Sunday, February 13, 2011
Overview #78: Songfics
So it's official, I kinda slacked off this week. In my defense, I was out of town and my access to internet was spotty at best, so I did what I could when I could. I love Songfics, and I guess I'm kind of a traditionalist when it comes to them - I like to weave the lyrics of a song into a piece. At least, that's what I like with The Script because I love the lyrics of their songs. If I'd chosen a band for the music instead of the lyrics, it would be a whole different story (which means I have to try some Eternal Melody stuff when this challenge comes around again), but this week I think I did all right, turning the lyrics into dialogue. I think my first entry was my favorite, because I love that song and I've been meaning to write that story (or one like it) to that song for a while. I think my last entry was the best as far as weaving in the lyrics more subtly. Still, I could have done better, and I felt like a cheat for defaulting to the boys of The Dagaz, but this was a pretty awesome exercise. Better luck next week.
Friday, February 11, 2011
The Best Part of Me
“He still alive?” Gabriel asked quietly.
Keith pressed two fingers to Chase’s throat. Chase didn’t even flinch, and Gabriel was worried he’d gone catatonic.
“He’s barely breathing,” Keith said.
“What happened?” Gabriel leaned down, tried to meet Chase’s gaze. It was impolite to go prowling into someone else’s mind uninvited, and besides, Chase was mundane.
“She’s gone,” Chase said faintly.
“She who?” Keith fished in his pocket, ostensibly for a penlight to shine in Chase’s eyes, but Gabriel batted his hand aside.
“Asia,” Chase said.
Gabriel blinked. “Where did she go?” He glanced at Keith, and he knew they were both thinking the impossible had somehow become possible. Hagalaz had them on the run, scrambling like rats for the nearest holes to the sewer. There’d been fire and crossfire and Asia had ordered it, every man for himself.
“I woke up and all of her things were gone,” Chase said. “Everything. Her keys, the receipts and change from when we ordered take-out last night. It’s all gone. It’s like she wasn’t even here.”
Gabriel felt something tighten in his chest. He hadn’t known about Asia and Chase. None of them had. That it still hurt, after all these years, to find out that she’d given her affection to someone else, was pretty pathetic, but it hurt all the same. Keith looked equally grim at the notion. That Asia had come to Chase in the aftermath of all that happened had to mean something. Didn’t it?
Gabriel shot straight across the Web to speak to Keith. I wonder which hurts more, thinking that she died or knowing that she walked away voluntarily.
In our case, we got hit with both – first one, then t’other, Keith said.
“Chase,” he said aloud, “pack up your essentials and run. We come bearing orders from Tops. Deep cover.”
“How long?”
“Till he says otherwise,” Gabriel said.
Chase blinked and shook his head, stood up, but he still looked dazed. “Fine. Where are you going?”
“Deep cover,” Keith said. “Unless we run into each other by accident, it’ll be as if you never knew us.”
“Fine. Just let me get my –”
A knock at the door startled them. Chase reached for his gun before he answered. His sharp intake of breath was all Gabriel needed to know about who was on the doorstep.
“You came back.” Chase’s voice choked on the last word.
“Not permanently.” Asia sounded perfectly calm. “I’m here for my team, actually.”
“But we’re splitting up,” Keith said, and he sounded angry.
“Not us. Just him,” Asia said, and Gabriel felt the viciousness of her smooth words like a punch to the gut.
“Me alone? Why? What am I supposed to do...?”
When the best part of me was always you, Gabriel thought, and Keith nodded his assent. Asia had a way of taking the best of a man turning into the worst – the best of the worst.
From each of them she had taken love and turned it into murder.
(499 words)
(Break Even by The Script)
Keith pressed two fingers to Chase’s throat. Chase didn’t even flinch, and Gabriel was worried he’d gone catatonic.
“He’s barely breathing,” Keith said.
“What happened?” Gabriel leaned down, tried to meet Chase’s gaze. It was impolite to go prowling into someone else’s mind uninvited, and besides, Chase was mundane.
“She’s gone,” Chase said faintly.
“She who?” Keith fished in his pocket, ostensibly for a penlight to shine in Chase’s eyes, but Gabriel batted his hand aside.
“Asia,” Chase said.
Gabriel blinked. “Where did she go?” He glanced at Keith, and he knew they were both thinking the impossible had somehow become possible. Hagalaz had them on the run, scrambling like rats for the nearest holes to the sewer. There’d been fire and crossfire and Asia had ordered it, every man for himself.
“I woke up and all of her things were gone,” Chase said. “Everything. Her keys, the receipts and change from when we ordered take-out last night. It’s all gone. It’s like she wasn’t even here.”
Gabriel felt something tighten in his chest. He hadn’t known about Asia and Chase. None of them had. That it still hurt, after all these years, to find out that she’d given her affection to someone else, was pretty pathetic, but it hurt all the same. Keith looked equally grim at the notion. That Asia had come to Chase in the aftermath of all that happened had to mean something. Didn’t it?
Gabriel shot straight across the Web to speak to Keith. I wonder which hurts more, thinking that she died or knowing that she walked away voluntarily.
In our case, we got hit with both – first one, then t’other, Keith said.
“Chase,” he said aloud, “pack up your essentials and run. We come bearing orders from Tops. Deep cover.”
“How long?”
“Till he says otherwise,” Gabriel said.
Chase blinked and shook his head, stood up, but he still looked dazed. “Fine. Where are you going?”
“Deep cover,” Keith said. “Unless we run into each other by accident, it’ll be as if you never knew us.”
“Fine. Just let me get my –”
A knock at the door startled them. Chase reached for his gun before he answered. His sharp intake of breath was all Gabriel needed to know about who was on the doorstep.
“You came back.” Chase’s voice choked on the last word.
“Not permanently.” Asia sounded perfectly calm. “I’m here for my team, actually.”
“But we’re splitting up,” Keith said, and he sounded angry.
“Not us. Just him,” Asia said, and Gabriel felt the viciousness of her smooth words like a punch to the gut.
“Me alone? Why? What am I supposed to do...?”
When the best part of me was always you, Gabriel thought, and Keith nodded his assent. Asia had a way of taking the best of a man turning into the worst – the best of the worst.
From each of them she had taken love and turned it into murder.
(499 words)
(Break Even by The Script)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Mama
"Hi mama," I said quietly as I knelt down in the cool grass of the late afternoon. I reached out and brushed a little bit of dirt from the smooth granite of the headstone; it was still a little warm from the sun.
"There are so many things I wanted to say to you," I began to talk to my mom, as if she were there, as if she could hear me. "Things that I never had a chance to say. Things that I didn't understand or couldn't express," my voice trailed off as memories came to the surface. Memories of good times, memories of how she had shaped my young life. Many of my memories flitted like insubstantial wisps, and others stood out in sharp detail.
"I know I probably never said it enough, but I love you. And I wanted to thank you," I paused, again assaulted by memories. "Mama thank you for who I am," I began, "thank you for all the things I'm not." I knew that because of her my job had a purpose. I was not like many of the others in the units who had little to no soul, who didn't care who they hurt and why.
"Mama remember all my life, you showed me love, You sacrificed. I think of those young and early days and how I've changed along the way," I continued to ramble on, just pouring my heart out. I felt tears begin to form, this day had been long in coming and now that it was here I found it hard to go on.
"I know you believed in me and I know you had dreams. And I'm sorry it took all this time for me to see; That I am where I am because of your truth. I miss you," I choked out, "I miss you."
I stood up on unsteady feet, "Everything that I am I owe to you, mama," I whispered and turned away.
"There are so many things I wanted to say to you," I began to talk to my mom, as if she were there, as if she could hear me. "Things that I never had a chance to say. Things that I didn't understand or couldn't express," my voice trailed off as memories came to the surface. Memories of good times, memories of how she had shaped my young life. Many of my memories flitted like insubstantial wisps, and others stood out in sharp detail.
"I know I probably never said it enough, but I love you. And I wanted to thank you," I paused, again assaulted by memories. "Mama thank you for who I am," I began, "thank you for all the things I'm not." I knew that because of her my job had a purpose. I was not like many of the others in the units who had little to no soul, who didn't care who they hurt and why.
"Mama remember all my life, you showed me love, You sacrificed. I think of those young and early days and how I've changed along the way," I continued to ramble on, just pouring my heart out. I felt tears begin to form, this day had been long in coming and now that it was here I found it hard to go on.
"I know you believed in me and I know you had dreams. And I'm sorry it took all this time for me to see; That I am where I am because of your truth. I miss you," I choked out, "I miss you."
I stood up on unsteady feet, "Everything that I am I owe to you, mama," I whispered and turned away.
Science and Faith - The Script
Christian wasn't the smartest on his team by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd hung around Tobias and Keith long enough to learn a thing or two about science. Whenever an emergency evacuation order came down, most men drew their guns and laid down cover. Unfortunately for Christian, he had no gun - just his wits and his smile.
"Phenylethylamine, dopamine, and oxytocin," he said.
Leighanne blinked. "What?"
"Love," Christian said. "It's three chemicals that your body produces in reaction to another person - or eating chocolate or skydiving, depending on your preferences."
"Are you saying you don't believe in love?" Leighanne looked both surprised and hurt by his declaration, but He saw the subtle slump of her shoulders, her disconsolate sigh. So she'd sensed he was distant, and she was right about the distance if not the cause. She thought he didn't love her anymore. He'd never loved her at all.
