn't hear many people around me and the traffic was faint and far away.
I was passing the park when I heard a rock clatter against the pavement, causing me to jump. I pulled Dianne to a stop for a second, listening. I heard nothing.
"Let's go," I urged my companion. A few moments later I was certain that I heard faint footstep behind me and I quickened my pace again.
The vibrations from Dianne's growl reached my hand just after the sound reached my ears. "Who's there?" I asked. I knew it was stupid, but it somehow made me feel better to hear my own voice. As unsteady as it was.
Dianne let out a snarl and I could feel that tingle that let me know that someone was nearby.
"Hey sugar," an oily voice came to me from close by.
I flinched away from the voice.
"Now don't be like that honey." There was faint amusement in the voice now, "tell Fido to calm down and we can get to know each other."
I cleared my throat, "I don't think that I want to get to know you," I said in the strongest voice I could bring up; though even to my own ears it sounded pathetically weak and jittery.
He chuckled from to my right and I could tell that he was circling me. Dianne moved with him, keeping herself between me and Oily. I jumped again when she let out a particularly vicious snarl.
"Leave the woman alone why don't you," a new voice broke in.
"This doesn't concern you," Oily said, though I could tell that he had stepped back a little.
"Clearly she doesn't want to have anything to do with you and the best thing for you to do would be to go away and leave her alone," he said. His tone was deep and carried a strong and soothing quality; a tone of command. Whoever he was, his voice was enough to make me feel safe at the moment.
"And what if I don't?" Oily taunted. He was moving away from me towards the other man.
"Then I will just have to make you," he said.
Oily laughed, "Bring it on!"
I went to my knees and buried my face in Dianne's neck when I heard the first blows, seeking comfort and trying my best to not hear what happened. I covered my ears, but I could still hear the sickening sound of flesh on flesh and the grunts of pain.
A few moments later there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing nearby. I didn't know who had won the fight.
Dianne growled and I hugged her tighter, fearing the worst. That Oily had won and the strong voiced man had lost the fight and he was coming for me.
"Are you alright?" the strong voiced man asked.
Relief flooded through me at the sound of his voice. I nodded my head mutely, to shaken to say anything.
"Can I help you?" he asked gently.
A relieved laugh burbled up in my throat, "I think you already did," I said. I slowly released Dianne and stood up shakily.
"Can I walk you home?" he asked, "just to make sure you get there safe. You shouldn't walk alone at this time of night."
"Yes," I said and ran a soothing hand over Dianne to calm her, "I would be grateful."
As we moved in the direction of my home he kept up a soothing line of commentary. I didn't really listen to what he said, I just focused on the sound of his voice.
It seemed so familiar...
A click resounded over the line and I knew I was going to be in trouble. Mom was going to kill me. I slammed shut my text books and stuffed them into my bag. "Come Dianne," I said. I grasped the handle to her harness and commanded, "home."
Dianne immediately started to lead me and we left the Library. I hurried down the steps of the campus Law building as safely as was possible. I could feel the cool night air whisper across my cheek as I picked up the pace. "I can't believe that I let myself lose track of time like that," I muttered. It sounded much different outside now than it usually did; much quieter. I couldn't hear many people around me and the traffic was faint and far away.
I was passing the park when I heard a rock clatter against the pavement, causing me to jump. I pulled Dianne to a stop for a second, listening. I heard nothing.
"Let's go," I urged my companion. A few moments later I was certain that I heard faint footstep behind me and I quickened my pace again.
The vibrations from Dianne's growl reached my hand just after the sound reached my ears. "Who's there?" I asked. I knew it was stupid, but it somehow made me feel better to hear my own voice. As unsteady as it was.
Dianne let out a snarl and I could feel that tingle that let me know that someone was nearby.
"Hey sugar," an oily voice came to me from close by.
I flinched away from the voice.
"Now don't be like that honey." There was faint amusement in the voice now, "tell Fido to calm down and we can get to know each other."
I cleared my throat, "I don't think that I want to get to know you," I said in the strongest voice I could bring up; though even to my own ears it sounded pathetically weak and jittery.
He chuckled from to my right and I could tell that he was circling me. Dianne moved with him, keeping herself between me and Oily. I jumped again when she let out a particularly vicious snarl.
"Leave the woman alone why don't you," a new voice broke in.
"This doesn't concern you," Oily said, though I could tell that he had stepped back a little.
"Clearly she doesn't want to have anything to do with you and the best thing for you to do would be to go away and leave her alone," he said. His tone was deep and carried a strong and soothing quality; a tone of command. Whoever he was, his voice was enough to make me feel safe at the moment.
"And what if I don't?" Oily taunted. He was moving away from me towards the other man.
"Then I will just have to make you," he said.
Oily laughed, "Bring it on!"
I went to my knees and buried my face in Dianne's neck when I heard the first blows, seeking comfort and trying my best to not hear what happened. I covered my ears, but I could still hear the sickening sound of flesh on flesh and the grunts of pain.
A few moments later there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing nearby. I didn't know who had won the fight.
Dianne growled and I hugged her tighter, fearing the worst. That Oily had won and the strong voiced man had lost the fight and he was coming for me.
"Are you alright?" the strong voiced man asked.
Relief flooded through me at the sound of his voice. I nodded my head mutely, to shaken to say anything.
"Can I help you?" he asked gently.
A relieved laugh burbled up in my throat, "I think you already did," I said. I slowly released Dianne and stood up shakily.
"Can I walk you home?" he asked, "just to make sure you get there safe. You shouldn't walk alone at this time of night."
"Yes," I said and ran a soothing hand over Dianne to calm her, "I would be grateful."
As we moved in the direction of my home he kept up a soothing line of commentary. I didn't really listen to what he said, I just focused on the sound of his voice.
It seemed so familiar...
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Hear and Listen
"Are you sure you lead me right?" I asked Dianne when we stopped in front of a door. She let out a huff as if offended that I might doubt her.
"I really hope they have the books I need on audio. It would be so much quicker than trying to read them in braille," I said and laughed as I patted her on the head. Here I was talking to my dog as if she could talk back. I must be losing it.
I greeted Joyce as I stepped through the door and waited my turn to be helped. I shifted my heavy binder to my other arm as I listened to the conversations around me. It was interesting how much I could pick up about people without knowing them. Just from what they say and how they say it. The difference between hearing and listening.
"Sarah," Joyce exclaimed when it was my turn; I smiled at her lilting accent, "what can I do for you?"
"Do you have any of the pre-law textbooks on audio? It's just that it takes me so long to read anything in braille. I've only been blind for about ten months," I explained.
"Oh my dear, I had no idea that it was so recent!" Joyce sympathized, "let me see what I can find. I'm pretty sure we have some somewhere."
I stroked Dianne on the head, lost in my own thoughts. I felt the tingle that told me that someone was near just before Dianne barked loudly.
"Sorry," A voice said from behind me.
I turned toward him and gently tapped Dianne on the head, “Dianne, no barking at strangers,” I said. I smiled in the man's direction, “I apologize - sometimes she’s a little overprotective, thinks people are threats when they aren’t," I said. I wasn't quite certain that he wasn't a threat, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"I didn't mean to make her nervous," he said.
Something in his voice struck me as familiar. I tilted my head to one side, listening, hoping he would speak again so that I could place his voice.
Joyce chose then to return. “I have an old recording of some of the pre-law books to get you started, but we haven’t had anyone record the new editions yet. As soon as we get new recordings in, we’ll let you know," she said.
I nodded my head; accepted the recordings and turned back to the door, "thank you very much," I said," I knew it was a little much to hope that the recordings were current, but it was a hope all the same.
I clicked my tongue at Dianne and I felt her jump to her feet, "let's go girl," I said and let her lead me down the hall. I hoped that the recordings were current enough to get me through my tests until someone read the new versions.
I let my mind wander as Dianne lead me through the maze of halls towards my next class. I puzzled about the voice. It seemed like I should be able to place it, but I couldn't. It was like I had heard it in a dream, or it was a voice I met in passing.
I shrugged it off and clicked at Dianne, "come on," I said, "we have to get to class."
"I really hope they have the books I need on audio. It would be so much quicker than trying to read them in braille," I said and laughed as I patted her on the head. Here I was talking to my dog as if she could talk back. I must be losing it.
I greeted Joyce as I stepped through the door and waited my turn to be helped. I shifted my heavy binder to my other arm as I listened to the conversations around me. It was interesting how much I could pick up about people without knowing them. Just from what they say and how they say it. The difference between hearing and listening.
"Sarah," Joyce exclaimed when it was my turn; I smiled at her lilting accent, "what can I do for you?"
"Do you have any of the pre-law textbooks on audio? It's just that it takes me so long to read anything in braille. I've only been blind for about ten months," I explained.
"Oh my dear, I had no idea that it was so recent!" Joyce sympathized, "let me see what I can find. I'm pretty sure we have some somewhere."
I stroked Dianne on the head, lost in my own thoughts. I felt the tingle that told me that someone was near just before Dianne barked loudly.
"Sorry," A voice said from behind me.
I turned toward him and gently tapped Dianne on the head, “Dianne, no barking at strangers,” I said. I smiled in the man's direction, “I apologize - sometimes she’s a little overprotective, thinks people are threats when they aren’t," I said. I wasn't quite certain that he wasn't a threat, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"I didn't mean to make her nervous," he said.
Something in his voice struck me as familiar. I tilted my head to one side, listening, hoping he would speak again so that I could place his voice.
Joyce chose then to return. “I have an old recording of some of the pre-law books to get you started, but we haven’t had anyone record the new editions yet. As soon as we get new recordings in, we’ll let you know," she said.
I nodded my head; accepted the recordings and turned back to the door, "thank you very much," I said," I knew it was a little much to hope that the recordings were current, but it was a hope all the same.
I clicked my tongue at Dianne and I felt her jump to her feet, "let's go girl," I said and let her lead me down the hall. I hoped that the recordings were current enough to get me through my tests until someone read the new versions.
I let my mind wander as Dianne lead me through the maze of halls towards my next class. I puzzled about the voice. It seemed like I should be able to place it, but I couldn't. It was like I had heard it in a dream, or it was a voice I met in passing.
I shrugged it off and clicked at Dianne, "come on," I said, "we have to get to class."
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Law and History
“Did you see that last night? That was pretty rockin’ awesome,” Evan said.
“What was awesome?” Chris asked distractedly. He had his head down and his hood up, his black eye concealed behind a pair of too-large sunglasses.
“The big boxing match for Campus Fight Night on YouTube.” Evan paused, waved at one of his friends.
Chris followed Evan’s gaze, and his heart caught in his throat. Sarah was lingering near the doorway of the Student Services Office, Dianne sitting obediently at her feet.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “Awesome.”
“Whoever that blond dude is, he’s pretty good,” Evan went on. “When I first saw him, he looked kinda like a chump. I mean, obviously I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he seemed like every idiot pretty boy. Bet he’s the quarterback or something clichéd like that.”
Chris hummed and nodded. “Yeah.” He slunk toward the Student Services Office, lingered a short distance away from Sarah. He had to figure out what classes she was taking so he knew which textbooks to volunteer for, but when he peered at her binder, he saw that it was covered in braille. He wouldn’t be able to read her schedule, then. Crap. Sarah was talking to someone in the office - maybe about her schedule? Chris edged closer, shoulders hunched, head down - which was stupid, because she couldn’t see him - and then Dianne barked loudly, sharply.
Chris jumped.
“Sorry!” he said.
Sarah turned toward him. “Dianne,” she said, “no barking at strangers.” Then she smiled at Chris. “I apologize - sometimes she’s a little overprotective, thinks people are threats when they aren’t.” But there was a note of hesitation in her voice, as if she were assuming he was non-threatening out of politeness.
“I didn’t mean to make her nervous,” Chris said, and Sarah cocked her head to one side, brow furrowed. Did she recognize his voice?
And then someone from within the office said, “I have an old recording of some of the pre-law books to get you started, but we haven’t had anyone record the new editions yet. As soon as we get new recordings in, we’ll let you know.”
Sarah turned back to the door. “Thank you very much,” she said, and she sounded dejected. She clicked her tongue softly, and Dianne was on her feet, alert. “Let’s go, girl.”
Chris watched her go, wanted to call out to her. Instead, he headed into the office.
“Hey.”
The redheaded woman at the desk looked up at him. “How may I help you?”
Chris slid a crumpled application across the desk. “I was looking to be a reader.”
The woman beamed. “Well, that’s lucky, isn’t it?” She had a rolling Irish accent. Joyce, her nametag read. “As it so happens, we need a slew of textbooks read, and soon. What do you feel like, lad, law or history?”
“Law,” Chris said.
(483 words)
“What was awesome?” Chris asked distractedly. He had his head down and his hood up, his black eye concealed behind a pair of too-large sunglasses.
“The big boxing match for Campus Fight Night on YouTube.” Evan paused, waved at one of his friends.
Chris followed Evan’s gaze, and his heart caught in his throat. Sarah was lingering near the doorway of the Student Services Office, Dianne sitting obediently at her feet.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “Awesome.”
“Whoever that blond dude is, he’s pretty good,” Evan went on. “When I first saw him, he looked kinda like a chump. I mean, obviously I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he seemed like every idiot pretty boy. Bet he’s the quarterback or something clichéd like that.”
Chris hummed and nodded. “Yeah.” He slunk toward the Student Services Office, lingered a short distance away from Sarah. He had to figure out what classes she was taking so he knew which textbooks to volunteer for, but when he peered at her binder, he saw that it was covered in braille. He wouldn’t be able to read her schedule, then. Crap. Sarah was talking to someone in the office - maybe about her schedule? Chris edged closer, shoulders hunched, head down - which was stupid, because she couldn’t see him - and then Dianne barked loudly, sharply.
Chris jumped.
“Sorry!” he said.
Sarah turned toward him. “Dianne,” she said, “no barking at strangers.” Then she smiled at Chris. “I apologize - sometimes she’s a little overprotective, thinks people are threats when they aren’t.” But there was a note of hesitation in her voice, as if she were assuming he was non-threatening out of politeness.
“I didn’t mean to make her nervous,” Chris said, and Sarah cocked her head to one side, brow furrowed. Did she recognize his voice?
And then someone from within the office said, “I have an old recording of some of the pre-law books to get you started, but we haven’t had anyone record the new editions yet. As soon as we get new recordings in, we’ll let you know.”
Sarah turned back to the door. “Thank you very much,” she said, and she sounded dejected. She clicked her tongue softly, and Dianne was on her feet, alert. “Let’s go, girl.”
Chris watched her go, wanted to call out to her. Instead, he headed into the office.
“Hey.”
The redheaded woman at the desk looked up at him. “How may I help you?”
Chris slid a crumpled application across the desk. “I was looking to be a reader.”
The woman beamed. “Well, that’s lucky, isn’t it?” She had a rolling Irish accent. Joyce, her nametag read. “As it so happens, we need a slew of textbooks read, and soon. What do you feel like, lad, law or history?”
“Law,” Chris said.
(483 words)
Monday, June 28, 2010
Girls and Jobs
Chris stared at the job postings on the cluttered corkboard and wondered how he could possibly make enough money to support his mother while he was in school.
Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A girl was walking down the hall, poking her head into every doorway. A dog trotted alongside her. Chris was surprised a dog was allowed indoors, but then he noticed the girl’s cane. Chris watched her wander down the hall toward him, intrigued by how graceful and sure her movements were. She walked delicately, like a dancer; she had glossy dark hair, flawless pale skin...and Chris’s mental track was starting to sound like a trashy teen romance novel.
She stopped at the empty Career Office and poked her head in.
"Is this the Student Services office?" Her voice was low for a girl’s, husky, made Chris’s pulse trip erratically.
His voice lodged in his throat. He panicked. "No, but I can show you where it is."
"Thank you!" She stepped out of the doorway and turned to face him, and she smiled.
Chris felt himself begin to fall; his head was swimming; he couldn’t think straight. "It's easy to get lost around here.”
The girl patted her dog on the head; it gazed up at him with big, he suspected distrustful, dark eyes.
Chris started toward the Student Services offices, then paused. "Ummm..." How would she know to follow him?
The girl smiled again, the expression sympathetic, which made Chris feel like an idiot.
"It's okay," she said. "Just keep talking. Tell me where we’re going and what you see so Dianne can lead me to the office again."
"Okay.” Chris looked down at Dianne and wondered how smart she was. He’d heard pigs were smarter than dogs. "Do you know how you got here?"
She nodded.
“Then from this door, we go left.”
As they walked, Chris described the path, noting some of the landmarks and telling stories about this statue or that hallway. He was rambling, but when he got nervous he couldn’t stop. Dianne trotted along beside them, alert, sniffing here and there.
At last, they reached the office. "And here we are."
"Thank you so much." The girl smiled, and Chris’s heart lurched again.
"No problem. It was nice to meet you..."
"Sarah," she said, and inwardly he crowed. He knew her name!
"I'm Chris," he said. A thrill shivered down his spine when their hands touched.
"Thank you again Chris. Maybe I'll 'see' you around," she said, and stepped into the office. Chris wanted to call out, ask for her phone number, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get involved with a girl - he needed a job.
He turned away, and then he saw it, a flyer advertising a job for the Student Services Center. They needed someone who would read textbooks on tape for a vision-impaired student. Chris snatched the flyer off the wall and dashed back to his dorm room. It was perfect.
(500)
Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A girl was walking down the hall, poking her head into every doorway. A dog trotted alongside her. Chris was surprised a dog was allowed indoors, but then he noticed the girl’s cane. Chris watched her wander down the hall toward him, intrigued by how graceful and sure her movements were. She walked delicately, like a dancer; she had glossy dark hair, flawless pale skin...and Chris’s mental track was starting to sound like a trashy teen romance novel.
She stopped at the empty Career Office and poked her head in.
"Is this the Student Services office?" Her voice was low for a girl’s, husky, made Chris’s pulse trip erratically.
His voice lodged in his throat. He panicked. "No, but I can show you where it is."
"Thank you!" She stepped out of the doorway and turned to face him, and she smiled.
Chris felt himself begin to fall; his head was swimming; he couldn’t think straight. "It's easy to get lost around here.”
The girl patted her dog on the head; it gazed up at him with big, he suspected distrustful, dark eyes.
Chris started toward the Student Services offices, then paused. "Ummm..." How would she know to follow him?
The girl smiled again, the expression sympathetic, which made Chris feel like an idiot.
"It's okay," she said. "Just keep talking. Tell me where we’re going and what you see so Dianne can lead me to the office again."
"Okay.” Chris looked down at Dianne and wondered how smart she was. He’d heard pigs were smarter than dogs. "Do you know how you got here?"
She nodded.
“Then from this door, we go left.”
As they walked, Chris described the path, noting some of the landmarks and telling stories about this statue or that hallway. He was rambling, but when he got nervous he couldn’t stop. Dianne trotted along beside them, alert, sniffing here and there.
At last, they reached the office. "And here we are."
"Thank you so much." The girl smiled, and Chris’s heart lurched again.
"No problem. It was nice to meet you..."
"Sarah," she said, and inwardly he crowed. He knew her name!
"I'm Chris," he said. A thrill shivered down his spine when their hands touched.
"Thank you again Chris. Maybe I'll 'see' you around," she said, and stepped into the office. Chris wanted to call out, ask for her phone number, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get involved with a girl - he needed a job.
He turned away, and then he saw it, a flyer advertising a job for the Student Services Center. They needed someone who would read textbooks on tape for a vision-impaired student. Chris snatched the flyer off the wall and dashed back to his dorm room. It was perfect.
(500)
'Show' and 'See'
"Will you stop that?"
I can hear the exasperation in my mothers voice and automatically stopped drumming my fingers nervously on the car door. I clenched my hands in my lap to stop them from their twitching.
"What if Dianne forgets her commands?" I ask, "what if I get lost? It's a big campus and I don't know anyone." I try to keep the blatant worry out of my voice but I can hear it creeping in.
"She won't forget," Mom said firmly. "You have been working and training with her for two months now; been all over the campus with her. You will be just fine."
I knew it was useless to voice further concerns and so I said nothing. I remembered back on all the training I had had with Dianne, the months of hard work and building trust with her. She would be my eyes; I had to trust her. It had been difficult for me these past six months; I had always been so independent before the accident that took my sight. Now I was dependent on others.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I hardly noticed the car slow down and stop. "I'll pick you up here when you're classes are over with for the day," mom said.
I opened the door and slid out, "No," I said, "Dianne and I will walk home. It's not that far and she knows the way."
I opened the back door and Dianne jumped to the ground; taking her place beside me, her warm body pressed against my leg reassuringly. "I'll see you at home," I said and walked away with Dianna.
**********************
"Is this the Student Services office?" I asked as I poked my head in what seemed like the hundredth door in my search for the seldom used office.
"No," a man said, "but I can show you where it is."
"Thank you!" I said and stepped out of the doorway.
"It's easy to get lost around here," he said. I could feel his presence near me, a peculiar sense that told me when someone was close. I patted Dianne on the head; more to reassure myself of her presence than anything.
"Ummm..."
I smiled at his uncertainty. It was clear that he didn't know how to 'show' me the way to the office. "It's okay," I said. "Just keep talking. Tell me where we are going and what you see so that Dianne can lead me to the office again."
"Okay," he said, though I could still hear hesitation and uncertainty in his voice. "Do you know how you got here?" he asked, and I nodded. "then from this door we go left," he said.
I listened to him describe what he saw as we walked along; landmarks that I could ask Dianna to find and she could do it. He had a pleasant voice.
"And here we are," he said. I felt a slight breeze as he opened a door.
"Thank you so much," I said and smiled in his direction.
"No problem," he said. "I was nice to meet you..."
"Sarah," I supplied, and held out my hand to him.
"I'm Chris," he said as he took my hand. His grip was solid. It matched his voice.
"Thank you again Chris. Maybe I'll 'see' you around," I said and smiled before stepping into the office of Student Support Services.
I can hear the exasperation in my mothers voice and automatically stopped drumming my fingers nervously on the car door. I clenched my hands in my lap to stop them from their twitching.
"What if Dianne forgets her commands?" I ask, "what if I get lost? It's a big campus and I don't know anyone." I try to keep the blatant worry out of my voice but I can hear it creeping in.
"She won't forget," Mom said firmly. "You have been working and training with her for two months now; been all over the campus with her. You will be just fine."
I knew it was useless to voice further concerns and so I said nothing. I remembered back on all the training I had had with Dianne, the months of hard work and building trust with her. She would be my eyes; I had to trust her. It had been difficult for me these past six months; I had always been so independent before the accident that took my sight. Now I was dependent on others.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I hardly noticed the car slow down and stop. "I'll pick you up here when you're classes are over with for the day," mom said.
I opened the door and slid out, "No," I said, "Dianne and I will walk home. It's not that far and she knows the way."
I opened the back door and Dianne jumped to the ground; taking her place beside me, her warm body pressed against my leg reassuringly. "I'll see you at home," I said and walked away with Dianna.
**********************
"Is this the Student Services office?" I asked as I poked my head in what seemed like the hundredth door in my search for the seldom used office.
"No," a man said, "but I can show you where it is."
"Thank you!" I said and stepped out of the doorway.
"It's easy to get lost around here," he said. I could feel his presence near me, a peculiar sense that told me when someone was close. I patted Dianne on the head; more to reassure myself of her presence than anything.
"Ummm..."
I smiled at his uncertainty. It was clear that he didn't know how to 'show' me the way to the office. "It's okay," I said. "Just keep talking. Tell me where we are going and what you see so that Dianne can lead me to the office again."
"Okay," he said, though I could still hear hesitation and uncertainty in his voice. "Do you know how you got here?" he asked, and I nodded. "then from this door we go left," he said.
I listened to him describe what he saw as we walked along; landmarks that I could ask Dianna to find and she could do it. He had a pleasant voice.
"And here we are," he said. I felt a slight breeze as he opened a door.
"Thank you so much," I said and smiled in his direction.
"No problem," he said. "I was nice to meet you..."
"Sarah," I supplied, and held out my hand to him.
"I'm Chris," he said as he took my hand. His grip was solid. It matched his voice.
"Thank you again Chris. Maybe I'll 'see' you around," I said and smiled before stepping into the office of Student Support Services.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Project Assignment # 72 - Group effort
So I know we batted this idea around a little this week of writing Sarah's and Chris's story, so here we go.
I'm not quite sure how we should work it out. If it should be a writers tennis style or otherwise. Let me know what you think my fellow writers!
Regardless of format, let's stick to 700 words or less.
I'm not quite sure how we should work it out. If it should be a writers tennis style or otherwise. Let me know what you think my fellow writers!
Regardless of format, let's stick to 700 words or less.
Overview #71: New Characters
I totally had fun writing in first person POV this week. IT was interesting the difference in the immediacy of the scene when writing from that POV rather than another.
I started the week not really knowing what to write about, and then a situation popped into my head. A man in the hospital with no memory of who he was or how he got there.
And since I enjoyed writing the first person POV so much, I created Sarah. I wanted to challenge myself to write a scene in which a sense was missing, but have it not be so noticeable.
I was a little stuck with what to write next, but I looked around and spotted my renaissance dress and that gave me the idea for Anne and Jane. it was interesting that I had originally thought to have the scene more about Anne, but it shifted to focus on little Jane. It was also interesting to write two new characters in a scene and try to make each of them distinct from the first person POV. I like how Anne focused on Jane.
I also liked the help I got in the re-write of the additional post for Sarah and Chris.
I started the week not really knowing what to write about, and then a situation popped into my head. A man in the hospital with no memory of who he was or how he got there.
And since I enjoyed writing the first person POV so much, I created Sarah. I wanted to challenge myself to write a scene in which a sense was missing, but have it not be so noticeable.
I was a little stuck with what to write next, but I looked around and spotted my renaissance dress and that gave me the idea for Anne and Jane. it was interesting that I had originally thought to have the scene more about Anne, but it shifted to focus on little Jane. It was also interesting to write two new characters in a scene and try to make each of them distinct from the first person POV. I like how Anne focused on Jane.
I also liked the help I got in the re-write of the additional post for Sarah and Chris.
Overview #71: New Characters
So this ended up being harder for me than I'd originally anticipated, partially because I went out of town for the weekend and had to double up on homework earlier in the week as consequence. Working hard also fried my brain, because I came down with a genuine sense of writer's block near the end there.
I learned something I probably really knew all along this week: characters cannot be properly developed in isolation. Well, a writer can try it, but what results is a horrifying Sweet Valley-like disaster of boring, unbelievable exposition. Because I am me and I am long-winded, it was harder than I thought it would be creating a character in isolation, and I found myself hyperaware of how I was spending too much time developing the background characters who were just supposed to be props so the character I wanted to create could shine.
I have been dreaming up Jun Fei or a boy like him for a long time, so I was surprised when Chris came out as the most real, well-rounded, original character. Little Lillian was a struggle for me, because the overwhelming number of my protagonists are male and the last time I wrote a child prodigy he was male, but I went for it anyway. This week was a great experience, though, and drove home the reason that conflict creates a story, because an amazing character won't carry a story if he or she is alone; the characters in his world had better be interesting too.
I learned something I probably really knew all along this week: characters cannot be properly developed in isolation. Well, a writer can try it, but what results is a horrifying Sweet Valley-like disaster of boring, unbelievable exposition. Because I am me and I am long-winded, it was harder than I thought it would be creating a character in isolation, and I found myself hyperaware of how I was spending too much time developing the background characters who were just supposed to be props so the character I wanted to create could shine.
I have been dreaming up Jun Fei or a boy like him for a long time, so I was surprised when Chris came out as the most real, well-rounded, original character. Little Lillian was a struggle for me, because the overwhelming number of my protagonists are male and the last time I wrote a child prodigy he was male, but I went for it anyway. This week was a great experience, though, and drove home the reason that conflict creates a story, because an amazing character won't carry a story if he or she is alone; the characters in his world had better be interesting too.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Jun Fei, Not a Han (or Rachel, Not a Han Either)
“Don’t stare,” Sonny said, tugged me toward the lockers.
“Why would I stare?” I trotted to keep up so he wouldn’t dislocate my arm. “Johnny’s just your cousin, right? From the Mainland?”
Something unreadable crossed Sonny’s face. “It’s hard to explain. Just - be cool.” Then he craned his neck and called, “Hey Johnny!”
I craned my neck too but didn’t spot any Chinese-looking boy in the lunchtime crowd. No one responded, either.
“Johnny!” Sonny called again.
Still no response. I’d heard loads about this unfortunate cousin, abandoned with Shao Lin monks in the mountains of northern China, half-civilized from living their ascetic ways. Sonny and I’d had long conversations about the antics his mother had gotten up to, trying to Americanize ‘Johnny’. I felt bad for the kid being thrown into a new culture, forced to conform against all he knew.