"I realize I come with a country drawl and I like Jim Carrey movies, but when push comes to shove, I'm a rational person. I understand science, and I know that science, unlike emotions, produces quantifiable results." Christian hated Brian's country drawl, but if he played his cards right he would never have to use it again. "I prefer to make decisions based on quantifiable results rather than the whims of emotions, which are chemical projections anyway."
Leighanne stared down at her hands for a long moment, then up at him. "What are you saying?"
"After four years the body becomes accustomed to the chemicals that flood the brain and attraction wanes. There's no way to counteract the body's acclimation," Christian said. Tobias would have been proud.
"We've been married for four years," Leighanne said.
Christian nodded.
"And you want to throw it away on the whims of chemistry?" There was anger in her voice. Good. When Christian was done breaking her heart, she would never speak to him again, and he could work without fear of reprisal. Christian wondered if this was how Asia had done it all those times, framed the breaking of a human heart in terms of priority and mission efficiency. He wondered if she was pleased at her success. He knew he would succeed, and already he disliked the situation immensely.
Disliked the situation immensely. He'd been around Asia for far too long.
"I think you're lying, that something else is going on here," Leighanne said. "But if you're telling the truth, there's something I have to say before you go."
Christian reached for the bag he'd packed. "Speak your piece."
"You can break everything down to chemicals, but you can't explain a love like ours. You love me, and I love you, and even if it defies rationality or explanation, it's true, and it always will be."
Christian nodded. He wouldn't tell her that their love never was, and it could all be explained by a slip of paper that landed on his desk one day titled "orders".
(497 words)
"Phenylethylamine, dopamine, and oxytocin," he said.
Leighanne blinked. "What?"
"Love," Christian said. "It's three chemicals that your body produces in reaction to another person - or eating chocolate or skydiving, depending on your preferences."
"Are you saying you don't believe in love?" Leighanne looked both surprised and hurt by his declaration, but He saw the subtle slump of her shoulders, her disconsolate sigh. So she'd sensed he was distant, and she was right about the distance if not the cause. She thought he didn't love her anymore. He'd never loved her at all.
"I realize I come with a country drawl and I like Jim Carrey movies, but when push comes to shove, I'm a rational person. I understand science, and I know that science, unlike emotions, produces quantifiable results." Christian hated Brian's country drawl, but if he played his cards right he would never have to use it again. "I prefer to make decisions based on quantifiable results rather than the whims of emotions, which are chemical projections anyway."
Leighanne stared down at her hands for a long moment, then up at him. "What are you saying?"
"After four years the body becomes accustomed to the chemicals that flood the brain and attraction wanes. There's no way to counteract the body's acclimation," Christian said. Tobias would have been proud.
"We've been married for four years," Leighanne said.
Christian nodded.
"And you want to throw it away on the whims of chemistry?" There was anger in her voice. Good. When Christian was done breaking her heart, she would never speak to him again, and he could work without fear of reprisal. Christian wondered if this was how Asia had done it all those times, framed the breaking of a human heart in terms of priority and mission efficiency. He wondered if she was pleased at her success. He knew he would succeed, and already he disliked the situation immensely.
Disliked the situation immensely. He'd been around Asia for far too long.
"I think you're lying, that something else is going on here," Leighanne said. "But if you're telling the truth, there's something I have to say before you go."
Christian reached for the bag he'd packed. "Speak your piece."
"You can break everything down to chemicals, but you can't explain a love like ours. You love me, and I love you, and even if it defies rationality or explanation, it's true, and it always will be."
Christian nodded. He wouldn't tell her that their love never was, and it could all be explained by a slip of paper that landed on his desk one day titled "orders".
(497 words)
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Encounter
That morning, the salty ocean fog was split by quilted patches of steel and iron. Massive metal towers rose from the docked naval fleet like naked trees in winter with branches made of salt-rusted turrets and cannon barrels. The sun began to warm the wharf with the faintest blue light. The horizon was clear, and none of the sailors stumbling back towards the dock could have expected such a storm coming their way.
The rising sun was higher now than it was then. Its golden rays were muffled under rows of black smoke and streaks of orange anti-air fire ripping from the crippled fleet. Cloudy columns of soot boiled up into the air from sinking ships as a dragons and gryphons dueled above.
Gadget’s leather-clad body hugged the rusted frame of her Skyraider. The open wind rushed over her back while steam bursted from the carrier’s pulley system. It vaulted her flying machine up and away from the flight deck. Her hips rode low in the saddle, and the famous 401st Air Cavalry Feathers painted onto the weathered Skyraider’s hull flanked her flexing thighs. Below the tail art - in fresh white paint - was a name: “Grace”.
Zzzcheew-zchew-zchew! A string of three super-heated lead slugs zipped by. Gadget’s eyes searched desperately beyond the blur of her forward-slung propellers for a open route as the whistles of another burst of enemy rounds whizzed by her wind-whipped orange hair yet again.
“He’s on you, Gadget! Break left, break left!”, Jim’s panicked voice commanded over the radio. Gadget’s heart was pulled into her stomach as the aircraft dipped its left wing and shuddered away from a yet another fiery line of lead. The Skyraider’s engine roared in protest like a warhorse whose own bit had sliced open its mouth. The pilot’s lungs rattled in her chest as she rode the whining machine into an inverted bank. Gadget’s hands were white-knuckled at the reins of her flying iron steed as she careened for the water. A white froth of water was cast into the air as she kicked out the end of the Skyraider and pointed the curved ‘beak’ of it’s nose inland at the last moment. The fleet was already lost, but this was no retreat from battle. It was a rushing charge to catch the Imperial airships headed toward the city.
A sleek black machine followed - it’s twin rearward propellers hissing as it sliced through one of the thick smoke columns slithering up from a dying ship. Seeing those short forward-swept wings and the wide, but razorlike front blade of the machine’s hammerhead-nose slicing through the sky was akin to seeing a shark fin in bloody water. This was no ordinary Imperial airman piloting a Ryu. The furious dragon made of speed, sheet metal, and rivets chasing her down was being ‘wielded’ by a Kurokaze Samurai.
“Get him off me, Jim.” She said, through gritted teeth. “Get me home to Grace.”
(497)
The rising sun was higher now than it was then. Its golden rays were muffled under rows of black smoke and streaks of orange anti-air fire ripping from the crippled fleet. Cloudy columns of soot boiled up into the air from sinking ships as a dragons and gryphons dueled above.
Gadget’s leather-clad body hugged the rusted frame of her Skyraider. The open wind rushed over her back while steam bursted from the carrier’s pulley system. It vaulted her flying machine up and away from the flight deck. Her hips rode low in the saddle, and the famous 401st Air Cavalry Feathers painted onto the weathered Skyraider’s hull flanked her flexing thighs. Below the tail art - in fresh white paint - was a name: “Grace”.
Zzzcheew-zchew-zchew! A string of three super-heated lead slugs zipped by. Gadget’s eyes searched desperately beyond the blur of her forward-slung propellers for a open route as the whistles of another burst of enemy rounds whizzed by her wind-whipped orange hair yet again.
“He’s on you, Gadget! Break left, break left!”, Jim’s panicked voice commanded over the radio. Gadget’s heart was pulled into her stomach as the aircraft dipped its left wing and shuddered away from a yet another fiery line of lead. The Skyraider’s engine roared in protest like a warhorse whose own bit had sliced open its mouth. The pilot’s lungs rattled in her chest as she rode the whining machine into an inverted bank. Gadget’s hands were white-knuckled at the reins of her flying iron steed as she careened for the water. A white froth of water was cast into the air as she kicked out the end of the Skyraider and pointed the curved ‘beak’ of it’s nose inland at the last moment. The fleet was already lost, but this was no retreat from battle. It was a rushing charge to catch the Imperial airships headed toward the city.
A sleek black machine followed - it’s twin rearward propellers hissing as it sliced through one of the thick smoke columns slithering up from a dying ship. Seeing those short forward-swept wings and the wide, but razorlike front blade of the machine’s hammerhead-nose slicing through the sky was akin to seeing a shark fin in bloody water. This was no ordinary Imperial airman piloting a Ryu. The furious dragon made of speed, sheet metal, and rivets chasing her down was being ‘wielded’ by a Kurokaze Samurai.
“Get him off me, Jim.” She said, through gritted teeth. “Get me home to Grace.”
(497)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Exit Wounds
DJ’s hands were cold, his body numb. He was in shock. “What have you done?”
The gun fell from Torin’s hands, clattered against the pavement. “I didn’t mean –”
“For what, for anyone to get hurt?” Casey snarled.
DJ’s heart was pounding, his vision blurred. Søren’s mouth was moving, but DJ couldn’t hear a word. He fell to his knees beside Celia, gathered her into his arms. Her shirt was soaked with blood, and her eyes were wide, surprised. DJ pawed aside her jacket, shoved her t-shirt up, searching for the entry point where the bullet went in.
“I don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” he said.
Celia made a low choking noise. “I don’t know how much love my heart can lose.”
“Not love - blood,” DJ said. “You’re bleeding.” He lifted his head. “Someone call an ambulance!”
Celia lifted a hand, curved it against his jaw. “I love you. Remember that, okay?”
“Why will I have to remember it? You’ll tell me every day,” DJ said. “You hear me? Every day.”
Celia shook her head. “I’m blacking out, baby. Shutting down.”
DJ threw a desperate look upward. “Did anyone call an ambulance?”
Casey, Søren, Torin, Tiger and the others - they were all shouting at each other, and any moment they would start swinging at each other again.
DJ scooped Celia up into his arms and staggered to his feet, stumbled toward the mouth of the alley. An eternity, an instant later, he fell through the doors of the emergency room.
“She needs help!” he shouted. “Somebody help her.”
Several nurses shot him irritated looks, and a baby started to cry. One man cleared his throat.
“Sonny, everyone here needs help –”
“She’s been shot,” DJ said. “Please. Somebody!”
Nurses and doctors swarmed over him, and someone plucked Celia from his arms, placed her on a gurney. There were frantic shouts in angry Chinese mixed in with English, but DJ couldn’t understand any of it. As he knelt on the cold linoleum and watched them take Celia away, he felt himself shatter into a million pieces.
(346)
The gun fell from Torin’s hands, clattered against the pavement. “I didn’t mean –”
“For what, for anyone to get hurt?” Casey snarled.
DJ’s heart was pounding, his vision blurred. Søren’s mouth was moving, but DJ couldn’t hear a word. He fell to his knees beside Celia, gathered her into his arms. Her shirt was soaked with blood, and her eyes were wide, surprised. DJ pawed aside her jacket, shoved her t-shirt up, searching for the entry point where the bullet went in.
“I don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” he said.
Celia made a low choking noise. “I don’t know how much love my heart can lose.”
“Not love - blood,” DJ said. “You’re bleeding.” He lifted his head. “Someone call an ambulance!”
Celia lifted a hand, curved it against his jaw. “I love you. Remember that, okay?”
“Why will I have to remember it? You’ll tell me every day,” DJ said. “You hear me? Every day.”
Celia shook her head. “I’m blacking out, baby. Shutting down.”
DJ threw a desperate look upward. “Did anyone call an ambulance?”
Casey, Søren, Torin, Tiger and the others - they were all shouting at each other, and any moment they would start swinging at each other again.
DJ scooped Celia up into his arms and staggered to his feet, stumbled toward the mouth of the alley. An eternity, an instant later, he fell through the doors of the emergency room.
“She needs help!” he shouted. “Somebody help her.”
Several nurses shot him irritated looks, and a baby started to cry. One man cleared his throat.
“Sonny, everyone here needs help –”
“She’s been shot,” DJ said. “Please. Somebody!”
Nurses and doctors swarmed over him, and someone plucked Celia from his arms, placed her on a gurney. There were frantic shouts in angry Chinese mixed in with English, but DJ couldn’t understand any of it. As he knelt on the cold linoleum and watched them take Celia away, he felt himself shatter into a million pieces.
(346)
Monday, February 7, 2011
No Second Chances
"Just a minute," I called towards the door when I heard the knock. I could feel my brow crinkle with confusion. Nobody that I knew would be coming around in the afternoon; they all had regular jobs that kept them busy. 'It's probably some door to door sales person,' I thought absently as I quickly finished typing out the last paragraph that I was working on and closed the lid to my laptop. I pulled a sweater on over my thin shirt as I stood up; the weather had gotten chilly recently and I didn't want to get sick. I was way too busy for that.
The knock sounded again on the pale oak of the front door.
"Yes? How can I..." My words died on my lips as my eyes fell on the man standing on my doorstep. A man I hadn't seen in four years.
"John," I whispered in shock.
"Hello Chris," he said, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. A smile that I knew as well as if it were my own.
I was too stunned to even respond. A thousand memories and feelings connected to that smile stampeded across my mind.
"Chris?"
It was almost as if I heard him from a distance, his voice faint, an undercurrent to the rush of blood in my ears. "Chris? Are you alright?" he asked when I didn't move.
I jumped like I had been electrocuted when I felt his fingers brush my arm in concern.
My eyes once again focused on what was in front of me, "What are you doing here John?" I took a step back so that I was firmly out of reach. I didn't know how he had found me or even why he was here.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said as he folded his arms across his body, as if to keep his hands to himself.
"So talk."
"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," he began.
"It's Christina," I interrupted him, "please don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris anymore."
'Nobody since you,' I thought to myself.
"Okay, Christina," he almost stumbled over my full name, "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, that I was completely in the wrong..."
His voice faded into the background again as the memories of that night so many years ago played across my mind.
********
Most of the memories of that day were fuzzy, distorted, and even missing, but what I did remember was that it had been raining that day, the moisture was thick in the cool September air and the sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds. I remembered waiting for him. He had promised to meet me, that he had something to tell me. I remember sitting on our bench in the park, my coat pulled tight around me, and waiting.
I was still waiting when the sun went down, and when the rain began to pound harder. I remember being puzzled, and then worried, and then angry. And I remember realizing that he wasn't coming. So I went home.
I expected him to call. He never did. And I never saw him again. Until today.
"Can you forgive me Christina?"
I focused on him again. "I'm sorry John, but it doesn't work like that. You don't get to destroy someones life and then get to waltz back in as if nothing had ever happened."
"Chris..."
"It's Christina!" I almost shouted. "Chris stopped existing a long time ago. She stopped existing the day you left," I finished quietly, barely more than a whisper. I could feel the tears beginning to pool, but I would never let him see them.
"I'm sorry John, but there are no second chances," I said as I slowly closed the door on my past.
(sorry this one ran a little long, but I rather liked the way that it was turning out.)
The knock sounded again on the pale oak of the front door.
"Yes? How can I..." My words died on my lips as my eyes fell on the man standing on my doorstep. A man I hadn't seen in four years.
"John," I whispered in shock.
"Hello Chris," he said, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. A smile that I knew as well as if it were my own.
I was too stunned to even respond. A thousand memories and feelings connected to that smile stampeded across my mind.
"Chris?"
It was almost as if I heard him from a distance, his voice faint, an undercurrent to the rush of blood in my ears. "Chris? Are you alright?" he asked when I didn't move.
I jumped like I had been electrocuted when I felt his fingers brush my arm in concern.
My eyes once again focused on what was in front of me, "What are you doing here John?" I took a step back so that I was firmly out of reach. I didn't know how he had found me or even why he was here.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said as he folded his arms across his body, as if to keep his hands to himself.
"So talk."
"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," he began.
"It's Christina," I interrupted him, "please don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris anymore."
'Nobody since you,' I thought to myself.
"Okay, Christina," he almost stumbled over my full name, "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, that I was completely in the wrong..."
His voice faded into the background again as the memories of that night so many years ago played across my mind.
********
Most of the memories of that day were fuzzy, distorted, and even missing, but what I did remember was that it had been raining that day, the moisture was thick in the cool September air and the sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds. I remembered waiting for him. He had promised to meet me, that he had something to tell me. I remember sitting on our bench in the park, my coat pulled tight around me, and waiting.
I was still waiting when the sun went down, and when the rain began to pound harder. I remember being puzzled, and then worried, and then angry. And I remember realizing that he wasn't coming. So I went home.
I expected him to call. He never did. And I never saw him again. Until today.
"Can you forgive me Christina?"
I focused on him again. "I'm sorry John, but it doesn't work like that. You don't get to destroy someones life and then get to waltz back in as if nothing had ever happened."
"Chris..."
"It's Christina!" I almost shouted. "Chris stopped existing a long time ago. She stopped existing the day you left," I finished quietly, barely more than a whisper. I could feel the tears beginning to pool, but I would never let him see them.
"I'm sorry John, but there are no second chances," I said as I slowly closed the door on my past.
(sorry this one ran a little long, but I rather liked the way that it was turning out.)
If You Ever Come Back - The Script
Tobias opened the door at the top of the stairwell and paused. The hallway light over James’s door was on, a bright beacon to welcome a weary traveler home. At three a.m., Tobias had it on good authority that James wasn’t expecting anyone home. Unannounced visits were usually the best way to assess James’s condition, and Tobias was without peer when it came to dropping by unannounced. He prowled down the hallway toward the door, footsteps silent. The door to James’s flat was ajar, and - there, Tobias could see a gleam of metal. The door had been left on the latch.
Tobias nudged the welcome mat aside with the toe of his sneaker and glimpsed more metal - the spare key.
James was asking for a home invasion.
Tobias palmed the knife from the small of his back and eased the door open. The bedroom and bathroom were dark, but there was light from the kitchen. Tobias headed for the kitchen, still moving silently, ready for whatever criminal disaster James had got himself into. Tobias pressed himself against the wall next to the kitchen door, ready to kick it down and dispatch with any would-be kidnappers or murderers. He slid a hand toward the doorknob and –
“Asia, is that you?”
Tobias flinched at her name.
James tugged open the kitchen door. “Asia?”
“No, it’s me.” Tobias slid his knife back into its sheath and straightened up.
James’s bright smile dimmed, but only for a moment. “Oh, hey Tobias. What brings you to London?”
“DJ had a runway show.” Tobias smiled cautiously. “I thought I’d stop by and say hello. I didn’t think you’d be awake, but the front door was open –”
“I’ve been a night owl as of late.” James beckoned. “Come on in – I have the kettle on.”
Tobias followed James into the kitchen and saw that it was just as quirky as Asia had kept it, with jars of herbs and spices lining the window sills and ledges in perfect alphabetical order. There were two places set at the bar, but it looked like only one had been used for a meal.