Sonny rolled his eyes and called out in sharp Mandarin. “Jun Fei! Get over here!”
The crowd shifted. I couldn’t help but stare. Jun Fei was...tall. Well over six feet, and lean, with golden skin and Persian-dark eyes, round eyes, caucasian eyes. His head was shaved, just like monks had their heads shaved, and he was dressed in shabby gray trousers and a matching gray tunic, like monks wore in kung fu movies, and he was even wearing little black slippers, but there was no way that boy was Chinese.
“Good day, Cousin,” Jun Fei said, inclined his head politely.
“Hey,” Sonny said in English. “Rachel, this is Johnny, my cousin. Johnny, this is Rachel.”
I offered my hand and forced myself to blink a few times so it wasn’t so obvious I was staring. “Pleased to meet you, Johnny.”
“My name is Jun Fei, despite what Song Fei insists on calling me,” Jun Fei said, and Sonny winced at use of his proper name. “But it is good to meet you.” And then he spoke in rapid-fire Mandarin, too fast for me to keep up.
“Whoa, hey,” Sonny broke in, “Rachel was raised by gweilos - she doesn’t speak the Mother Tongue.”
Jun Fei blinked solemnly at me. “You are not Han?” he asked.
“Er...biologically, sure. But biology doesn’t make a girl fluent in Chinese.” I couldn’t help but look him up and down and notice that he was lean, built along clean lines, like a runner, but I could see the smooth slide of muscles beneath his skin when he moved. And then I asked it. “Are you Han?”
Jun Fei blinked again, that puzzled blink that Chinese boys gave me when they knew the answer to a question but refused to give it.
“I’m guessing someone gave you a mirror eventually,” I said. “So, you want to sit with us for lunch?”
“That would be...nice,” Johnny said cautiously. He spoke careful, unaccented English, which was pretty good for a Shao Lin monk.
“C’mon.” Sonny headed for a table.
After a moment, Jun Fei and I fell into step behind him.
(500 words)
“Why would I stare?” I trotted to keep up so he wouldn’t dislocate my arm. “Johnny’s just your cousin, right? From the Mainland?”
Something unreadable crossed Sonny’s face. “It’s hard to explain. Just - be cool.” Then he craned his neck and called, “Hey Johnny!”
I craned my neck too but didn’t spot any Chinese-looking boy in the lunchtime crowd. No one responded, either.
“Johnny!” Sonny called again.
Still no response. I’d heard loads about this unfortunate cousin, abandoned with Shao Lin monks in the mountains of northern China, half-civilized from living their ascetic ways. Sonny and I’d had long conversations about the antics his mother had gotten up to, trying to Americanize ‘Johnny’. I felt bad for the kid being thrown into a new culture, forced to conform against all he knew.
Sonny rolled his eyes and called out in sharp Mandarin. “Jun Fei! Get over here!”
The crowd shifted. I couldn’t help but stare. Jun Fei was...tall. Well over six feet, and lean, with golden skin and Persian-dark eyes, round eyes, caucasian eyes. His head was shaved, just like monks had their heads shaved, and he was dressed in shabby gray trousers and a matching gray tunic, like monks wore in kung fu movies, and he was even wearing little black slippers, but there was no way that boy was Chinese.
“Good day, Cousin,” Jun Fei said, inclined his head politely.
“Hey,” Sonny said in English. “Rachel, this is Johnny, my cousin. Johnny, this is Rachel.”
I offered my hand and forced myself to blink a few times so it wasn’t so obvious I was staring. “Pleased to meet you, Johnny.”
“My name is Jun Fei, despite what Song Fei insists on calling me,” Jun Fei said, and Sonny winced at use of his proper name. “But it is good to meet you.” And then he spoke in rapid-fire Mandarin, too fast for me to keep up.
“Whoa, hey,” Sonny broke in, “Rachel was raised by gweilos - she doesn’t speak the Mother Tongue.”
Jun Fei blinked solemnly at me. “You are not Han?” he asked.
“Er...biologically, sure. But biology doesn’t make a girl fluent in Chinese.” I couldn’t help but look him up and down and notice that he was lean, built along clean lines, like a runner, but I could see the smooth slide of muscles beneath his skin when he moved. And then I asked it. “Are you Han?”
Jun Fei blinked again, that puzzled blink that Chinese boys gave me when they knew the answer to a question but refused to give it.
“I’m guessing someone gave you a mirror eventually,” I said. “So, you want to sit with us for lunch?”
“That would be...nice,” Johnny said cautiously. He spoke careful, unaccented English, which was pretty good for a Shao Lin monk.
“C’mon.” Sonny headed for a table.
After a moment, Jun Fei and I fell into step behind him.
(500 words)
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sarah - (extra post - Edited)
"Hi Sarah!"
I smiled at the pleasant voice as the door swung shut behind me, "Hi Joyce, how are you today?"
"Well little Ben has the chicken pox, but other than that, life moves along," she said in a rolling Irish accent.
I could almost picture her as she had been described to me; a petite frame sitting behind the desk in the Student Services office, bright green eyes and a wide smile surrounded by short curly red hair and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose.
"I've heard that oatmeal baths help with the itching," I offered as I leaned on the counter. Diana nudged my leg and I reached down to rub her behind the ears with one hand.
"Yes," Joyce agreed, "his Papa is home with him today, and I can just imagine the trouble those two are getting themselves into."
I laughed at the mental image that I got of little Ben and his father running amok through the house. "Well, at least you'll have it over with early," I said by way of consolation.
"Thank heaven," she mock whispered.
I laughed again. Joyce was fun to talk to. "Is Chapter One of the Corporations text ready to go?" I asked. I had to listen to it before the test on Monday.
"Let me check. I'm pretty sure that it is," she said. I listened to her shuffle papers around on the desk and a drawer open and close, pens sliding around inside. "Ah! Here it is," she said, and placed it on the counter so that it touched my elbow.
I dropped my hand and picked up the cassette tape, sliding it into my pocket with a smile. "Thank you Joyce," I said and turned toward the door.
*****
"I'm home!" I called as soon as I shut the front door. By the echoing I could tell that no one was home. I didn't mind; it meant I could be alone for a while.
"Come on Diane, let's get you comfortable and find something to eat," I said as I took off her harness and rubbed her down.
"Yuck! Diane!" I laughed and wiped the saliva from my cheek where she licked me.
We padded towards the kitchen where I filled her food dishes and set my pack on the table. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled as I opened the fridge door and grabbed an apple.
The apple gave way with a satisfying crunch as I moved back to the table. A small study area set up with a tape player waited for me and I slid the new recording into the machine. I felt a smile spread across my face as his voice filled the room.
Corporations: Chapter One...
I had to force myself to concentrate on the information he was reading and not on the smooth rhythm of his voice. It was a steady voice, strong and deep; the tone pure. I was sure that if he sang he would sing Bass.
I tried not to let my mind drift towards wondering about the man behind the voice; a voice I could listen to for hours even if I didn't need to. He made even a dry legal text worth listening to. It was one of the few voices that I would never be able to put a face to, a man I had never met.
A man I could never see.
I smiled at the pleasant voice as the door swung shut behind me, "Hi Joyce, how are you today?"
"Well little Ben has the chicken pox, but other than that, life moves along," she said in a rolling Irish accent.
I could almost picture her as she had been described to me; a petite frame sitting behind the desk in the Student Services office, bright green eyes and a wide smile surrounded by short curly red hair and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose.
"I've heard that oatmeal baths help with the itching," I offered as I leaned on the counter. Diana nudged my leg and I reached down to rub her behind the ears with one hand.
"Yes," Joyce agreed, "his Papa is home with him today, and I can just imagine the trouble those two are getting themselves into."
I laughed at the mental image that I got of little Ben and his father running amok through the house. "Well, at least you'll have it over with early," I said by way of consolation.
"Thank heaven," she mock whispered.
I laughed again. Joyce was fun to talk to. "Is Chapter One of the Corporations text ready to go?" I asked. I had to listen to it before the test on Monday.
"Let me check. I'm pretty sure that it is," she said. I listened to her shuffle papers around on the desk and a drawer open and close, pens sliding around inside. "Ah! Here it is," she said, and placed it on the counter so that it touched my elbow.
I dropped my hand and picked up the cassette tape, sliding it into my pocket with a smile. "Thank you Joyce," I said and turned toward the door.
*****
"I'm home!" I called as soon as I shut the front door. By the echoing I could tell that no one was home. I didn't mind; it meant I could be alone for a while.
"Come on Diane, let's get you comfortable and find something to eat," I said as I took off her harness and rubbed her down.
"Yuck! Diane!" I laughed and wiped the saliva from my cheek where she licked me.
We padded towards the kitchen where I filled her food dishes and set my pack on the table. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled as I opened the fridge door and grabbed an apple.
The apple gave way with a satisfying crunch as I moved back to the table. A small study area set up with a tape player waited for me and I slid the new recording into the machine. I felt a smile spread across my face as his voice filled the room.
Corporations: Chapter One...
I had to force myself to concentrate on the information he was reading and not on the smooth rhythm of his voice. It was a steady voice, strong and deep; the tone pure. I was sure that if he sang he would sing Bass.
I tried not to let my mind drift towards wondering about the man behind the voice; a voice I could listen to for hours even if I didn't need to. He made even a dry legal text worth listening to. It was one of the few voices that I would never be able to put a face to, a man I had never met.
A man I could never see.
Anne and Jane
Sparks jumped from the flint and stone that I held loosely to a small pile of tinder, catching and sputtering in the dark. I held the small flame to the wick of the lantern on the table. And the next, and the next. Soon the room was filled with the soft glow of lamplight, and warmth began radiating through the chilly room; shadows retreating to the far corners.
I worked at the laces of my bodice with numb fingers, pausing occasionally to hold them over an open flame, trying to restore some feeling. I let out a breath of relief when at last the constricting garment gave way and I could breathe easier.
"Mistress, Anne? Do you need any help?"
I thought for a moment before answering, "Alright Jane, come in."
Jane entered the room quietly, almost timidly. She was a small waif of a girl, not more than twelve I would have guessed. Given over to the great houses service by her parents for a pittance of money that I knew would not last a month.
I watched Jane move quietly around the chamber, her eyes downcast, almost fearful of being noticed, yet determined to do her work.
I slipped out of the bodice and the skirt and handed them to Jane who folded them precisely and placed them in the wardrobe. She removed my dressing gown and a soft robe and helped me into them before picking up a brush.
I sank into a low chair and hummed a little with pleasure as I felt the brush move rhythmically through my hair; Jane's soft, child hands, untangling my long black locks before loosely braiding it and tying it off with a ribbon.
Jane placed the warming pan filled with coals from the community fire between the sheets of my bed and turned down the covers. "Will you be needing anything else Mistress Anne?" she asked quietly.
"No Jane, thank you," I said gently and watched her move towards the door.
The little girl remained in my thoughts long after she silently slipped from the room to seek her own bed in a far, cold servants room.
I worked at the laces of my bodice with numb fingers, pausing occasionally to hold them over an open flame, trying to restore some feeling. I let out a breath of relief when at last the constricting garment gave way and I could breathe easier.
"Mistress, Anne? Do you need any help?"
I thought for a moment before answering, "Alright Jane, come in."
Jane entered the room quietly, almost timidly. She was a small waif of a girl, not more than twelve I would have guessed. Given over to the great houses service by her parents for a pittance of money that I knew would not last a month.
I watched Jane move quietly around the chamber, her eyes downcast, almost fearful of being noticed, yet determined to do her work.
I slipped out of the bodice and the skirt and handed them to Jane who folded them precisely and placed them in the wardrobe. She removed my dressing gown and a soft robe and helped me into them before picking up a brush.
I sank into a low chair and hummed a little with pleasure as I felt the brush move rhythmically through my hair; Jane's soft, child hands, untangling my long black locks before loosely braiding it and tying it off with a ribbon.
Jane placed the warming pan filled with coals from the community fire between the sheets of my bed and turned down the covers. "Will you be needing anything else Mistress Anne?" she asked quietly.
"No Jane, thank you," I said gently and watched her move towards the door.
The little girl remained in my thoughts long after she silently slipped from the room to seek her own bed in a far, cold servants room.
Chris, Student
Chris squinted at the italicized font and sighed, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He reached out and pressed the ‘pause’ button on the recorder and attempted to sound out the words.
“Day-zhoor? Day-zhoor-ay?”
“Talking to yourself again?” his roommate Evan asked.
Chris held up the thick law tome. “How do you pronounce this phrase?” He pointed to de jure.
Evan shrugged. “Not a lawyer, man.” And he went back to his chemistry and punk music.
“Thanks anyway.” Chris tugged his headphones back on and pressed the button to resume recording, continued reading. “ ‘A corporation formed according to legal formalities is a corporation de jure. If a corporation is not formed de jure, it may still be considered a corporation de facto...’”
After a while he got into the rhythm of reading, and he felt the words roll smoothly off his tongue even though he didn’t really understand any of what he was reading. He’d read so many textbooks on so many topics that they started to blur together. But as he read, he gazed at the photograph pinned above his desk, of Sarah and her guide dog, and thought, She doesn’t know I’m alive, but she depends on my voice.
He finished the chapter and stopped the tape, popped it out of the machine and scrawled Corporations, Chapter One on the label. He had to deliver it to the student support center and then get on with his own homework. Maybe, on his way across campus, he would see Sarah and Diane sitting on the grass, basking in the sun, picture-perfect and completely oblivious to it.
Chris scooped up his jacket and headed for the door, and the phone started to ring. Evan was closest, but he continued bobbing his head to his music and balancing chemical equations. Chris sighed and crossed the room, scooped up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dear, it’s your mother.”
Chris winced. She sounded more frail than usual. “Hi, Mom. What’s going on? What can I do for you?”
“I got a call from the pharmacy again today...”
Of course. The creditors had come calling again. Chris let her words wash over him, making humming noises in all the right places. When she was done, he had to resist the urge to slam the receiver back into place. Then he stared down at his knuckles, red and swollen and scraped raw in several places, and he picked the receiver back up, dialed.
“Hey, Matt? Yeah, it’s Chris. Tell Tony it’s on tonight. I’ll meet him down at The Pit. Yeah, bare knuckles. Bring some sports tape. Put me down three-to-one on me, all right?” He glanced over at Evan, but he was lost in his music.
Good.