“Were you expecting someone?” Tobias asked. “If I’m interrupting, I can go.”
James shook his head, shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, exactly.”
Tobias heard hesitation in James’s voice. “But...?” he prompted.
“In case Asia ever comes back,” James said. “Thought I’d leave things how she likes them.”
Tobias opened his mouth to tell James, for the thousandth time, that Asia was dead (and she wasn’t, not really, but she was dead for James, and he had to face that reality sooner or later). But Tobias remembered waking up and realizing he’d never look into her eyes again, and he smiled at James, more brightly this time, and said,
“How about a cuppa, then?”
(467 Words)
(click on the title to hear the song)
Tobias nudged the welcome mat aside with the toe of his sneaker and glimpsed more metal - the spare key.
James was asking for a home invasion.
Tobias palmed the knife from the small of his back and eased the door open. The bedroom and bathroom were dark, but there was light from the kitchen. Tobias headed for the kitchen, still moving silently, ready for whatever criminal disaster James had got himself into. Tobias pressed himself against the wall next to the kitchen door, ready to kick it down and dispatch with any would-be kidnappers or murderers. He slid a hand toward the doorknob and –
“Asia, is that you?”
Tobias flinched at her name.
James tugged open the kitchen door. “Asia?”
“No, it’s me.” Tobias slid his knife back into its sheath and straightened up.
James’s bright smile dimmed, but only for a moment. “Oh, hey Tobias. What brings you to London?”
“DJ had a runway show.” Tobias smiled cautiously. “I thought I’d stop by and say hello. I didn’t think you’d be awake, but the front door was open –”
“I’ve been a night owl as of late.” James beckoned. “Come on in – I have the kettle on.”
Tobias followed James into the kitchen and saw that it was just as quirky as Asia had kept it, with jars of herbs and spices lining the window sills and ledges in perfect alphabetical order. There were two places set at the bar, but it looked like only one had been used for a meal.
“Were you expecting someone?” Tobias asked. “If I’m interrupting, I can go.”
James shook his head, shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, exactly.”
Tobias heard hesitation in James’s voice. “But...?” he prompted.
“In case Asia ever comes back,” James said. “Thought I’d leave things how she likes them.”
Tobias opened his mouth to tell James, for the thousandth time, that Asia was dead (and she wasn’t, not really, but she was dead for James, and he had to face that reality sooner or later). But Tobias remembered waking up and realizing he’d never look into her eyes again, and he smiled at James, more brightly this time, and said,
“How about a cuppa, then?”
(467 Words)
(click on the title to hear the song)
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Project # - 78 Song Fic
I love this challenge since there are so many things that can be inspired from a song.
So your task my fellow writers is to use one song every day to write your piece. It can be part of your writing or it can just inspire it. Either way post a link if you would to the song so that we can all get a feel for where the piece is coming from.
Lets set a 500 word limit
So your task my fellow writers is to use one song every day to write your piece. It can be part of your writing or it can just inspire it. Either way post a link if you would to the song so that we can all get a feel for where the piece is coming from.
Lets set a 500 word limit
Overview #77 - New Character
This week I fell a little behind, but I created a few characters that I'm a little proud of and who might be fun to play with in the future.
Many thanks to my fellow writers for the constructive feedback and suggestions for improvement. AS always Nagi thank you for being my grammar police. It really does help me. I think the long time in between writing really made me rusty again and the things that I was starting to get a grasp on sort of slipped away.
Many thanks to my fellow writers for the constructive feedback and suggestions for improvement. AS always Nagi thank you for being my grammar police. It really does help me. I think the long time in between writing really made me rusty again and the things that I was starting to get a grasp on sort of slipped away.
Overview #77: New Characters in 100 (redux)
First of all...\o/ Yay! We're back! We've made it through a full week of the game, we have new players, and it looks like we're getting back on our feet. This makes me decidedly excited, and I'm hoping we stay in the loop and pick up the pace so that by the end of this year we will all be noticeably better writers.
So...this week I kind of cheated. A little. Instead of cooking up all new characters I went back and resurrected characters from a 'verse I worked in briefly and gave them some more depth, studied them some more. I've always wanted to give urban fantasy a genuine shot, and I think this might be my chance. I got to know the characters better, fleshed them out some more, and then at the end I introduced two genuinely new characters to throw into the universe for good measure. I learned lots from my fellow writers as well, about how to balance physical description with temporal existence, personality, and small details. 100 words isn't a lot, but I learned that a good writer will make every word count.
Since I issued last week's challenge, it's my honor and privilege to pick the winner, and this week it is...
XYLAS!
That's right. You won. Because you wrote well, and best of all, you left really great constructive feedback. So...request your prize!
For a refresher on how prizes work, check here.
So...this week I kind of cheated. A little. Instead of cooking up all new characters I went back and resurrected characters from a 'verse I worked in briefly and gave them some more depth, studied them some more. I've always wanted to give urban fantasy a genuine shot, and I think this might be my chance. I got to know the characters better, fleshed them out some more, and then at the end I introduced two genuinely new characters to throw into the universe for good measure. I learned lots from my fellow writers as well, about how to balance physical description with temporal existence, personality, and small details. 100 words isn't a lot, but I learned that a good writer will make every word count.
Since I issued last week's challenge, it's my honor and privilege to pick the winner, and this week it is...
XYLAS!
That's right. You won. Because you wrote well, and best of all, you left really great constructive feedback. So...request your prize!
For a refresher on how prizes work, check here.
Pill
The pills were sitting all in one row, giggling behind their hands whenever he stumbled over a word, which was more frequent the more they giggled. If they thought being a teacher was easy, they could stand up and do it themselves, but chances were they would just twirl their hair around their fingers and everyone would eat it up.
So he pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, took a deep breath, and started in on quantum mechanics again. Later, he would remember they were only ten, and he would headdesk in the teacher’s lounge.
So he pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, took a deep breath, and started in on quantum mechanics again. Later, he would remember they were only ten, and he would headdesk in the teacher’s lounge.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Agent Samantha Samuels
Sam was small but steel-muscled, ice-eyed, and men nearly twice her size gave her space when she walked into a room. She was quick with a gun, quicker with her fists, and quickest of all at catching Choirboys.
Most chalked up her success to coming from a long line of cops, from proving herself on the streets of Chicago, from an uncanny knowledge of Hebrew. None guessed she was part Listener, that she’d heard a voice calling to her in the night when she was young, but instead of answering, she rolled over and went back to sleep.
Most chalked up her success to coming from a long line of cops, from proving herself on the streets of Chicago, from an uncanny knowledge of Hebrew. None guessed she was part Listener, that she’d heard a voice calling to her in the night when she was young, but instead of answering, she rolled over and went back to sleep.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Nancy Hodgins
Nancy grew up thinking she was crazy, that the voices in her head were a result of the schizophrenia that ran rampant in her family. She learned to keep her head down, hide behind her mousy brown hair and pretend she didn’t hear anything at all.
When the sky turned red, the voices told her when to run, where to hide, and she survived. After the danger ended, men with golden badges found her. They asked her if she heard voices, and for once it was all right when she said yes.
And they told her she was a Listener.
When the sky turned red, the voices told her when to run, where to hide, and she survived. After the danger ended, men with golden badges found her. They asked her if she heard voices, and for once it was all right when she said yes.
And they told her she was a Listener.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Kyle Messenger
Kyle was his parents’ pride and joy, a dark-haired, blue-eyed ball of energy. From chess to go, from coloring books to blueprints of gothic cathedrals, he was always desperate to learn something new. His teachers called him precocious, gifted. He knew the truth of what he was: afraid. Of the voices in his head, singing softly to him at night. Of the Hebrew letters that glimmered on the walls and doors everywhere he went. Of the chords he played on his harp that made the statue of the Holy Mother weep tears of blood when Asrael came calling.
Higo
The air was cool and crisp upon the flight deck. Even as the subtle, sweet taste of ozone numbed Higo’s lips - his form held true. The heavy, military-issue cargo hakama billowed under the steady breeze, but popped and snapped loudly as he moved surgically through his kata. The large pockets muffled the sound of loose, brass-jacketed shells within. Higo’s black long-rifle moved seamlessly with his body. While the old rifle was a relic in this age of airships and magnetic rail cannons, it was tradition that all Kurokaze pilots understand the intricacies to wielding one.
(98 words)
(98 words)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Marshall Harris
Marsh Harris was a miniature mobster, all pinstripes and fedoras, black-and-white wingtips and packs of cards, rolling dice. He was light blue eyes and glossy, floppy brown hair, quick slender hands and an even quicker smile. On the edge of the school-yard, he ran three-card monty and craps, twenty-one and poker. In the back of the classroom, he murmured quietly to himself about chances, odds, and fates, cross-roads and choices. When other students tapped with their pencils or doodled in the margins of notebooks, he sketched Hebrew letters on his desk with his fingertips.
Henry
Henry was all angles. From his bony elbows and knees to the sharp angle of his chin. Tall, was what people called him when they were being polite. Fire red hair stood up all over his head in cowlicks and swirls, his bangs falling into his bright blue eyes. His deep quiet voice seemed to rumble up from the earth, or from the general vicinity of his size 18 shoes.
His movements were always slow and studied, as if he were afraid he would break something. And he felt awkward, as if he never quite fit.
Always out of place.
His movements were always slow and studied, as if he were afraid he would break something. And he felt awkward, as if he never quite fit.
Always out of place.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Dale
Screams echoed in his head. Screams from battles past, and not so past. Screams of the innocent as well as the guilty, of those he had killed and of those that he had simply stood aside and let die. Voices that lingered, reverberating inside his head, rising and falling with the rush of blood through his veins. They were as much a part of him as his own heart beat.
Dale pressed one slender hand to the side of his head, as if willing the voices to silence by sheer force alone. And when he opened his eyes, they were fathomless black.
Dale pressed one slender hand to the side of his head, as if willing the voices to silence by sheer force alone. And when he opened his eyes, they were fathomless black.
Elise Chantrell
Elise was a shadow in the corner of the café, pale face hidden by white-blonde hair that was baby-fine. She smelled of cigarettes and had tobacco stains and guitar calluses on her fingers. When she peered out from behind her hair she had wide, bottle-green eyes that made her look like a little girl. Her knuckles were bruised from when she punched like a man, and the soles of her sneakers were worn thin from shimmying atop a bar in a miniskirt and a Rammstein t-shirt. On underground radio, they called her the fallen angel of music.
(100)
(100)
Lean
(Since I spent most of my night trying to figure out how to make Google stop displaying greek, I'll just post my oneword from the 30th and leave it at that for now.)
Word of the Day: “Lean”
"Lean forward," he said. The kitchen froze under the cold, wintery tone of his authoritative voice. The hiss of aerated water streaming from the faucet and into the stainless sink roared louder than Niagra Falls in that moment of final, quiet defiance. Her hand slowly withdrew from the cookie jar and the porcelain vessel clinked like a victorious, yappy dog. She flattened her hands upon the granite countertop, fingers tainted with the scent of chocolate chip and oatmeal.
She was caught, and red-handed.
Word of the Day: “Lean”
"Lean forward," he said. The kitchen froze under the cold, wintery tone of his authoritative voice. The hiss of aerated water streaming from the faucet and into the stainless sink roared louder than Niagra Falls in that moment of final, quiet defiance. Her hand slowly withdrew from the cookie jar and the porcelain vessel clinked like a victorious, yappy dog. She flattened her hands upon the granite countertop, fingers tainted with the scent of chocolate chip and oatmeal.
She was caught, and red-handed.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Beth
Her skin was almost translucently pale; her hands thin and spidery, and she shivered in the stiff January wind that blew off of the ocean. 'Time's getting short,' she thought, and it wasn't just the sinking sun that crossed her mind. Eyes, the same color as the waves stared off into the distance; watching waves merge into horizon.
Beth wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her stocking cap closer about her bare head, the wind seemed to cut right through her as if she wasn't even there. Pretty soon she wouldn't be.
Soon enough, only the wind would remain.
(100)
Beth wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her stocking cap closer about her bare head, the wind seemed to cut right through her as if she wasn't even there. Pretty soon she wouldn't be.
Soon enough, only the wind would remain.
(100)
Jelly
'How cliche,' she thought and rolled her eyes in self derision; but it was true never the less, that every time he looked at her she felt her legs turn to jelly. It was hard to focus and stand up straight. She hated to think of her reaction if he ever actually touched her. She was certain it would be more like water than jelly.
Jelly
The jelly was cool against her belly, but more important was the sound of a heart beating, faster than she’d ever heard before.
A child. A new life.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.
It’s a life, she thought. And she had a choice. Would she tell the father? Would she keep the girl? Or would she give the girl away?
A child. A new life.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.
It’s a life, she thought. And she had a choice. Would she tell the father? Would she keep the girl? Or would she give the girl away?
Cody Cohen
Cody looked teddy-bear soft and was ox-strong, but years of holing up with books forced him to forsake athleticism for thick glasses and an impressive command of Hebrew. Cody was starched white Oxford shirts and shiny leather loafers, a tailored wool blazer and rumpled dark hair. He was acerbic sarcasm and hunched shoulders, second son in a family with too much money and not enough affection.
On good days, Cody sat on the front steps of the school with the Torah open on his knees, contemplating life, the universe, everything, the number 42, and the Angel of Death.
(100)
On good days, Cody sat on the front steps of the school with the Torah open on his knees, contemplating life, the universe, everything, the number 42, and the Angel of Death.
(100)
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Impassive
Masses of shaggy blond hair obscured bright blue eyes; set in a face that seemed to be cut from stone. Intensely focused on a computer screen, his fingers flew like lightning as rows upon rows of coding filled the monitor, bypassing all of the buildings security. A grim smile flitted across his otherwise impassive face as he initiated his program.
Sirens began wailing as all security protocols were negated and doors began opening. Standing slowly, he calmly packed up his equipment and walked out of the building and into the night; as others more accustomed to confrontation, flooded the building.
Sirens began wailing as all security protocols were negated and doors began opening. Standing slowly, he calmly packed up his equipment and walked out of the building and into the night; as others more accustomed to confrontation, flooded the building.
Lean
He was lean and tall, almost delicate around the edges, but the shadows in his eyes bespoke something stronger, fiercer. Maybe it was the way he was casually opening and closing a butterfly knife, twirling it the way some girls twirled a lock of hair around their fingers. Maybe it was the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Maybe it was the corpse shattered at his feet.
Skinny didn’t have to mean weak – sometimes, it meant too fast.
Skinny didn’t have to mean weak – sometimes, it meant too fast.
Project #77: New Characters in 100
Dearest Players, the girls are back in town! And we're going to kick off our writing reboot by getting into the heart of things - or people. We encourage our players to use M&M as a playground/training ground/test site for larger projects developed beyond the game as well as a place just to improve our skills. Since it's a new year, I looked at our list of suggested projects and decided to re-up an old one: new characters in 100 words. You have 100 words to give us the heart and soul of a new character...or maybe try to flesh out a character you've toyed with before. Maybe that handful of characters sitting around on the back burner are getting ready to take their place on the main stage, and you need to polish them up before you set them in front of the audience.
If you're new to the game, feel free to check out the original round of this challenge to get a feel for how it's done.
Ready, set...write!
P.S. I will get to pick this week's winner. Remember, the winner isn't just the best writer - it may be the person who gives the best feedback (and "nice" feedback ≠ best feedback).
If you're new to the game, feel free to check out the original round of this challenge to get a feel for how it's done.
Ready, set...write!
P.S. I will get to pick this week's winner. Remember, the winner isn't just the best writer - it may be the person who gives the best feedback (and "nice" feedback ≠ best feedback).
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Reports
Reports were sporadic at best, through crackling static and snowy television screens. No one knew what was going on besides the screams outside and the explosions. When those ended, the silence was worse, and after a while the static and snow became like old friends. No one could decide when it would or wouldn’t be safe to go out, so no one braved the door.
And then, one day, someone knocked.
By then, there was no one left to answer.
And then, one day, someone knocked.
By then, there was no one left to answer.
Project Assignment Brainstorming
All right, writers, let us bring the game back to life! We need ideas, and we need impetus. Come spill your ideas about project assignments - do old, fun, beloved ones again, try something new, bring in new players...what do you want to do? Let me know! We can keep this alive together.
I like the old system where we write rewards for each other - I think that's a good gig, because good writing habits should definitely be rewarded.
So...we have until Sunday. Throw down your ideas and let's get this party started!
Love,
Your Mod.
ETA:
Here are the suggestions we've had so far. Feel free to add more:
Raise a character (in six days)
Build a world (in six days)
Build a place (six places, one per day)
Song Fics
Picture Fics
Proverb Fics
Epistolary fics
Theme: travel (this is new!)
New day (going from one day to the next)
A year in the life of (either one year per day or one year over six days - we'll decide when we get there)
Secrets
The Last Time (we've done this one decently recently in memory, so we'll move that to the lower end of the list)
New characters in 100 words (one character a day for six days)
I like the old system where we write rewards for each other - I think that's a good gig, because good writing habits should definitely be rewarded.
So...we have until Sunday. Throw down your ideas and let's get this party started!
Love,
Your Mod.
ETA:
Here are the suggestions we've had so far. Feel free to add more:
Build a world (in six days)
Build a place (six places, one per day)
Picture Fics
Epistolary fics
New day (going from one day to the next)
A year in the life of (either one year per day or one year over six days - we'll decide when we get there)
Secrets
The Last Time (we've done this one decently recently in memory, so we'll move that to the lower end of the list)
Monday, December 13, 2010
News to Share
The nurses who were on third shift at the ER had the distinct pleasure of working with Dr. Carroll. They agreed he was the nicest doctor - he wasn’t stuck up like the others, and he was always polite to the staff, and he had a cute little country drawl that he said he got from his mama, who’d been a wild cowgirl back in her day. But for his lab coat and staff badge, most of the nurses wouldn’t have pegged him for a doctor. They did peg him for the sweetest thing alive the first time they saw him comfort a little girl who’d been injured while playing with her father’s nail gun. Men with children were irresistible, and everyone seemed to know it - but Dr. Carroll. Gina and some of the prettier nurses had tried flirting with him, because he didn’t wear a wedding ring, but he was always politely oblivious to their advances.
“He must be gay,” Gina said.
Lila shook her head. “No. He’s mentioned a theoretical girl of his dreams once or twice, but you have to admit - working the third shift doesn’t really make for a great dating life.”
Gina nodded. “Yeah. He’s such a nice guy. Any girl would be lucky to have him.” She hummed thoughtfully and was about to pick another topic of conversation when Sandy, the staff nurse called her name.