He probably wouldn’t notice when Chris came back after midnight with a new black eye. Chris shrugged on his jacket, grabbed the tape, and slipped out the door. He did stupid things for the people he loved.
(496 words)
“Day-zhoor? Day-zhoor-ay?”
“Talking to yourself again?” his roommate Evan asked.
Chris held up the thick law tome. “How do you pronounce this phrase?” He pointed to de jure.
Evan shrugged. “Not a lawyer, man.” And he went back to his chemistry and punk music.
“Thanks anyway.” Chris tugged his headphones back on and pressed the button to resume recording, continued reading. “ ‘A corporation formed according to legal formalities is a corporation de jure. If a corporation is not formed de jure, it may still be considered a corporation de facto...’”
After a while he got into the rhythm of reading, and he felt the words roll smoothly off his tongue even though he didn’t really understand any of what he was reading. He’d read so many textbooks on so many topics that they started to blur together. But as he read, he gazed at the photograph pinned above his desk, of Sarah and her guide dog, and thought, She doesn’t know I’m alive, but she depends on my voice.
He finished the chapter and stopped the tape, popped it out of the machine and scrawled Corporations, Chapter One on the label. He had to deliver it to the student support center and then get on with his own homework. Maybe, on his way across campus, he would see Sarah and Diane sitting on the grass, basking in the sun, picture-perfect and completely oblivious to it.
Chris scooped up his jacket and headed for the door, and the phone started to ring. Evan was closest, but he continued bobbing his head to his music and balancing chemical equations. Chris sighed and crossed the room, scooped up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dear, it’s your mother.”
Chris winced. She sounded more frail than usual. “Hi, Mom. What’s going on? What can I do for you?”
“I got a call from the pharmacy again today...”
Of course. The creditors had come calling again. Chris let her words wash over him, making humming noises in all the right places. When she was done, he had to resist the urge to slam the receiver back into place. Then he stared down at his knuckles, red and swollen and scraped raw in several places, and he picked the receiver back up, dialed.
“Hey, Matt? Yeah, it’s Chris. Tell Tony it’s on tonight. I’ll meet him down at The Pit. Yeah, bare knuckles. Bring some sports tape. Put me down three-to-one on me, all right?” He glanced over at Evan, but he was lost in his music.
Good.
He probably wouldn’t notice when Chris came back after midnight with a new black eye. Chris shrugged on his jacket, grabbed the tape, and slipped out the door. He did stupid things for the people he loved.
(496 words)
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Lillian, Cryptologist (or Nick, Bricklayer)
Lillian stared at herself in the mirror. She felt horribly self-conscious. Her nanny hadn’t had time to alter her uniform, so her trousers were rolled up around her ankles, and the sleeves came far past her wrists and she had to keep pushing them back up. Her frizzy black hair was fraying out of the braids her nanny had woven in that morning, and she looked like a pale scarecrow stuffed into someone else’s oversized clothing.
Apart from the bearded man who’d let her into the building, no one else was there. The man - Mr. Lewis - spoke briefly to her nanny, then told her to wait in the corner until the others arrived. It was nearly a quarter to six, and she was still the only one besides Mr. Lewis at the dojo, and didn’t class start at six?
As if on cue, the door swung open. A young man strolled into the building, backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Hey,” he said easily. “You new?”
“I am,” she said. “My name is Lillian Fairbanks.” She offered a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The man’s brow furrowed, but then he shook her hand. “Good to meet you too, kid. I’m Nick. When we’re in class, you’ll have to call me Sensei Vincent.”
“Of course. I understand hierarchical authority is important in martial arts.”
“Hier-what now?” Nick set down his backpack, toed off his sneakers and kicked them into one of the cubbies along the wall next to the mirror. “How old are you, kid?”
“I’m seven,” Lillian said. “Also, I am not a juvenile goat.”
“You talk like a dictionary.” Nick tugged a pile of clothes and a black belt from his backpack and started toward the men’s room.
“I’m sorry,” Lillian said. She ducked her head. “I’m around scholars all day, and their manner of speech is typically quite pedantic, and I find it’s best to conform lest - lest they disregard me because of my age.”
Nick leaned down and peered into her eyes. “No need to apologize. It’s just different, is all. What do you do all day, that you talk like that?”
“I’m a cryptologist,” Lillian said.
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Which means in real English...?”
“A code-breaker.” Lillian tugged one of her pigtails. She saw it, the flare of surprise in his eyes, followed by understanding. She was waiting for it, the revulsion, the disgusted curiosity, but instead she saw something she’d never seen before; she suspected it was that thing called empathy.
“Cool. I’m a bricklayer most days,” Nick said. He beckoned. “C’mere. Show me how you throw a punch.”
Lillian took a deep breath. She realized this was martial arts, but she’d been raised to avoid physical violence and instead attempt to end all arguments with logic. But Nick smiled and beckoned again, and she said,
“Yes, Sensei.”
(477 words)
Apart from the bearded man who’d let her into the building, no one else was there. The man - Mr. Lewis - spoke briefly to her nanny, then told her to wait in the corner until the others arrived. It was nearly a quarter to six, and she was still the only one besides Mr. Lewis at the dojo, and didn’t class start at six?
As if on cue, the door swung open. A young man strolled into the building, backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Hey,” he said easily. “You new?”
“I am,” she said. “My name is Lillian Fairbanks.” She offered a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The man’s brow furrowed, but then he shook her hand. “Good to meet you too, kid. I’m Nick. When we’re in class, you’ll have to call me Sensei Vincent.”
“Of course. I understand hierarchical authority is important in martial arts.”
“Hier-what now?” Nick set down his backpack, toed off his sneakers and kicked them into one of the cubbies along the wall next to the mirror. “How old are you, kid?”
“I’m seven,” Lillian said. “Also, I am not a juvenile goat.”
“You talk like a dictionary.” Nick tugged a pile of clothes and a black belt from his backpack and started toward the men’s room.
“I’m sorry,” Lillian said. She ducked her head. “I’m around scholars all day, and their manner of speech is typically quite pedantic, and I find it’s best to conform lest - lest they disregard me because of my age.”
Nick leaned down and peered into her eyes. “No need to apologize. It’s just different, is all. What do you do all day, that you talk like that?”
“I’m a cryptologist,” Lillian said.
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Which means in real English...?”
“A code-breaker.” Lillian tugged one of her pigtails. She saw it, the flare of surprise in his eyes, followed by understanding. She was waiting for it, the revulsion, the disgusted curiosity, but instead she saw something she’d never seen before; she suspected it was that thing called empathy.
“Cool. I’m a bricklayer most days,” Nick said. He beckoned. “C’mere. Show me how you throw a punch.”
Lillian took a deep breath. She realized this was martial arts, but she’d been raised to avoid physical violence and instead attempt to end all arguments with logic. But Nick smiled and beckoned again, and she said,
“Yes, Sensei.”
(477 words)
Night in the Day
"Sarah."
I raised my head from off of my folded arms when I heard my mother call my name. I knew she couldn't see me unless I sat up, the grass was to long for that. I sighed at the tone in my mothers voice and let my head fall back onto my arms again, content to not be found; if only for a few moments longer. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my skin to a tingle before turning my face away from the warmth. A light breeze rustled the grass and cooled my skin before passing on to the South.
"Sarah!"
I rolled over in the grass and covered my head with my arms. I knew I couldn't hide for much longer.
"Diane!"
From beside me Diane jumped to all fours and shook herself out. I knew that mom could see her, knew she knew where I was. I drew in a breath and sat up, running my fingers through my hair to dislodge any stray grass that had gotten tangled up in it and stood up.
I felt Diane brush against my leg and I reached out for the harness, gripping the soft foam handle loosely.
"Home. Diana," I said and let her lead me back to the house.
I raised my head from off of my folded arms when I heard my mother call my name. I knew she couldn't see me unless I sat up, the grass was to long for that. I sighed at the tone in my mothers voice and let my head fall back onto my arms again, content to not be found; if only for a few moments longer. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my skin to a tingle before turning my face away from the warmth. A light breeze rustled the grass and cooled my skin before passing on to the South.
"Sarah!"
I rolled over in the grass and covered my head with my arms. I knew I couldn't hide for much longer.
"Diane!"
From beside me Diane jumped to all fours and shook herself out. I knew that mom could see her, knew she knew where I was. I drew in a breath and sat up, running my fingers through my hair to dislodge any stray grass that had gotten tangled up in it and stood up.
I felt Diane brush against my leg and I reached out for the harness, gripping the soft foam handle loosely.
"Home. Diana," I said and let her lead me back to the house.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Nothing
My name is Shane.
At least that's what they tell me. Anything that came before waking up in the hospital is lost to me. All I can remember is opening my eyes and seeing bright fluorescent lights above my head and hearing a beeping to my left.
I remember taking a deep breath and trying to clear my dry throat; it was scratchy and sore, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.
"Hello?" I called out, and suddenly I was surrounded by many people; some checking machines, and others checking me and asking me questions that I couldn't answer. All I could say was, "I don't know."
It felt like that was all I could say for the longest time. "What's you're name?... I don't know...Where are you from...I don't know... Do you know what happened to you...I don't know..." I felt like a broken record.
After what seemed like forever they all went away; left me to my thoughts; though those were rather blank as well. It was like a soft black wall that I could push against, but I couldn't get through it. Whatever was beyond the wall stayed hidden from me.
I sat in silent thought for a long time, only interrupted when a young woman brought in a few things and placed them in my lap. A wallet, keys, and a few papers.
I flipped open the wallet to reveal the face of a smiling young man; dark brown hair and laughing bright blue eyes. The name read Shane Briarwood. Five foot ten, one hundred and sixty-two pounds. He lived in a city in California.
I set aside the wallet and picked up the keys. It was a simple set of keys. Two brass keys on a ring as well as some type of car key; but to what kind of car I couldn't tell. I set the keys next to the wallet
I next picked up the papers. They were covered in close neat writing, addresses and names. Snatches of poetry, random and unfinished. Nothing was familiar.
"Mr. Briarwood?" a voice said from the door.
I assumed I was being spoken to so I turned my head towards the voice.
"Mr. Briarwood, you had quite an accident. Can you remember what happened?" the doctor said.
I blinked. The name held no recognition for me.
"Mr. Briarwood?"
...Nothing...
At least that's what they tell me. Anything that came before waking up in the hospital is lost to me. All I can remember is opening my eyes and seeing bright fluorescent lights above my head and hearing a beeping to my left.
I remember taking a deep breath and trying to clear my dry throat; it was scratchy and sore, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.
"Hello?" I called out, and suddenly I was surrounded by many people; some checking machines, and others checking me and asking me questions that I couldn't answer. All I could say was, "I don't know."
It felt like that was all I could say for the longest time. "What's you're name?... I don't know...Where are you from...I don't know... Do you know what happened to you...I don't know..." I felt like a broken record.
After what seemed like forever they all went away; left me to my thoughts; though those were rather blank as well. It was like a soft black wall that I could push against, but I couldn't get through it. Whatever was beyond the wall stayed hidden from me.
I sat in silent thought for a long time, only interrupted when a young woman brought in a few things and placed them in my lap. A wallet, keys, and a few papers.
I flipped open the wallet to reveal the face of a smiling young man; dark brown hair and laughing bright blue eyes. The name read Shane Briarwood. Five foot ten, one hundred and sixty-two pounds. He lived in a city in California.
I set aside the wallet and picked up the keys. It was a simple set of keys. Two brass keys on a ring as well as some type of car key; but to what kind of car I couldn't tell. I set the keys next to the wallet
I next picked up the papers. They were covered in close neat writing, addresses and names. Snatches of poetry, random and unfinished. Nothing was familiar.
"Mr. Briarwood?" a voice said from the door.
I assumed I was being spoken to so I turned my head towards the voice.
"Mr. Briarwood, you had quite an accident. Can you remember what happened?" the doctor said.
I blinked. The name held no recognition for me.
"Mr. Briarwood?"
...Nothing...
Jeffrey, Baritone
“Your name?” Samuel asked.
The boy wore black skinny jeans that were somehow too big on him and a faded black t-shirt featuring some obscure 80’s band. Beneath his shaggy black hair (he was obviously due for a haircut) he had thick-rimmed glasses, and Samuel was quite sure the boy had not made proper eye-contact the entire ten seconds he’d been onstage. Wasn’t there some sort of pre-screening process by underlings? The mite looked terrified beneath the bright lights, standing before a crowd of thousands.
“Jeffrey,” the boy said. His voice was soft, almost inaudible even with a microphone.
Samuel twirled his pen, the gesture impatient. “All right, Jeffrey, and what are you going to do for us today?”
His response was a mumble.
“Pardon?” Samuel asked.
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “I’m going to sing,” he said.
The Celandine and Ben cast Samuel dubious looks, but he nodded. “All right. Take it away.”
Jeffrey lifted a hand in an awkward gesture, likely to signal someone to start his chosen music, and then something happened. He uncurled his shoulders and stood up straighter, lifted his head, and for the first time the judges could see that he had a pleasant face, a wide-lipped mouth curved in the faintest smile, a strong, solid jaw-line. When the music poured over the speakers, Samuel raised his eyebrows. He’d been expecting melancholy electric guitars, not orchestral strains.
And then Jeffrey began to sing. Samuel dropped his pen. He hadn’t expected a voice that deep and powerful to come out of such a skinny boy, but he had perfect pitch and enunciated as if he’d been born speaking Italian. He scaled the notes with breathtaking ease as if he were simply speaking, and he sailed through the tricky syllables without tripping once. Impossible. It took years of training to be able to sing like this, didn’t it?
Whenever Jeffrey hit a particularly impossible note, the audience roared, and Samuel felt something spark in his blood. Whoever had decided to let this skinny moppet onstage had discovered something special; Samuel suspected the lads in the wings were smirking then and there.
Samuel held his breath, nervous, waiting, because that last note was the hardest to hit, the easiest to ruin, and then behind him, the audience was on its feet as Jeffrey hit that final, magical note and took it to the rafters. Beside Samuel, Celandine was crying.
Then the music faded, and the audience kept roaring, and Jeffrey seemed to shrink back in on himself, hunching his shoulders, jamming his hands into his pockets. He stepped back from the mic, and Samuel realized he was getting ready to bolt offstage, so he spoke.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
Jeffrey shrugged, clearly uneasy. “My grandmother always listens to opera music. I like to sing along sometimes.”
Samuel suspected there were two sides to this boy, and he’d just seen the best and the worst in turn.