“You have a patient in exam room five. Bandage her up and call Dr. Hammond for a consult - patient may have a broken hand.”
Gina nodded and accepted the folder and headed down the hall. Broken hand usually meant some stupid teenaged boy who’d gotten into a dust-up. Gina flipped open the folder at the same time as she yanked open the curtain to exam room five, and she drew up short.
The patient was female, and small, maybe twenty-five at the oldest, and she had a bruise above her eye, a bloody nose, and a split lip. She was cradling her right arm close to her body, and her wrist was hanging at an awkward angle.
Gina blinked, then peered down at the folder. “Miss - Carroll –”
“You don’t have to call the cops. It’s not a DV,” the woman said. “Just bandage me up and give me some ice, all right?”
“Your hand might be broken,” Gina said. “We’ll have to get some x-rays to be sure. Let me page Dr. Hammond.” She stepped back and twitched the curtain shut, reached for the page phone on the wall, and Dr. Carroll came careening around the corner.
“Oh,” Gina said. “I was going to page Dr. Hammond, but if you can consult –”
Dr. Carroll flung the curtain aside. “Ashley! What happened to you?”
“Belt testing, remember? I made high brown,” she said. “Get out of here, Chris. You’re not allowed to treat me. Conflict of interest, remember?”
Gina blinked, confused at the scene. Then she glanced down at the folder, and registered - Ashley Carroll, Dr. Carroll. Doctors weren’t allowed to treat their own family members.
“You made high brown?” Dr. Carroll reached out, brushed a lock of hair back from Ashley’s face. The gesture was familiar, gentle.
Ashley nodded. “Yeah. It was worth every bruise.”
“Congratulations, honey. I wish they didn’t hit so hard.” Dr. Carroll sighed. “How do you feel?”
“Like three black belts tried to knock the seven bells out of me,” Ashley said.
“Right. Look, I can get off shift early –”
“No need, not on my account. I’ll get this x-rayed and then go home and you can take me out for breakfast when you’re done, all right?”
“All right.” Dr. Carroll stood up. “Dr. Hammond’s a good guy. You’ll be fine.”
Ashley smiled. “I know I will. Now go make sure that nurse doesn’t call in a DV or something stupid.”
“Right.” Dr. Carroll twitched the curtain aside, and Gina jumped guiltily, hoping she didn’t look like she’d just been eavesdropping on the biggest news to hit the ER gossip circuit since a nurse was arrested for fraud a year ago.
“Make sure my wife gets excellent care, all right? I have to attend a patient,” Dr. Carroll said, and he strode away.
Gina said, “Yes, Doctor,” automatically, and reached for the page phone. As soon as she was done paging Dr. Hammond, she beckoned for Lila. She had news to share.
(731 words)
“He must be gay,” Gina said.
Lila shook her head. “No. He’s mentioned a theoretical girl of his dreams once or twice, but you have to admit - working the third shift doesn’t really make for a great dating life.”
Gina nodded. “Yeah. He’s such a nice guy. Any girl would be lucky to have him.” She hummed thoughtfully and was about to pick another topic of conversation when Sandy, the staff nurse called her name.
“You have a patient in exam room five. Bandage her up and call Dr. Hammond for a consult - patient may have a broken hand.”
Gina nodded and accepted the folder and headed down the hall. Broken hand usually meant some stupid teenaged boy who’d gotten into a dust-up. Gina flipped open the folder at the same time as she yanked open the curtain to exam room five, and she drew up short.
The patient was female, and small, maybe twenty-five at the oldest, and she had a bruise above her eye, a bloody nose, and a split lip. She was cradling her right arm close to her body, and her wrist was hanging at an awkward angle.
Gina blinked, then peered down at the folder. “Miss - Carroll –”
“You don’t have to call the cops. It’s not a DV,” the woman said. “Just bandage me up and give me some ice, all right?”
“Your hand might be broken,” Gina said. “We’ll have to get some x-rays to be sure. Let me page Dr. Hammond.” She stepped back and twitched the curtain shut, reached for the page phone on the wall, and Dr. Carroll came careening around the corner.
“Oh,” Gina said. “I was going to page Dr. Hammond, but if you can consult –”
Dr. Carroll flung the curtain aside. “Ashley! What happened to you?”
“Belt testing, remember? I made high brown,” she said. “Get out of here, Chris. You’re not allowed to treat me. Conflict of interest, remember?”
Gina blinked, confused at the scene. Then she glanced down at the folder, and registered - Ashley Carroll, Dr. Carroll. Doctors weren’t allowed to treat their own family members.
“You made high brown?” Dr. Carroll reached out, brushed a lock of hair back from Ashley’s face. The gesture was familiar, gentle.
Ashley nodded. “Yeah. It was worth every bruise.”
“Congratulations, honey. I wish they didn’t hit so hard.” Dr. Carroll sighed. “How do you feel?”
“Like three black belts tried to knock the seven bells out of me,” Ashley said.
“Right. Look, I can get off shift early –”
“No need, not on my account. I’ll get this x-rayed and then go home and you can take me out for breakfast when you’re done, all right?”
“All right.” Dr. Carroll stood up. “Dr. Hammond’s a good guy. You’ll be fine.”
Ashley smiled. “I know I will. Now go make sure that nurse doesn’t call in a DV or something stupid.”
“Right.” Dr. Carroll twitched the curtain aside, and Gina jumped guiltily, hoping she didn’t look like she’d just been eavesdropping on the biggest news to hit the ER gossip circuit since a nurse was arrested for fraud a year ago.
“Make sure my wife gets excellent care, all right? I have to attend a patient,” Dr. Carroll said, and he strode away.
Gina said, “Yes, Doctor,” automatically, and reached for the page phone. As soon as she was done paging Dr. Hammond, she beckoned for Lila. She had news to share.
(731 words)
Project # - 76 Free Write
I know it may be a bit of a cheat, but this week is free write! I know we are all busy with the holiday season so have a bit of fun and put down anything that you may like to.
Cheers and Merry Christmas to all writers out there!
Cheers and Merry Christmas to all writers out there!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Overview #75: Supernatural Iconoclast
I had a super-awesome blast with this. Coming up with new weird characters was fun! The fairy bodyguard and the tech support wizard were probably two of my favourites. I got a little behind and had to scramble to catch up, but this was good, an exercise in understanding stereotypes and also breaking them without going overboard, creating Mary Sues, or otherwise falling into writerly traps. Maybe one day I'll take up with some of them again, and it was good times. Half of this was mixing stereotypes, taking one person and stereotyping him or her as something else, like Ranolph the werewolf actor: take away his being a werewolf, and he was a stereotypical drama boy. Same with the soccer witch, the hot surfer boy. I think the fairy bodyguard and the vampire family were probably the most original, and I had oodles of fun with them.
NOTE: no challenge this next week. It's Thanksgiving! Spend it with friends and family.
NOTE: no challenge this next week. It's Thanksgiving! Spend it with friends and family.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
No Self-Respecting Wizard
“Tech support,” Wyllt said in a crisp, professional tone. He settled both hands on his keyboard and began typing rapidly. Beside his mousepad, his cup of tea continued steaming. A muttered syllable and a flash of gold in Wyllt’s eyes and his teaspoon resumed stirring for him. “Have you closed all the other windows, madam?” Then he paused, sighed, and said, “No, madam, not the windows in the house - the windows on your computer screen. Yes, the frame-thingies.”
In the corner, Ambrose was curled up on his favorite over-stuffed chair, a human skull balanced on one knee, his grimoire balanced on the other. A chalk circle was inscribed on the hardwood floor around him while he attempted to animate the skull Lost Unicorn style.
“All right, is your computer successfully rebooted?” Wyllt asked. He cast a glance at his teacup, and the teaspoon vanished in a puff of smoke. Moments later, it clattered into the sink in the kitchen down the hall. He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved another aggrieved sigh. “Madam, unplugging and then replugging your computer is not the definition of ‘reboot’. Look - do you have an internet connection? Once your computer is on again, you’ll need to open up the internet - yes, the blue and yellow e-shaped button in the bottom right corner of the screen - and I can take over remotely. Yes, from where I’m sitting. Yes, I’ll hold, Madam.”
“You know,” Ambrose said, “any self-respecting wizard would have made that computer explode by now, what with all the magic you’ve been using. And he wouldn’t know the definition of ‘reboot’ either.”
Wyllt sipped some of his tea. “Who said I was self-respecting? I do tech support.” He set his tea down hastily. “Yes, Madam, I’m still here.”
(300 words)
In the corner, Ambrose was curled up on his favorite over-stuffed chair, a human skull balanced on one knee, his grimoire balanced on the other. A chalk circle was inscribed on the hardwood floor around him while he attempted to animate the skull Lost Unicorn style.
“All right, is your computer successfully rebooted?” Wyllt asked. He cast a glance at his teacup, and the teaspoon vanished in a puff of smoke. Moments later, it clattered into the sink in the kitchen down the hall. He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved another aggrieved sigh. “Madam, unplugging and then replugging your computer is not the definition of ‘reboot’. Look - do you have an internet connection? Once your computer is on again, you’ll need to open up the internet - yes, the blue and yellow e-shaped button in the bottom right corner of the screen - and I can take over remotely. Yes, from where I’m sitting. Yes, I’ll hold, Madam.”