(498 words)
The boy wore black skinny jeans that were somehow too big on him and a faded black t-shirt featuring some obscure 80’s band. Beneath his shaggy black hair (he was obviously due for a haircut) he had thick-rimmed glasses, and Samuel was quite sure the boy had not made proper eye-contact the entire ten seconds he’d been onstage. Wasn’t there some sort of pre-screening process by underlings? The mite looked terrified beneath the bright lights, standing before a crowd of thousands.
“Jeffrey,” the boy said. His voice was soft, almost inaudible even with a microphone.
Samuel twirled his pen, the gesture impatient. “All right, Jeffrey, and what are you going to do for us today?”
His response was a mumble.
“Pardon?” Samuel asked.
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “I’m going to sing,” he said.
The Celandine and Ben cast Samuel dubious looks, but he nodded. “All right. Take it away.”
Jeffrey lifted a hand in an awkward gesture, likely to signal someone to start his chosen music, and then something happened. He uncurled his shoulders and stood up straighter, lifted his head, and for the first time the judges could see that he had a pleasant face, a wide-lipped mouth curved in the faintest smile, a strong, solid jaw-line. When the music poured over the speakers, Samuel raised his eyebrows. He’d been expecting melancholy electric guitars, not orchestral strains.
And then Jeffrey began to sing. Samuel dropped his pen. He hadn’t expected a voice that deep and powerful to come out of such a skinny boy, but he had perfect pitch and enunciated as if he’d been born speaking Italian. He scaled the notes with breathtaking ease as if he were simply speaking, and he sailed through the tricky syllables without tripping once. Impossible. It took years of training to be able to sing like this, didn’t it?
Whenever Jeffrey hit a particularly impossible note, the audience roared, and Samuel felt something spark in his blood. Whoever had decided to let this skinny moppet onstage had discovered something special; Samuel suspected the lads in the wings were smirking then and there.
Samuel held his breath, nervous, waiting, because that last note was the hardest to hit, the easiest to ruin, and then behind him, the audience was on its feet as Jeffrey hit that final, magical note and took it to the rafters. Beside Samuel, Celandine was crying.
Then the music faded, and the audience kept roaring, and Jeffrey seemed to shrink back in on himself, hunching his shoulders, jamming his hands into his pockets. He stepped back from the mic, and Samuel realized he was getting ready to bolt offstage, so he spoke.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
Jeffrey shrugged, clearly uneasy. “My grandmother always listens to opera music. I like to sing along sometimes.”
Samuel suspected there were two sides to this boy, and he’d just seen the best and the worst in turn.
(498 words)
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Project #71: New Characters!
We have beloved 'verses we keep writing in, some with over a hundred tagged entries to them, some with less than twenty, all created with tender loving care. This week the challenge is to come up with brand new characters, one a day, 100-500 words. You can go for a Sweet Valley-style exposition, you can go for the Hollywood introduction, or just drop right into the new person's storyline. Give it a whirl and see how it goes, and see if any of the new faces will make it in the crowd that runs the halls of Master & Madness academy. Good luck!
Overview #70: Color
Okay, so I will freely admit, I had a heck of a lot of fun with this one. I challenged myself to pick colors for the boys not usually considered in conjunction with said boys (DJ tends to be blue, Keith tends to be red or green, Gabriel tends to be gray, Tobias tends to be brown or black, James tends to be green), and I came up with some pretty startling but altogether fun results. My favorite scene of the week was probably DJ's, because as much as Nick's death is pretty much ipso facto part of DJ's story, I never did much with it, and it turned out better than I thought it would be, and it taught me some things about DJ too. I didn't finish out this week, but I'm in the middle of bar prep, so I'm going to forgive myself, and chances are I will fail next week, but hey - here's to writing as often as possible and improving as I go.
They say as long as you write every day you will improve, and I am writing every day - mostly to the tune of bar essays, but writing nonetheless. So I am writing. Just not always here, and not anything anyone but a bar examiner would want to read.
They say as long as you write every day you will improve, and I am writing every day - mostly to the tune of bar essays, but writing nonetheless. So I am writing. Just not always here, and not anything anyone but a bar examiner would want to read.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Ultimate fail...
Okay I must sincerely apologize to my fellow writers. I epically failed this week to get my posts done... guilt...
My only excuse is that I have been so busy. I work eight hours a day at my normal job and then come home and put in another 4-7 hours worth of training and contacting. I am so busy that I often don't get to bed until after midnight... and I'll be honest... It slipped my mind... I vow to mend my ways and I will do better this next week!
Please forgive me fellow writers...
My only excuse is that I have been so busy. I work eight hours a day at my normal job and then come home and put in another 4-7 hours worth of training and contacting. I am so busy that I often don't get to bed until after midnight... and I'll be honest... It slipped my mind... I vow to mend my ways and I will do better this next week!
Please forgive me fellow writers...
Friday, June 18, 2010
White Fright
Most people were afraid of the dark, the black, the shadows. Gabriel had been afraid of many colors in his life - the blue, the gray, either meaning a gunshot on sight depending on his own colors. Gabriel wasn't afraid of the dark, though, not the way most people were. No, he was afraid of the white.
The whites of eyes and teeth bared in frozen, lifeless grinned, lips skinned back in eternally silent laughter, dozens of faces circling his windows so that when Gabriel rose in the night to draw a drink of water from the pail and sought the midnight sky, all he saw was the white, white, white.
For one moment he was still, terrified, sure they were the faces of the dancing skeletons foretold by the vodun priests. Too much blood had been spilt along these rows of soft-white cotton; souls would not rest easily here.
When Gabriel took a deep breath and looked closer, saw the faces had flesh, he realized he knew those white eyes and white smiles set in black faces. The Drummer Boys and Fast-Hand Jim, Smilin' Sam and Charlie Haystack. All slaves from Old Man Harris's plantation.
All dead and strung up along the slave barracks for every slave to see in the dawn. Only it was the black of night, and Gabriel had discovered them all.
For the first time in his life, he wished he could scream.
And then he smelled it, smoke, burning. He wheeled around, tore through the house, searching for the danger, and some of the others muttered sleepily, but he didn't find it. He turned, searched, but at every window and door he was hemmed in bodies, faces,white smiles, and he thought, They're going to burn us alive in here.
One of the women screamed, and as one the barracks woke; people poured into the safety of the darkness, of fresh night air, and there, in the middle of the fields, was a burning cross, and around it stood demons with pointed skulls, all arrayed in glorious white.
(345 words)
The whites of eyes and teeth bared in frozen, lifeless grinned, lips skinned back in eternally silent laughter, dozens of faces circling his windows so that when Gabriel rose in the night to draw a drink of water from the pail and sought the midnight sky, all he saw was the white, white, white.
For one moment he was still, terrified, sure they were the faces of the dancing skeletons foretold by the vodun priests. Too much blood had been spilt along these rows of soft-white cotton; souls would not rest easily here.
When Gabriel took a deep breath and looked closer, saw the faces had flesh, he realized he knew those white eyes and white smiles set in black faces. The Drummer Boys and Fast-Hand Jim, Smilin' Sam and Charlie Haystack. All slaves from Old Man Harris's plantation.
All dead and strung up along the slave barracks for every slave to see in the dawn. Only it was the black of night, and Gabriel had discovered them all.
For the first time in his life, he wished he could scream.
And then he smelled it, smoke, burning. He wheeled around, tore through the house, searching for the danger, and some of the others muttered sleepily, but he didn't find it. He turned, searched, but at every window and door he was hemmed in bodies, faces,white smiles, and he thought, They're going to burn us alive in here.
One of the women screamed, and as one the barracks woke; people poured into the safety of the darkness, of fresh night air, and there, in the middle of the fields, was a burning cross, and around it stood demons with pointed skulls, all arrayed in glorious white.
(345 words)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Green and Lost
Green, yellow-green, faded green mottled with red, green brown around the edges, green sticky and velvet like moss, green ugly like a fading bruise. Tobias tore through the undergrowth, breathing hard but silent, desperate to outrun the other boys. He knew his way through the forest blind, but the fear pounding in his heart and his lungs and his ears had blinded him, and now everything was one morass of the same color: green.
And lost.
Tobias dove behind a tree, winced at the scrape of rough bark against his skull, and waited. They’d come by, any moment, charge past like a herd of elephants, and then he could double back, climb a tree and search the surface of the forest, orient himself.
It almost worked. One by one they streamed past him, hell-bent on capturing him. And then one of them glanced sideways, and his green eyes gleamed with predatory triumph. He lunged. Tobias cried out, fell backward, went head-over-heels and face-first into a bed of ferns.
A boot connected with his ribs.
He couldn’t even cry out.
And then the green began to change, shift so it was almost neon, infrared, as if he were looking at light in the middle of the night through night-vision goggles, and then he realized he was seeing plants.
Outlined in heat.
He was seeing heat, the plants in shades of greens and blue.
And there they were, the humans, in reds and yellows.
Tobias threw his head back and howled.
(255 words)
And lost.
Tobias dove behind a tree, winced at the scrape of rough bark against his skull, and waited. They’d come by, any moment, charge past like a herd of elephants, and then he could double back, climb a tree and search the surface of the forest, orient himself.
It almost worked. One by one they streamed past him, hell-bent on capturing him. And then one of them glanced sideways, and his green eyes gleamed with predatory triumph. He lunged. Tobias cried out, fell backward, went head-over-heels and face-first into a bed of ferns.
A boot connected with his ribs.
He couldn’t even cry out.
And then the green began to change, shift so it was almost neon, infrared, as if he were looking at light in the middle of the night through night-vision goggles, and then he realized he was seeing plants.
Outlined in heat.
He was seeing heat, the plants in shades of greens and blue.
And there they were, the humans, in reds and yellows.
Tobias threw his head back and howled.
(255 words)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Gray and Guinness
The world was a distressing grayscale, from the walls to the floors to the skies out the windows. Even the stones on the mountain and the very dirt were gray, gray, gray. When Angel had first told Keith he’d be training up in the mountains of China, he’d envisioned shaving his head and living with a load of blokes in saffron robes, but no, even his tunic and trousers were stone-boring gray.
One of the other lads had shaved his head, and the place had no mirrors, so there wasn’t even a splash of blue or red to liven his day.
Keith had been more than glad to get out of Ireland, away from the ashes (gray) of his past and the prospect of criminal charges and life in an English prison. He just hadn’t thought he’d miss the magic that was green.
Green hills and sky, green laughter and green smoke...he missed it all.
At night, when he lay in bed and stared up at the black sky with its gray moon, he realized that what he really missed was Holly.
And Guinness.
One of the other lads had shaved his head, and the place had no mirrors, so there wasn’t even a splash of blue or red to liven his day.
Keith had been more than glad to get out of Ireland, away from the ashes (gray) of his past and the prospect of criminal charges and life in an English prison. He just hadn’t thought he’d miss the magic that was green.
Green hills and sky, green laughter and green smoke...he missed it all.
At night, when he lay in bed and stared up at the black sky with its gray moon, he realized that what he really missed was Holly.
And Guinness.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Seeing Red
Red. He’d seen true red in his lifetime, had gone without drinking or vice for a week to save up enough to buy a tube of red pigment, and when he’d first dared to squeeze a dollop onto his palette, his world had turned upside down.
No one had ever told him red could be alive -- or dead.
“What have you done?” He looked up at Søren, blue eyes solemn. Then he looked back down at the blood on his hands from where he’d pressed them against the wounds in Nick’s lifeless body.
Søren lowered the gun with shaking hands. His eyes were still wild with the chemicals. “He owed me money, man. You get that, don’t you? I know you were a good kid, Nicky, but --”
“I’m not Nick,” Dylan said. “He is.”
The red kept drip, drip dripping from Nick’s body. In the first few moments, when Nick had been gasping for breath, trying to say his brother’s name, the red had been alive, but now...now it was dead, and sticky, and getting cold.
Someone else - Torin? Brain? - said, “The cops are coming.”
Dylan said, “I’m not leaving him.”
“I gotta get the hell outta here --”
Dylan lifted his head, pinned Søren with a glare. “No! You - you’re staying right here, understand?”
Søren started to back up, and for the first time, Dylan understood what it meant to see red.
He was still seeing red when the police pulled him off his cousin thirty seconds later. He still had red on his hands when they took him down to the station, and he didn’t know why the red was blurring and browning and drying, and he didn’t know why he was crying.
(284 words)
No one had ever told him red could be alive -- or dead.
“What have you done?” He looked up at Søren, blue eyes solemn. Then he looked back down at the blood on his hands from where he’d pressed them against the wounds in Nick’s lifeless body.
Søren lowered the gun with shaking hands. His eyes were still wild with the chemicals. “He owed me money, man. You get that, don’t you? I know you were a good kid, Nicky, but --”
“I’m not Nick,” Dylan said. “He is.”
The red kept drip, drip dripping from Nick’s body. In the first few moments, when Nick had been gasping for breath, trying to say his brother’s name, the red had been alive, but now...now it was dead, and sticky, and getting cold.
Someone else - Torin? Brain? - said, “The cops are coming.”
Dylan said, “I’m not leaving him.”
“I gotta get the hell outta here --”
Dylan lifted his head, pinned Søren with a glare. “No! You - you’re staying right here, understand?”
Søren started to back up, and for the first time, Dylan understood what it meant to see red.
He was still seeing red when the police pulled him off his cousin thirty seconds later. He still had red on his hands when they took him down to the station, and he didn’t know why the red was blurring and browning and drying, and he didn’t know why he was crying.
(284 words)
Monday, June 14, 2010
Summer Rounds
Like burning shades of golden twine;
We dance in summer rounds.
An emerald sea beneath our feet
Whispers, as the sun goes down.
Azure mantle round our heads,
Pearl white clouds our crown.
Diamond stars to kiss our brows
As ebony night enshrouds the land.
We dance in summer rounds.
An emerald sea beneath our feet
Whispers, as the sun goes down.
Azure mantle round our heads,
Pearl white clouds our crown.
Diamond stars to kiss our brows
As ebony night enshrouds the land.
Everything Blue
“I don’t like this one bit.” Christian swiped a hand over his forehead, and the blue mark glimmered; his eyes glowed just a bit, too. How had anyone ever believed he was fully human? Perhaps that was evidence of his father’s power, that people had just accepted that he was Ranolfe’s baby brother and not his son of an illicit affair with the Queen of the Wild Hunt.
Anna slapped his wrist lightly. “If you stop touching it, no one will see, will they?”
Christian hefted his new sword, looked down at his new armor. It looked just like his old armor, if a touch shinier and perhaps glowing again with that faint, surreal blue that was the mark of Quislai magic.
“They’ll see the color, though, won’t they?” He turned away from the mirror pool and sighed.
Anna was dressed as a servant again, clutching her harp. “What color?”
“The blue.”
“What blue?”
Christian gaped at her. “The everything blue,” he said, making a sweeping gesture to indicate his armor and weapon and even the blue mark on his skin. Then he saw that Anna was trying not to laugh.
She reached out, brushed her fingertip over the mark, and he felt it hum before it vanished from view.
“No one will notice,” she said. “After all, the sky is blue, as is the sea, and people rarely take the time to notice them.” She started back toward the manor house.
Christian trotted after her. “The sea is blue?”
Anna blinked at him. “Ah. Right. You’ve never seen it. Yes, the sea is blue, except for when it’s green.”
(270 words)
Anna slapped his wrist lightly. “If you stop touching it, no one will see, will they?”
Christian hefted his new sword, looked down at his new armor. It looked just like his old armor, if a touch shinier and perhaps glowing again with that faint, surreal blue that was the mark of Quislai magic.
“They’ll see the color, though, won’t they?” He turned away from the mirror pool and sighed.
Anna was dressed as a servant again, clutching her harp. “What color?”
“The blue.”
“What blue?”
Christian gaped at her. “The everything blue,” he said, making a sweeping gesture to indicate his armor and weapon and even the blue mark on his skin. Then he saw that Anna was trying not to laugh.
She reached out, brushed her fingertip over the mark, and he felt it hum before it vanished from view.
“No one will notice,” she said. “After all, the sky is blue, as is the sea, and people rarely take the time to notice them.” She started back toward the manor house.
Christian trotted after her. “The sea is blue?”
Anna blinked at him. “Ah. Right. You’ve never seen it. Yes, the sea is blue, except for when it’s green.”
(270 words)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Project Assignment # 70 - Color
Lets use color as the vehicle of our stories this week. A vibrant colorful scene, a world of color, or one purposely devoid of colors. It can be story, poetry, anything you want.
Let's keep it under 500
Let's keep it under 500
Overview #69: Plot Kink
At first I was stuck for a plot kink, then I realized that I had somewhat set one up already simply by the fact that I had identical twins in my story, and it was already established that they get confused fairly often. So it was easy enough to pick mistaken identity as my plot device. But coming up with a situation to fit it was harder. I chose to set the story in their high school years because there is so much possibility for angst and drama over a confusion. Now obviously it didn't end up angsty, but I think it did bring a little more light onto Bryan's personality. That while he can seem unconcerned and carefree, and often unthoughtful, he does care about the girl enough to worry that she might think he had been lying to her on purpose, and what she would think of him when he told her the truth, and even if he wanted to tell her the truth because of the fear of rejection. He really does like her and doesn't want to lie to her, and the endless 'What if she really prefers Mark and that is why she likes me' type of thing. It was fun to run with for a week.
Overview #69: Plot Kink
I have so many favorite plot kinks that it was hard to pick, but I'd been messing with this one for a while during the crazy finals/graduation hiatus, so I went with this one. It was honestly difficult to arc the subtleties, nuances, humor, and reality (as much reality as there is) for a body-swap in just six posts, so I hit the highlights, and I had fun with this. It didn't turn out quite how I'd like, but then that seems to be the nature of the beast when it comes to writing 400-word bursts over six days. Nevertheless, even though the fun of the plot kink didn't get fully explored, I developed a sense of the characters, and it was good times, and I think more good times would likely unfold if I ever tried to turn it into a proper story.
I learned something this week, even if it wasn't what I had set out wanting to learn. Next time, who knows which twist I'll pick?
Also...game on to Madness, who finally gets to pick a challenge after all my dreadful procrastination.
I learned something this week, even if it wasn't what I had set out wanting to learn. Next time, who knows which twist I'll pick?
Also...game on to Madness, who finally gets to pick a challenge after all my dreadful procrastination.
Denouement
“I see you kept your end,” Niamh said quietly, looking her own body over. As promised, Niall had trained to keep Niamh’s body strong all year.
Niall nodded. “And you.” He accepted the spellbook.
“What did Declan say?” Niamh asked.
“We must return immediately.” Niall frowned; for one moment, Niamh thought she was looking in a mirror.
“You’d better say my goodbyes,” Niamh said.
“I’m sorry.” Niall squeezed her hand.
“Me too.” Niamh nudged him in the direction of the knights’ hall. “Your princes await.”
“I’ll make it brief so no one notices.” Niall returned the spellbook and ducked out of the alcove, drew the curtains closed behind him so Niamh could hide.
Only before the heavy velvet fell shut, a hand thrust into the gap and pulled the curtains wide.
“Hello there.” Aurelius, grinning, stepped into the alcove. Ambrosius came up behind him; his expression was grim.
“Your Highness.” Niamh started to bow, then fumbled into a curtsey.
“Did you really think,” Aurelius said, “that Ambrosius wouldn’t notice such powerful magic going on right under his nose?”
Niamh’s eyes went wide; she clutched the spellbook close. “I’ve done no magic, My Lord --”
“I daresay you have,” Ambrosius said. “This entire time, you were a girl?”
Niamh cursteyed again. “My Lord, I am Niamh, sister to Niall, your page --”
“The boy who just left is no page of ours,” Ambrosius said. “The entire time you served us, I could sense something was off, that your magic was disjointed, but now it’s back in place, and I see why.”
He knew? Niamh lifted her head. “There’s a good explanation for this, My Lord.”
Aurelius arched an eyebrow.
“All right, not a good one as much as one day I woke up and Niall had switched us and I wanted to be a knight anyway, and no one would have known, only now father is dying and Niall is to inherit, and I --”
“And you’re going to deprive us of the best page we’ve ever had?” Aurelius said. “Come along - we’ve bribed one of the barbers to cut your hair and a scullery maid to help disguise you. Quick - before Father notices.”
Niamh blinked. “My Lord --”
“When this is all over, maybe one of us will marry you,” Ambrosius said, and he grinned. “I’ll give that book to Niall. He’ll be interested to know that Father’s accepted my proposal for battle mages.”
Niall nodded. “And you.” He accepted the spellbook.
“What did Declan say?” Niamh asked.
“We must return immediately.” Niall frowned; for one moment, Niamh thought she was looking in a mirror.
“You’d better say my goodbyes,” Niamh said.
“I’m sorry.” Niall squeezed her hand.
“Me too.” Niamh nudged him in the direction of the knights’ hall. “Your princes await.”
“I’ll make it brief so no one notices.” Niall returned the spellbook and ducked out of the alcove, drew the curtains closed behind him so Niamh could hide.
Only before the heavy velvet fell shut, a hand thrust into the gap and pulled the curtains wide.
“Hello there.” Aurelius, grinning, stepped into the alcove. Ambrosius came up behind him; his expression was grim.
“Your Highness.” Niamh started to bow, then fumbled into a curtsey.
“Did you really think,” Aurelius said, “that Ambrosius wouldn’t notice such powerful magic going on right under his nose?”
Niamh’s eyes went wide; she clutched the spellbook close. “I’ve done no magic, My Lord --”
“I daresay you have,” Ambrosius said. “This entire time, you were a girl?”
Niamh cursteyed again. “My Lord, I am Niamh, sister to Niall, your page --”
“The boy who just left is no page of ours,” Ambrosius said. “The entire time you served us, I could sense something was off, that your magic was disjointed, but now it’s back in place, and I see why.”
He knew? Niamh lifted her head. “There’s a good explanation for this, My Lord.”
Aurelius arched an eyebrow.
“All right, not a good one as much as one day I woke up and Niall had switched us and I wanted to be a knight anyway, and no one would have known, only now father is dying and Niall is to inherit, and I --”
“And you’re going to deprive us of the best page we’ve ever had?” Aurelius said. “Come along - we’ve bribed one of the barbers to cut your hair and a scullery maid to help disguise you. Quick - before Father notices.”
Niamh blinked. “My Lord --”
“When this is all over, maybe one of us will marry you,” Ambrosius said, and he grinned. “I’ll give that book to Niall. He’ll be interested to know that Father’s accepted my proposal for battle mages.”
Saturday, June 12, 2010
I'm Bryan
Bryan straitened his tie nervously as he tapped Amanda on the shoulder. The dance was in full swing and he had been watching her for a few minutes from across the room. He swallowed in awe as Amanda turned to face him. She was in a floor length burgundy gown, a simple flowing design that accented her figure perfectly; her hair was curled and twisted into a simple up-do that left a few tendrils framing her face.
Amanda smiled brightly as she turned and saw Mark standing behind her. "Mark!" she said with surprise, "you came."
Bryan nodded mutely, looking for all the world as if he wanted to run.
"I'm glad you came," Amanda said as she looked him up and down with appreciation. He was in a black suit with a emerald green tie. She thought it was cute how he looked nervous.
"Would," Bryan had to clear his throat, "would you care to dance?"
Amanda smiled up at him, "I would love to," she said as she took his hand.
Bryan pulled her close and fell into an easy circling pattern as a slow song came over the speakers. He noted that she smelled of lilacs.
They danced in silence, but Amanda didn't mind the silence. It was nice not to have the pressure of finding a topic of conversation, to just enjoy dancing and being close to someone.
The song was over before Bryan worked up the nerve to say what he had to tell her.
"Thank you for the dance," Amanda said as she smiled at him. AS she turned to walk back towards the music Bryan reached out and took her hand.
Amanda looked down at his hand wrapped around hers and back up at him, a question clearly expressed in her eyes.
"Can I talk to you?" Bryan asked quietly.
"Okay." Amanda said.
Bryan guided her through the crowds of people to the edge of the room where it was quieter. "Now that you can hear me," Bryan said with a half smile, "I have something I need to tell you."
"What is it?" Amanda asked, her brow furrowing prettily in confusion.
Bryan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not Mark," he said quietly, "I'm Bryan."
Amanda frowned a little, "I thought you were Mark. Then Mark didn't come?" she asked, "He said he wasn't planning on it, but I thought when I saw you that he had decided to come after all," she finished.
Bryan blinked slowly, "No, Amanda. Mark is at home. I'm Bryan."
"Yes, you said that. Is Mark not feeling well? Did he send you to keep me company?" Amanda asked.
Bryan reached out and touched a tendril of hair, "Amanda, you never knew Mark," Bryan said. He watched as the information sunk in.
"You're not Mark," she said as she took a step back.
"Look, I can explain," Bryan pleaded.
"Then please do so," Amanda said as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Bryan took a breath and related the whole story. All the times that he and his twin had switched places. The mix up with Jason, and how as time went on he felt more and more like he couldn't tell her, that she would think that he had been purposely lying to her.
Amanda took in the whole story, listened intently to all he had to say. "So you are Bryan," she said at last.
Bryan nodded, "yes. I'm Bryan." He waited anxiously for her next words, watched as she thought through everything, saw in her eyes as she reached the end of her musings.
"So you can do more than 'dance a little.'" she said as her mouth twitched up into a grin.
Bryan let out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding and smiled widely, "Yeah. I can do more than 'dance a little'," he echoed as he pulled her onto the dance floor.
Amanda smiled brightly as she turned and saw Mark standing behind her. "Mark!" she said with surprise, "you came."
Bryan nodded mutely, looking for all the world as if he wanted to run.
"I'm glad you came," Amanda said as she looked him up and down with appreciation. He was in a black suit with a emerald green tie. She thought it was cute how he looked nervous.
"Would," Bryan had to clear his throat, "would you care to dance?"
Amanda smiled up at him, "I would love to," she said as she took his hand.
Bryan pulled her close and fell into an easy circling pattern as a slow song came over the speakers. He noted that she smelled of lilacs.
They danced in silence, but Amanda didn't mind the silence. It was nice not to have the pressure of finding a topic of conversation, to just enjoy dancing and being close to someone.
The song was over before Bryan worked up the nerve to say what he had to tell her.
"Thank you for the dance," Amanda said as she smiled at him. AS she turned to walk back towards the music Bryan reached out and took her hand.
Amanda looked down at his hand wrapped around hers and back up at him, a question clearly expressed in her eyes.
"Can I talk to you?" Bryan asked quietly.
"Okay." Amanda said.
Bryan guided her through the crowds of people to the edge of the room where it was quieter. "Now that you can hear me," Bryan said with a half smile, "I have something I need to tell you."
"What is it?" Amanda asked, her brow furrowing prettily in confusion.
Bryan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not Mark," he said quietly, "I'm Bryan."
Amanda frowned a little, "I thought you were Mark. Then Mark didn't come?" she asked, "He said he wasn't planning on it, but I thought when I saw you that he had decided to come after all," she finished.
Bryan blinked slowly, "No, Amanda. Mark is at home. I'm Bryan."
"Yes, you said that. Is Mark not feeling well? Did he send you to keep me company?" Amanda asked.
Bryan reached out and touched a tendril of hair, "Amanda, you never knew Mark," Bryan said. He watched as the information sunk in.
"You're not Mark," she said as she took a step back.
"Look, I can explain," Bryan pleaded.
"Then please do so," Amanda said as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Bryan took a breath and related the whole story. All the times that he and his twin had switched places. The mix up with Jason, and how as time went on he felt more and more like he couldn't tell her, that she would think that he had been purposely lying to her.
Amanda took in the whole story, listened intently to all he had to say. "So you are Bryan," she said at last.
Bryan nodded, "yes. I'm Bryan." He waited anxiously for her next words, watched as she thought through everything, saw in her eyes as she reached the end of her musings.
"So you can do more than 'dance a little.'" she said as her mouth twitched up into a grin.
Bryan let out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding and smiled widely, "Yeah. I can do more than 'dance a little'," he echoed as he pulled her onto the dance floor.
Tell Her The Truth
"What's been eating you lately?" Mark asked as he flopped down next to his brother on the bed.
"Do you know Amanda?" Bryan asked.
"Which one? There are quite a few Amandas at school," Mark said rolling his eyes. He was sure it was just another of his brothers crushes. It would go away in about two weeks.
"Amanda Hollingworth."
"Oh." Mark was taken aback a little. Amanda Hollingworth was not Bryan's typical girl. Mark reviewed in his mind what he knew of her. Pretty, studious, a little on the quiet side but very nice.
"I don't know her well," Mark said at last, "mostly in passing. What makes you mention her?"
"Because she thinks I'm you," Bryan said as he sat up.