“You know,” Ambrose said, “any self-respecting wizard would have made that computer explode by now, what with all the magic you’ve been using. And he wouldn’t know the definition of ‘reboot’ either.”
Wyllt sipped some of his tea. “Who said I was self-respecting? I do tech support.” He set his tea down hastily. “Yes, Madam, I’m still here.”
(300 words)
Friday, November 19, 2010
Family Dinner
“Ma, ‘m hungry.” The little boy reached up and tugged on the woman’s sleeve.
She sighed and pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “I know, darling, Mama just needs a few more minutes.”
The boy pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m old enough to get food on my own now.”
“No you’re not,” the woman said absently, flicking beads on her abacus with inhuman speed. “You’re still grounded from feeding off the neighbours’ niece last month.”
“She was O positive. I like O positive,” the boy said. He pouted some more.
“You can’t always get the type you want.” The woman wrote some neat figures in her ledger and turned the page. “Back when I was a little girl, we had to hunt people in the middle of the night, and we were glad for what we could get.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “I know - you had to sleep in sewers and abandoned graves and sometimes steal from blood banks.”
The woman glanced at her watch. “Your father will be home from work soon. He promised to help you work on your bat transformation tonight, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Go play some Castlevania until Daddy gets home, okay?”
“Yes, Mama.” The boy sighed and slunk away. He reached up and prodded one of his fangs - distended from hunger - and resigned himself to his DS until his father came home.
(234 words)
She sighed and pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “I know, darling, Mama just needs a few more minutes.”
The boy pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m old enough to get food on my own now.”
“No you’re not,” the woman said absently, flicking beads on her abacus with inhuman speed. “You’re still grounded from feeding off the neighbours’ niece last month.”
“She was O positive. I like O positive,” the boy said. He pouted some more.
“You can’t always get the type you want.” The woman wrote some neat figures in her ledger and turned the page. “Back when I was a little girl, we had to hunt people in the middle of the night, and we were glad for what we could get.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “I know - you had to sleep in sewers and abandoned graves and sometimes steal from blood banks.”
The woman glanced at her watch. “Your father will be home from work soon. He promised to help you work on your bat transformation tonight, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Go play some Castlevania until Daddy gets home, okay?”
“Yes, Mama.” The boy sighed and slunk away. He reached up and prodded one of his fangs - distended from hunger - and resigned himself to his DS until his father came home.
(234 words)
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Vlad Dracula, Prince of the Waves
“This is the best plan you’ve ever had,” Rose said. She stretched out on her beach towel and reached for her bag; she’d brought along a novel and planned to actually finish it.
Lana hummed noncommittally and continued prodding her iPad. Rose rolled her eyes and searched through her bag. Her fingers closed over the worn spine of a used book, and she let out a little hiss of victory.
And then sand exploded at her feet.
Rose yelped and jerked back. Lana dropped her iPad onto the towel and rose up in a crouch, ready to attack.
A stunningly handsome - shirtless - man came trotting toward them. He wore a sheepish expression.
“I’m so sorry - didn’t mean to miss the frisbee like that. Usually my reflexes are better.”
Rose glanced down and saw a neon pink frisbee buried in the sand next to where her feet had been. Then she looked up at the man. He had wavy dark hair and a smooth golden tan and looked like he put in a lot of time at the gym. His time had clearly paid off. He knelt down and scooped up the frisbee.
Then he peered at Rose, who was dazed. They didn’t make men like that in real life, did they?
“Hey, lass, you all right?”
Rose started to nod, but then the man grinned at her, and she saw that he had fangs. Actual vampire fangs.
And then someone hollered from behind him,
“Vlad! Grab your board - the waves are turning into real screamers. Let’s show Hawaii how the brotherhood can carve!”
The man - his name was Vlad? - smiled apologetically again and stood up, scampered away. Rose was sure she’d just imagined the fangs, dazed as she was by his good looks, but on the waves, he was inhuman.
(300 words)
Lana hummed noncommittally and continued prodding her iPad. Rose rolled her eyes and searched through her bag. Her fingers closed over the worn spine of a used book, and she let out a little hiss of victory.
And then sand exploded at her feet.
Rose yelped and jerked back. Lana dropped her iPad onto the towel and rose up in a crouch, ready to attack.
A stunningly handsome - shirtless - man came trotting toward them. He wore a sheepish expression.
“I’m so sorry - didn’t mean to miss the frisbee like that. Usually my reflexes are better.”
Rose glanced down and saw a neon pink frisbee buried in the sand next to where her feet had been. Then she looked up at the man. He had wavy dark hair and a smooth golden tan and looked like he put in a lot of time at the gym. His time had clearly paid off. He knelt down and scooped up the frisbee.
Then he peered at Rose, who was dazed. They didn’t make men like that in real life, did they?
“Hey, lass, you all right?”
Rose started to nod, but then the man grinned at her, and she saw that he had fangs. Actual vampire fangs.
And then someone hollered from behind him,
“Vlad! Grab your board - the waves are turning into real screamers. Let’s show Hawaii how the brotherhood can carve!”
The man - his name was Vlad? - smiled apologetically again and stood up, scampered away. Rose was sure she’d just imagined the fangs, dazed as she was by his good looks, but on the waves, he was inhuman.
(300 words)
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
T-888, Fairy Edition
“A bodyguard?” Prince Arthur echoed. “Surely that’s not strictly necessary. I am a knight in my own right and I can defend myself.”
“Despite your blood relation to Morgan Le Fay, some of the Fair Folk are hostile to your presence,” the Vice Minister - a tiny, green-skinned thing with dragonfly wings who fluttered at shoulder height - said. He adjusted his tiny spectacles primly. “We’ve assigned the best and brightest of the Seeleigh Court forces for you.”
Prince Arthur glanced at Lancelot, who shrugged helplessly. Who would be guarding him? Little creatures with butterfly wings who were no bigger than his shoe?
The Vice Minister cleared his throat, and then a figure slid out of the shadows. Prince Arthur jumped. Lancelot and Gawaine reached for their swords, but then the figure bowed.
Prince Arthur could only stare. The creature was tall and slender, with snow-pale skin and coal-black hair and ocean-blue eyes and a pair of lovely blue-and-gold butterfly wings. It was a fae of some sort, with elegantly-carved cheekbones and a perfect rosette mouth, and Prince Arthur was disturbed to realize that he had no clue whether the creature was male or female.
“This is Peaseblossom,” the Vice Minister said. “He’s very good at what he does.”
Oh. Fairies could be male, then.
Peaseblossom wore a distressingly blank expression, unlike the other fairies who always seemed to be giggling and smiling at obscure things. He looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, but when the first band of redcaps attacked, he handled a sword like a pro, and he sounded strangely competent when he said,
“Come with me if you want to live,” and extended a hand that was dripping with someone else’s blood.
(293 words)
“Despite your blood relation to Morgan Le Fay, some of the Fair Folk are hostile to your presence,” the Vice Minister - a tiny, green-skinned thing with dragonfly wings who fluttered at shoulder height - said. He adjusted his tiny spectacles primly. “We’ve assigned the best and brightest of the Seeleigh Court forces for you.”
Prince Arthur glanced at Lancelot, who shrugged helplessly. Who would be guarding him? Little creatures with butterfly wings who were no bigger than his shoe?
The Vice Minister cleared his throat, and then a figure slid out of the shadows. Prince Arthur jumped. Lancelot and Gawaine reached for their swords, but then the figure bowed.
Prince Arthur could only stare. The creature was tall and slender, with snow-pale skin and coal-black hair and ocean-blue eyes and a pair of lovely blue-and-gold butterfly wings. It was a fae of some sort, with elegantly-carved cheekbones and a perfect rosette mouth, and Prince Arthur was disturbed to realize that he had no clue whether the creature was male or female.
“This is Peaseblossom,” the Vice Minister said. “He’s very good at what he does.”
Oh. Fairies could be male, then.
Peaseblossom wore a distressingly blank expression, unlike the other fairies who always seemed to be giggling and smiling at obscure things. He looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, but when the first band of redcaps attacked, he handled a sword like a pro, and he sounded strangely competent when he said,
“Come with me if you want to live,” and extended a hand that was dripping with someone else’s blood.
(293 words)
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Wolf Drama
“What are you going out for this year?” Ulf asked.
Ranolph shrugged and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “Drama club, I think. I hear they’re doing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which was fantastic.”
Ulf paused in shrugging on his jacket. “...What?”
“Did something I say not make sense?” Ranolph asked.
Ulf blinked slowly. “No, but...I’m going out for football. Hemming and Lovell are doing track, and Marrok is doing wrestling.”
“And I’m doing drama. So what?” Ranolph peered at his reflection and attempting to smooth down an errant cowlick of hair.
“You don’t want to do, I don’t know, sports or something?” Ulf wore a distinctly dubious expression.
Ranolph wore an equally dubious expression as he gestured to himself, indicating his slender frame. “If I went out for sports, I’d get crushed. Even at something like cross country or track and field. Seriously. I’m clumsy, and also delicate.”
Ulf sighed. “You’re a werewolf. You can’t be delicate.”
Ranolph sniffed. “Tell that to my pediatrician. I’ve broken at least thirty bones and I’m only sixteen. If I want to do drama, I shall do drama. You and the others can chest beat all you want and get picked up by the cops for overdoing it with the loup-blood and the testosterone. Ten years from now when you’re rotting in jail and I’m accepting my third Oscar, you’ll see who was the sensible one.”