Mark puzzled over this for a moment, "why would she think that you are me? Not that people don't get us confused all the time, but how did you two meet and why would she think you're me?"
"Remember that Dance Committee that you were supposed to be on?"
"Yeah. I vaguely remember that. What has that got to do with it?"
"Well Jason grabbed me one day after school thinking I was you and dragged me off to the meeting. I wasn't really paying attention and I ended up on the music committee with Amanda. She thinks I'm you."
"I don't see how this is a problem. Just tell her that you're Bryan. I don't know her all that well anyway."
"What if she thinks I've been lying to her on purpose, having a laugh at her expense."
"And what if she doesn't?" Mark asked, "what if she realizes that it was a mistake and let's it go."
"Then how would you account for me not telling her before that I was really Bryan?"
Mark was silent for a moment. After a few seconds of thought he said, "look, do you like her?"
Bryan gave him his 'are you that dim' look.
"Then tell her the truth," Mark said. "You can't build any sort of relationship without trust. You have to trust that she will see the situation for what it is, and she will have to trust that you had no intention of deceiving her."
"You're right," Bryan said as he jumped off the bed and walked out of the room.
"Of course I'm right," Mark said to the empty room.
"Do you know Amanda?" Bryan asked.
"Which one? There are quite a few Amandas at school," Mark said rolling his eyes. He was sure it was just another of his brothers crushes. It would go away in about two weeks.
"Amanda Hollingworth."
"Oh." Mark was taken aback a little. Amanda Hollingworth was not Bryan's typical girl. Mark reviewed in his mind what he knew of her. Pretty, studious, a little on the quiet side but very nice.
"I don't know her well," Mark said at last, "mostly in passing. What makes you mention her?"
"Because she thinks I'm you," Bryan said as he sat up.
Mark puzzled over this for a moment, "why would she think that you are me? Not that people don't get us confused all the time, but how did you two meet and why would she think you're me?"
"Remember that Dance Committee that you were supposed to be on?"
"Yeah. I vaguely remember that. What has that got to do with it?"
"Well Jason grabbed me one day after school thinking I was you and dragged me off to the meeting. I wasn't really paying attention and I ended up on the music committee with Amanda. She thinks I'm you."
"I don't see how this is a problem. Just tell her that you're Bryan. I don't know her all that well anyway."
"What if she thinks I've been lying to her on purpose, having a laugh at her expense."
"And what if she doesn't?" Mark asked, "what if she realizes that it was a mistake and let's it go."
"Then how would you account for me not telling her before that I was really Bryan?"
Mark was silent for a moment. After a few seconds of thought he said, "look, do you like her?"
Bryan gave him his 'are you that dim' look.
"Then tell her the truth," Mark said. "You can't build any sort of relationship without trust. You have to trust that she will see the situation for what it is, and she will have to trust that you had no intention of deceiving her."
"You're right," Bryan said as he jumped off the bed and walked out of the room.
"Of course I'm right," Mark said to the empty room.
Not When it Matters
"So are you going to the dance with anyone?" Amanda asked as Bryan stood to go an hour later. She bit her lip a little nervously as she walked with him down the hall towards the front door.
"Bryan glanced at her quickly, trying to gauge how he should answer. "I hadn't really planned on it," he said. This much was true. He hadn't really planned on going with anyone.
"I'm sorry you won't be there," she said as she opened the door.
"Look Amanda..." Bryan said as he turned to look at her as he stepped out the front door.
"Hm?"
Bryan sighed, "Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow at school."
"Good night Mark," Amanda said to his retreating figure.
************************
Bryan sighed as he closed the front door of his own home and leaned against it.
"What's with you?" Mark asked as he paused in the entry, a sandwich in one hand.
"Sometimes I wish I was you," Bryan said quietly as he bumped his head against the door in frustration.
Mark looked at his brother funny, "You practically are me sometimes," he said.
"Not when it matters," Bryan said as he stepped away from the door.
"Bryan glanced at her quickly, trying to gauge how he should answer. "I hadn't really planned on it," he said. This much was true. He hadn't really planned on going with anyone.
"I'm sorry you won't be there," she said as she opened the door.
"Look Amanda..." Bryan said as he turned to look at her as he stepped out the front door.
"Hm?"
Bryan sighed, "Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow at school."
"Good night Mark," Amanda said to his retreating figure.
************************
Bryan sighed as he closed the front door of his own home and leaned against it.
"What's with you?" Mark asked as he paused in the entry, a sandwich in one hand.
"Sometimes I wish I was you," Bryan said quietly as he bumped his head against the door in frustration.
Mark looked at his brother funny, "You practically are me sometimes," he said.
"Not when it matters," Bryan said as he stepped away from the door.
A Little
Bryan paused before answering her question. She thought he was Mark, and Mark was known for one personality, while he himself was known for having one completely different. Did she know Mark? Know how Mark would respond? Did she prefer his quiet spoken brother or would she like his own more open demeanor? Would she even know the difference? He wanted to tell her that he was actually Bryan, but didn't know if she would think that he had been deceiving her on purpose instead of it just being a mistake.
Bryan bit his lip as he continued to hesitate, trying to gauge how he should reply.
Amanda cocked her head to one side as she waited for Mark's answer. He seemed a little lost in thought, so she let him think.
She had heard that his brother danced, and was very good, but she didn't know if Mark also danced. She didn't know what to think of the twins as a unit. Not much was generally known about them.
"Mark?" she said as she touched him gently on the shoulder.
Bryan blinked and focused on Amanda's face, "I dance a little," he said at last.
Bryan bit his lip as he continued to hesitate, trying to gauge how he should reply.
Amanda cocked her head to one side as she waited for Mark's answer. He seemed a little lost in thought, so she let him think.
She had heard that his brother danced, and was very good, but she didn't know if Mark also danced. She didn't know what to think of the twins as a unit. Not much was generally known about them.
"Mark?" she said as she touched him gently on the shoulder.
Bryan blinked and focused on Amanda's face, "I dance a little," he said at last.
Do you Dance
Bryan sat on the floor; his knees pulled up to his chest, and his back pressed into a comfortable looking bed, eyes closed as he let the music swirl around him. It had a good driving beat, something that you could dance to.
"Are we just going to make CD mixes and switch out CDs or are we going to take requests?" a soft voice said from above him.
"I think it would be fun to take requests," Bryan said as he opened his eyes and craned his head around to see the girl that was lying on the bed above him. They had met at Amanda's house a few times since the committee meeting to listen to music and try to settle on what should be played at the dance.
"Well at any rate, we should have slow songs that everyone can dance to, but also songs that encourage people to have a little fun," Amanda said as she sat up. She looked over at Bryan, "Do you dance Mark?"
"Are we just going to make CD mixes and switch out CDs or are we going to take requests?" a soft voice said from above him.
"I think it would be fun to take requests," Bryan said as he opened his eyes and craned his head around to see the girl that was lying on the bed above him. They had met at Amanda's house a few times since the committee meeting to listen to music and try to settle on what should be played at the dance.
"Well at any rate, we should have slow songs that everyone can dance to, but also songs that encourage people to have a little fun," Amanda said as she sat up. She looked over at Bryan, "Do you dance Mark?"
Friday, June 11, 2010
Ideas and Plans
This is all your fault," Aurelius said cheerfully. He, Ambrosius, and Niamh - who, by this stage of her page training, served both of them - were huddled beneath a dense cluster of shrubs watching King Lars' men march past.
"I distinctly remember that this was your idea," Ambrosius said. "I was content studying barrier spells in the library."
"I meant Niall," Aurelius said. He ruffled Niamh's hair. "It's always the subordinate's fault."
"Yes, My Lord," Niamh said patiently. Ambrosius met her gaze, and they both rolled their eyes.
"What's the plan, O Genius Warrior?" Ambrosius asked.
"Why would I have the plan?" Aurelius asked innocently. "I'm just the muscle, O Future King. Shouldn't His Highness have a plan?"
Niamh said, "Ambrosius, you should start a fire on the far side to distract them. Aurelius can sneak around and cut off their rear and I...will shoot them. With arrows."
"Why does the page have a plan?" Aurelius asked.
"Because he's looking to make squire." Ambrosius handed Niamh his quiver. "Take my arrows."
"We need a back-up plan, of course," Niamh said reasonably. "In case one or both of you are captured and held for ransom."
Aurelius had gone to draw his sword; he paused. "Do you have to think of everything?"
"You're the king's sons. I must be prepared." Niamh shoved Ambrosius's arrows into her quiver.
"He's right," Ambrosius said. "If we get taken by King Lars, Father will -"
"Start a war," Aurelius said brightly.
"If I get taken, on the other hand," Niamh said, "you two can get home free." She started to slither forward on her stomach, ready to make a one-man rally against King Lars's troops.
Ambrosius caught her arm. "Are you mad?"
"It's the best plan we've got." Niamh looked up at him. "Have you seen how many men there are?"
"That doesn't matter," Ambrosius said.
Aurelius shook his head. "Niall's right. You're heir to the throne. You have to get home."
"Just me?" Ambrosius asked. "But we're both princes --"
"I'm the second son," Aurelius said. "I'll protect Niall. You go."
"But the plan --"
"Set the fire and go."
Ambrosius pressed his lips into a thin line. "No, Aurelius, I'm not leaving you -"
"Go," Aurelius said. He tugged on Niall's elbow. "Come on. We have to protect the prince."
Niall looked at Ambrosius. "Good luck, My Lord."
"Niall --" Ambrosius began.
She fired an arrow.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
For The Day
Niamh came awake sharply, hand going for Niall's sword. She rolled to
her feet and swung the sword up, ready to guard.
her feet and swung the sword up, ready to guard.
Aurelius leaned in the doorway, smirking. "You're jumpy, aren't
you?"
"My Lord," Niamh stammered.
"I heard you had an interesting night at the pages' feast," Aurelius
said.
Interesting was one word for it. Niamh thought a better choice was
'embarrassing', given that she'd almost given herself away as a girl
and been mocked as a coward by the rest of the pages.
"Don't worry - I'm not one of the pages here to play a hideous prank on you," Aurelius said. "I've just come to inform you that, as Ambrosius is busy doing heir-to-the-throne things and I've scared away my own page, you shall be my page for the day. Get dressed and come help me with my armor. I'm training with the master-at-arms."
Niamh bowed. "Yes, My Lord."
Aurelius crossed the room and caught her by the chin, tilted her head up, and she felt her pulse jump. He was ridiculously handsome.
"You've an uncommonly pretty face, for a lad. Be careful - it might get you into more trouble than you're already in."
Niamh swallowed hard.
Aurelius stepped back. "The knights' courtyard. Fifteen minutes."
Fifteen minutes later, Niamh skittered into the courtyard dressed in leggings and a tabard marking her as Ambrosius's page. Aurelius stood on the sidelines next to a rack of weapons, fiddling with the buckles
of his gauntlet.
"Allow me, My Lord," Niamh said, hurrying to his side.
He looked up and smirked. "A page who's prompt. Giving your superiors high expectations already, are you?"
Niamh blinked. "Are you suggesting I should be slovenly in my duties?"
"Not at all." Aurelius let his hand fall to his side and watched her work.
Niamh had always been quick with armor, because Niall fussed if it took too long to prepare for the mock-bouts he had with Declan.
The master-at-arms, a grizzled veteran of a knight who was missing an eye, stepped into the courtyard fully armed.
"Good luck, My Lord," Niamh said, and handed Aurelius a sword.
"I don't need luck," he said, "but thanks anyway."
Niamh arched an eyebrow. "Shall I tear a strip off my tabard so you can wear a favor?"
Aurelius threw his head back and laughed. Then he leapt into the fight.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
To You
“Aurelius,” Ambrosius said mildly, though he blushed, “no need to be so fierce with the pages. It wasn’t so long ago we were pages ourselves, aye?”
The blond boy was Prince Aurelius. Of course. Prince Ambrosius’ younger twin brother, the legendarily brilliant warrior despite being only a squire; Prince Ambrosius was known more for his skills in diplomacy and magic. As if sensing Niamh’s thoughts, Ambrosius tugged on the collar of his squire tabard, obviously uncomfortable.
But he smiled at Niamh, and she felt something in her chest lurch. “Don’t mind him - his bark is worse than his bite. It’s true, though, the master-at-arms forgot to assign me a page. If you’ll follow me, you’ll be staying adjacent to my chambers during your training.”
Niamh swallowed hard and almost tripped over Niall’s big feet as she followed Ambrosius away from the pages’ hall.
“So, Niall, do you come from a large family?”
Ambrosius smiled over his shoulder at her, and she was struck by how lovely his blue eyes were. Her voice lodged in her throat.
“No need to be afraid - I am the prince, but I’m also just a boy. Speak up.”
“My mother died when I was a child,” Niamh said, “and I have one sibling. A twin br- sister. She is training in the magical arts.”
Ambrosius’ smile brightened, and Niamh felt her palms begin to sweat.
“Then you understand some of what I put up with when it comes to Aurelius. Are you elder or younger?”
“Younger,” Niamh said, which was true - she was younger, but Niall was older. It wasn’t as if Ambrosius would ever find out.
“When we’re twins, it doesn’t make much of a difference, I suppose,” Ambrosius said. “Besides, you and I are more similar than you and Aurelius - after all, we’re both the ones who will inherit.” He pushed open a door down a side hallway to reveal a small stone chamber with a more comfortable-looking bed than Niamh had ever known. A wooden chest for belongings and a wash basin stood off to the side.
“Is this...my room?”
“Yes.” Ambrosius pointed to a door in the far wall. “My chamber is through there, should I need you in the night. Honestly, I can dress myself, but sometimes I’ll need help with my armour.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Niamh stammered.
“None of that - to you, I’m Ambrosius.”
The blond boy was Prince Aurelius. Of course. Prince Ambrosius’ younger twin brother, the legendarily brilliant warrior despite being only a squire; Prince Ambrosius was known more for his skills in diplomacy and magic. As if sensing Niamh’s thoughts, Ambrosius tugged on the collar of his squire tabard, obviously uncomfortable.
But he smiled at Niamh, and she felt something in her chest lurch. “Don’t mind him - his bark is worse than his bite. It’s true, though, the master-at-arms forgot to assign me a page. If you’ll follow me, you’ll be staying adjacent to my chambers during your training.”
Niamh swallowed hard and almost tripped over Niall’s big feet as she followed Ambrosius away from the pages’ hall.
“So, Niall, do you come from a large family?”
Ambrosius smiled over his shoulder at her, and she was struck by how lovely his blue eyes were. Her voice lodged in her throat.
“No need to be afraid - I am the prince, but I’m also just a boy. Speak up.”
“My mother died when I was a child,” Niamh said, “and I have one sibling. A twin br- sister. She is training in the magical arts.”
Ambrosius’ smile brightened, and Niamh felt her palms begin to sweat.
“Then you understand some of what I put up with when it comes to Aurelius. Are you elder or younger?”
“Younger,” Niamh said, which was true - she was younger, but Niall was older. It wasn’t as if Ambrosius would ever find out.
“When we’re twins, it doesn’t make much of a difference, I suppose,” Ambrosius said. “Besides, you and I are more similar than you and Aurelius - after all, we’re both the ones who will inherit.” He pushed open a door down a side hallway to reveal a small stone chamber with a more comfortable-looking bed than Niamh had ever known. A wooden chest for belongings and a wash basin stood off to the side.
“Is this...my room?”
“Yes.” Ambrosius pointed to a door in the far wall. “My chamber is through there, should I need you in the night. Honestly, I can dress myself, but sometimes I’ll need help with my armour.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Niamh stammered.
“None of that - to you, I’m Ambrosius.”
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sub-Committee
Bryan sat in the uncomfortable desk in the spare room that the committee had appropriated for the afternoon. The room was dim and Bryan rubbed his nose to keep from sneezing on the chalk dust.
Gathered in the room was an assortment of students; some clearly not sure why they were there, but merely accompanying friends, others with pads of paper for taking notes and others that seemed to just be staring off into space.
Bryan shifted to a slightly more comfortable position as one of the girls cleared her throat for attention; Amanda, Bryan thought her name was. He looked up at her as she began to detail various sub-committees; those in charge of music, decorating, and advertising. Bryan let his mind wander as she spoke on and on.
"Mark, what would you like to help with?"
Bryan was pulled out of his wool gathering abruptly at the sound of his brothers name.
"What was that?" Bryan asked as he raised his head from where it was resting on his fist.
"I said, what you you like to help with?"
"Uhh..." Bryan stalled, "I don't know, anything I guess."
"Okay, then you'll help me with the music," Amanda smiled brightly at him.
Bryan noticed for the first time that she had pretty green eyes. "Okay," he said and smiled at her.
Gathered in the room was an assortment of students; some clearly not sure why they were there, but merely accompanying friends, others with pads of paper for taking notes and others that seemed to just be staring off into space.
Bryan shifted to a slightly more comfortable position as one of the girls cleared her throat for attention; Amanda, Bryan thought her name was. He looked up at her as she began to detail various sub-committees; those in charge of music, decorating, and advertising. Bryan let his mind wander as she spoke on and on.
"Mark, what would you like to help with?"
Bryan was pulled out of his wool gathering abruptly at the sound of his brothers name.
"What was that?" Bryan asked as he raised his head from where it was resting on his fist.
"I said, what you you like to help with?"
"Uhh..." Bryan stalled, "I don't know, anything I guess."
"Okay, then you'll help me with the music," Amanda smiled brightly at him.
Bryan noticed for the first time that she had pretty green eyes. "Okay," he said and smiled at her.
Exactly What We Did
Niamh was still mightily disturbed at having woken up in her brother’s body, and she was a touch miffed at losing all the conditioning she’d done in her own body, but once they reached the palace courtyard where the knights trained and she saw a handful of them gathered in a circle and sparring, swords flashing, she was excited.
She suspected she’d put a lot more thought into being a boy than Niall had into being a girl.
”Fare thee well, brother,” Niall said from atop the mare, voice airy and faint. He even fluttered the handkerchief Niamh had been forced to embroider. “Bring our family honor.”
Niamh could only stare; she never spoke like that. “You too. If the other girls give you trouble, don’t be afraid to give them trouble right back,” she managed finally.
Declan stared at the two of them, puzzled. Drat. Had they given the game away already? “Did you two switch personalities in the night or something?”
“That’s exactly what we did,” Niamh said, deadpan. “Anyway, I’d best be off to my fate. Keep her safe, Declan.” And Niamh, with the best boyish swagger she could muster, headed toward the hall of pages.
She found the way easily enough - other boys her age were heading toward a pair of double wooden doors that led to a long, low stone building that ran perpendicular to the knights’ hall.
Several older lads, likely squires as they were wearing tabards in their masters’ colors, directed the other boys in the right place. Niamh came up short when a tall, broad-shouldered, and frighteningly handsome blond boy stepped into her path.
“What house are you from, mite?” he asked.
Of course he was a prat. The handsome ones always were. Niamh decided that she disliked him. “The House of O’Scannlain,” she said.
The blond boy called over his shoulder, “You have an O’Scannlain on the list?”
Another squire - taller, dark-haired, thin - consulted a parchment scroll. “Yes - Niall.”
“Who’s he been assigned to?”
“No one.”
The blond boy grinned and clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Excellent. You can be Ambrosius’s page.”
Niall bobbed her head politely. “Yes, sir. And Ambrosius would be?”
The blond boy’s grin turned mean. “That would be Prince Ambrosius, and he would be standing over there.”
Niall felt her heart plummet into her shoes. Prince Ambrosius was...holding the scroll.
She suspected she’d put a lot more thought into being a boy than Niall had into being a girl.
”Fare thee well, brother,” Niall said from atop the mare, voice airy and faint. He even fluttered the handkerchief Niamh had been forced to embroider. “Bring our family honor.”
Niamh could only stare; she never spoke like that. “You too. If the other girls give you trouble, don’t be afraid to give them trouble right back,” she managed finally.
Declan stared at the two of them, puzzled. Drat. Had they given the game away already? “Did you two switch personalities in the night or something?”
“That’s exactly what we did,” Niamh said, deadpan. “Anyway, I’d best be off to my fate. Keep her safe, Declan.” And Niamh, with the best boyish swagger she could muster, headed toward the hall of pages.
She found the way easily enough - other boys her age were heading toward a pair of double wooden doors that led to a long, low stone building that ran perpendicular to the knights’ hall.
Several older lads, likely squires as they were wearing tabards in their masters’ colors, directed the other boys in the right place. Niamh came up short when a tall, broad-shouldered, and frighteningly handsome blond boy stepped into her path.
“What house are you from, mite?” he asked.
Of course he was a prat. The handsome ones always were. Niamh decided that she disliked him. “The House of O’Scannlain,” she said.
The blond boy called over his shoulder, “You have an O’Scannlain on the list?”
Another squire - taller, dark-haired, thin - consulted a parchment scroll. “Yes - Niall.”
“Who’s he been assigned to?”
“No one.”
The blond boy grinned and clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Excellent. You can be Ambrosius’s page.”
Niall bobbed her head politely. “Yes, sir. And Ambrosius would be?”
The blond boy’s grin turned mean. “That would be Prince Ambrosius, and he would be standing over there.”
Niall felt her heart plummet into her shoes. Prince Ambrosius was...holding the scroll.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Niamh and Niall
When Niamh had suggested switching places with Niall so he could go to mage school and she could go to knight training instead of finishing school, she’d thought there would be a haircut, some awkward and painful chest binding, and promises to keep each other’s secrets.
She hadn’t planned on waking up in Niall’s body to find Niall standing over her in her body, holding a grimoire and looking disturbingly self-satisfied.
“So...just answer my name and I’ll answer to yours,” he - she - said.
Niamh might have quibbled about that more if she hadn’t suddenly had to answer the call of nature and ducked out of the cave, into the bushes. Where she had a quiet panic attack, did her business, and then strode back into the cave in time to find Declan, the man-at-arms sent to escort them to the capital, packing up their gear.
“You took your royal time, Master Niall,” Declan said. “Come along, help your sister onto the horse. We’ve got to make the capital before sundown.”
Niall smirked when Niamh struggled to help him onto the horse, but she got the satisfaction of wearing the sword that Niall despised.
The Capital rose against the horizon in the distance, the palace towers gleaming in the early morning light. Somewhere, amidst those bright white towers, the King’s Knights trained. Niamh had seen the King’s Knights once before, when she was a child, and she’d been enchanted by their shining armor, their seeming endless strength as their sparred in a tourney held in the neighboring baronet, and she’d decided then and there that she wanted to be one of them.
If only she could get used to her brother’s gangly, clumsy body. She wasn’t sure that Niall even needed to go to mage school if he could do something like this just by reading out of a book, but...she had been afforded a unique chance. And she was going to take it. When they stopped for lunch, she practiced drills with the swords, ones she’d bribed Declan into teaching her while Niall helped Declan prepare the food.
She almost tripped and fell on her face, but once she became accustomed to Niall’s body’s balance, it’d be worth it.
“Master Niall, it’s so good to see you taking an interest in a man’s work,” Declan said.
Master Niall. Maybe Niamh could get used to that.
She hadn’t planned on waking up in Niall’s body to find Niall standing over her in her body, holding a grimoire and looking disturbingly self-satisfied.
“So...just answer my name and I’ll answer to yours,” he - she - said.
Niamh might have quibbled about that more if she hadn’t suddenly had to answer the call of nature and ducked out of the cave, into the bushes. Where she had a quiet panic attack, did her business, and then strode back into the cave in time to find Declan, the man-at-arms sent to escort them to the capital, packing up their gear.
“You took your royal time, Master Niall,” Declan said. “Come along, help your sister onto the horse. We’ve got to make the capital before sundown.”
Niall smirked when Niamh struggled to help him onto the horse, but she got the satisfaction of wearing the sword that Niall despised.
The Capital rose against the horizon in the distance, the palace towers gleaming in the early morning light. Somewhere, amidst those bright white towers, the King’s Knights trained. Niamh had seen the King’s Knights once before, when she was a child, and she’d been enchanted by their shining armor, their seeming endless strength as their sparred in a tourney held in the neighboring baronet, and she’d decided then and there that she wanted to be one of them.
If only she could get used to her brother’s gangly, clumsy body. She wasn’t sure that Niall even needed to go to mage school if he could do something like this just by reading out of a book, but...she had been afforded a unique chance. And she was going to take it. When they stopped for lunch, she practiced drills with the swords, ones she’d bribed Declan into teaching her while Niall helped Declan prepare the food.
She almost tripped and fell on her face, but once she became accustomed to Niall’s body’s balance, it’d be worth it.
“Master Niall, it’s so good to see you taking an interest in a man’s work,” Declan said.
Master Niall. Maybe Niamh could get used to that.
No Excuses
"Hey Mark!"
Bryan's head came up at the sound of his twins name. Nobody ever got them straight all the time, even their own family could get it wrong; and it probably didn't help that both of them would answer to the others name as readily as their own. It had been a game when they were younger; now it was habit.
Josh jogged up to Bryan a little out of breath, "Hey, we have a meeting. Did you forget?"
Bryan put on a vapid look, "I guess I did. What was the meeting about again?" he asked. He knew that he could imitate his brother almost perfectly, and did so now out of twisted curiosity to see how long it would take Josh to catch on that he wasn't Mark.
"Hello? How can you forget prom planning?" Josh asked as he pulled Bryan to his feet, "let's go, we'll be late as it is."
Bryan felt a rush of horror as he remembered that his brother had volunteered to help plan the prom.
"Uh..." Bryan stammered out, "I know you had your heart set on me coming, but I just remembered that I have some important homework that is due tomorrow that I had forgotten to do; so I should really go do that," Bryan said as he tried to sidle away from Josh.
"Oh no you don't," Josh said firmly as he latched onto Bryan's arm, "you talked me into this and now you are going to come with me. No excuses."
Bryan didn't have a chance top protest or explain before he was being dragged off to a planning committee.
Bryan's head came up at the sound of his twins name. Nobody ever got them straight all the time, even their own family could get it wrong; and it probably didn't help that both of them would answer to the others name as readily as their own. It had been a game when they were younger; now it was habit.
Josh jogged up to Bryan a little out of breath, "Hey, we have a meeting. Did you forget?"
Bryan put on a vapid look, "I guess I did. What was the meeting about again?" he asked. He knew that he could imitate his brother almost perfectly, and did so now out of twisted curiosity to see how long it would take Josh to catch on that he wasn't Mark.
"Hello? How can you forget prom planning?" Josh asked as he pulled Bryan to his feet, "let's go, we'll be late as it is."
Bryan felt a rush of horror as he remembered that his brother had volunteered to help plan the prom.
"Uh..." Bryan stammered out, "I know you had your heart set on me coming, but I just remembered that I have some important homework that is due tomorrow that I had forgotten to do; so I should really go do that," Bryan said as he tried to sidle away from Josh.
"Oh no you don't," Josh said firmly as he latched onto Bryan's arm, "you talked me into this and now you are going to come with me. No excuses."
Bryan didn't have a chance top protest or explain before he was being dragged off to a planning committee.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Project #69: Plot Kink
What's your favorite plot kink - cross-dressing Shakespeare style, time travel, mistaken identities, haters destined to love each other, body-switching? Make it happen this week, in 100-400 words. Does she have to cross-dress as a page to save her life and fall in love with the knight she serves? Does he have to save her life and then travel back through time to before he ever knew her and watch her love someone else? Was she set up on a blind date and talks to someone other than the man she was set up with, only to find out the man she picked is perfect for her anyway? Pick one and make it arc for six days, and see how well that goes for you. We all love our favorite plot kinks, and we might as well enjoy them for a week. Happy writing, and welcome back to our regularly scheduled show.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Variation on a Theme
Chantelle noticed something was wrong as soon as she came to full consciousness - her bokken wasn’t next to her bed where it usually was. Maybe it had rolled under her bed, but...she wasn’t in her bed, either. In fact, the fact that she was even in a bed was wrong, because she always slept atop the covers underneath a mountain of blankets.
Then she looked down at herself.
And shrieked.
She was shirtless.
And tall.
With hairy feet.
She was a man.
She staggered out of the strange bed and across what was obviously a hotel room and into the bathroom, ready to have a good, long scream at her reflection. But once she got the bathroom light on and saw just what she looked like, she paused.
She was kinda hot.
Or rather, he was.
Then she fainted.
(140 words)
Then she looked down at herself.
And shrieked.
She was shirtless.
And tall.
With hairy feet.
She was a man.
She staggered out of the strange bed and across what was obviously a hotel room and into the bathroom, ready to have a good, long scream at her reflection. But once she got the bathroom light on and saw just what she looked like, she paused.
She was kinda hot.
Or rather, he was.
Then she fainted.
(140 words)
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