“Right.” Ulf shook his head. “Just...remember you’re pack.” He clapped Ranolph on the shoulder. “If anyone gives you crap for being a, you know, thespian, let us know. We’ll take care of them.”
Ranolph smiled. “Thanks, cousin.”
(275 words)
Ranolph shrugged and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “Drama club, I think. I hear they’re doing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which was fantastic.”
Ulf paused in shrugging on his jacket. “...What?”
“Did something I say not make sense?” Ranolph asked.
Ulf blinked slowly. “No, but...I’m going out for football. Hemming and Lovell are doing track, and Marrok is doing wrestling.”
“And I’m doing drama. So what?” Ranolph peered at his reflection and attempting to smooth down an errant cowlick of hair.
“You don’t want to do, I don’t know, sports or something?” Ulf wore a distinctly dubious expression.
Ranolph wore an equally dubious expression as he gestured to himself, indicating his slender frame. “If I went out for sports, I’d get crushed. Even at something like cross country or track and field. Seriously. I’m clumsy, and also delicate.”
Ulf sighed. “You’re a werewolf. You can’t be delicate.”
Ranolph sniffed. “Tell that to my pediatrician. I’ve broken at least thirty bones and I’m only sixteen. If I want to do drama, I shall do drama. You and the others can chest beat all you want and get picked up by the cops for overdoing it with the loup-blood and the testosterone. Ten years from now when you’re rotting in jail and I’m accepting my third Oscar, you’ll see who was the sensible one.”
“Right.” Ulf shook his head. “Just...remember you’re pack.” He clapped Ranolph on the shoulder. “If anyone gives you crap for being a, you know, thespian, let us know. We’ll take care of them.”
Ranolph smiled. “Thanks, cousin.”
(275 words)
Monday, November 15, 2010
Soccer Witch
“Are you coming to Circle Midnight tonight?” Thea asked.
Bonnie bobbed her head. “Yeah. Should be there. Might be a little late - I heard coach was on one, so practice might run late.” She twisted her hair up into a ponytail with an expert turn of her wrists, then set about strapping on her shin guards.
Vivian and Selene exchanged arch looks, then turned back to Bonnie, who was squirming into her soccer jersey and casting worried looks at her watch.
“You know, if you wore a drop of citrine at your neck, it would help boost your energy,” Vivian said. “Also, it would look really good on you - it’s good for your coloring. Maybe one of the boys on the men’s soccer team would notice you and ask you to homecoming, don’t you think?”
Bonnie shook her head. “Nope - jewelry on the field is impractical. Besides, my sports are pure - I won’t let anything taint it.”
Selene wrinkled her nose. “Magic isn’t a taint. It’s a gift you were born with - you should make more use of it than perfunctorily showing up to casting circles and memorizing pitiful little charms.”
“Soccer is a gift, too, one that I intend to develop as fully as my magic,” Bonnie said. She stood up and hoisted her gym bag over her shoulder. “See you sisters at Circle Midnight.”
“You know,” Vivian said, watching Bonnie run off, “we witches put an awful lot of effort into being feminine and powerful. She’s ruining it.”
“Just because she’s an athlete doesn’t mean she’s undermining her own femininity,” Thea said patiently. “And she’s a solid caster, so it’s not like she’s not pulling her weight at circle. Now come on - we have some mundane boys to enchant.”
(291 words)
Bonnie bobbed her head. “Yeah. Should be there. Might be a little late - I heard coach was on one, so practice might run late.” She twisted her hair up into a ponytail with an expert turn of her wrists, then set about strapping on her shin guards.
Vivian and Selene exchanged arch looks, then turned back to Bonnie, who was squirming into her soccer jersey and casting worried looks at her watch.
“You know, if you wore a drop of citrine at your neck, it would help boost your energy,” Vivian said. “Also, it would look really good on you - it’s good for your coloring. Maybe one of the boys on the men’s soccer team would notice you and ask you to homecoming, don’t you think?”
Bonnie shook her head. “Nope - jewelry on the field is impractical. Besides, my sports are pure - I won’t let anything taint it.”
Selene wrinkled her nose. “Magic isn’t a taint. It’s a gift you were born with - you should make more use of it than perfunctorily showing up to casting circles and memorizing pitiful little charms.”
“Soccer is a gift, too, one that I intend to develop as fully as my magic,” Bonnie said. She stood up and hoisted her gym bag over her shoulder. “See you sisters at Circle Midnight.”
“You know,” Vivian said, watching Bonnie run off, “we witches put an awful lot of effort into being feminine and powerful. She’s ruining it.”
“Just because she’s an athlete doesn’t mean she’s undermining her own femininity,” Thea said patiently. “And she’s a solid caster, so it’s not like she’s not pulling her weight at circle. Now come on - we have some mundane boys to enchant.”
(291 words)
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Project #75: Supernatural Creature Iconoclast
All right, let's get it out of our systems. It'd be easy to write about vampires, fairies, werewolves, and the like, because those are popular right now and people love to read about them. But let's not take the easy road - take a new one! (But do not, for the love of all things holy and unholy, make your vampires sparkle.) What about the vampire who loves to lounge on the beach? Or the werewolf who prefers his steaks well done? Or the studious fairy who spends too much time in the library while her fellow winged friends are out partying it up? 100-300 words. Break some molds, try some new characters, and have some fun!
Overview #74: Critical Scenes
This was tough, to try to capture all the momentum of an entire plot line in a single scene barely 500 words long. It was hard to resist the urge to throw down background details, and I'm pretty sure sometimes I failed, but it was fun to dive in and see which scenes would matter most. It was hard to make the characters real without the plot-building that makes things awesome, but I made a good run of it, and I think I learned something about characters. Also names. It was hard to come up with names on the fly that didn't all sound the same, because when I'm writing I work with a set of given characters until their time in my mental menagerie is done, and all their names through their various incarnations are just riffs off of each other, and I couldn't do that here lest I risked basically reiterating the same plots and characters. It was interesting to see how the last scene started off with a UK name and turned the setting UK without me thinking about it.
Still, a fun exercise in feeding plot bunnies. Here's to not falling so behind next week.
Still, a fun exercise in feeding plot bunnies. Here's to not falling so behind next week.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Pictures on the Wall
“Don’t worry about taking off your shoes,” Callum said when Sady began to toe off her sneaker.
“Oh. Right.” She wiggled her foot back into her shoe and smiled faintly. Sure, her friendship with Callum was tenuous, but she liked him, and it was high time they did normal things like study together at each other’s houses and things.
“My mum and dad are probably still at work.” Callum started toward the door at the far end of the hallway.
Sady followed, curious. He said little about his family; all she knew was that both his parents worked and his brother had died last year before he transferred in. The walls were lined with artistic photos - woodlands, hills, even a castle. Was someone in the family a photographer? Sady asked.
“My brother,” he said, and he smiled, small, sad.
“Right.” Sady had to stop opening her mouth and inserting her foot. “So...which subject is giving you the most trouble?” They had chemistry, biology, and maths in common for their GCSEs, and Callum had expressed worry about one of his classes.
“Bio, mostly,” Callum said. “The whole citric acid cycle is doing my head in. The whole phosphorylation procedure is...”
Sady glanced up at a photo of a palm tree on a beach. Beside it was a photo of actual people for once. It must have been Callum’s family. Only besides Callum and the man and woman who must have been his parents, there was another boy: blond, classically handsome, blue-eyed, aloof. Sady knew his face - it was Vaughn.
Vaughn had died a year ago, sacrificed himself for his little brother, the one who was more brilliant and loving and was going to save the world. He’d shielded his brother from the world, from Sady’s wrath when she found out; he’d given everything for the brother Sady never knew.
Callum’s brother had died a year ago, right after Callum was released from a long stay in the hospital. How could she not have known? They had blue eyes - the same blue eyes - and the same quirky smile, and -
“...Sady?” Callum stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her oddly.
“Is this Vaughn?” Sady asked.
“Yes. It’s the only one Mum keeps.” Callum’s brow furrowed. “How do you know his name?”
“I met him,” Sady said.
Surprise flared in Callum’s eyes. “What?”
Sady nodded. “At the hospital. About - about a year ago. When my gran was in. He was there whenever I was, and he’d play cards with me and Gran, and...”
“And?”
“And then Gran died, and I left, and I never came back. He told me to stay away, because I got angry with him when he told me -”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he was going to save his baby brother.”
Callum closed his eyes. “So this whole time, you knew?”
“Not at all. He never said your name, never let me see you.” Sady tried to smile. “I was in love with him.”
(500 words)
“Oh. Right.” She wiggled her foot back into her shoe and smiled faintly. Sure, her friendship with Callum was tenuous, but she liked him, and it was high time they did normal things like study together at each other’s houses and things.
“My mum and dad are probably still at work.” Callum started toward the door at the far end of the hallway.
Sady followed, curious. He said little about his family; all she knew was that both his parents worked and his brother had died last year before he transferred in. The walls were lined with artistic photos - woodlands, hills, even a castle. Was someone in the family a photographer? Sady asked.
“My brother,” he said, and he smiled, small, sad.
“Right.” Sady had to stop opening her mouth and inserting her foot. “So...which subject is giving you the most trouble?” They had chemistry, biology, and maths in common for their GCSEs, and Callum had expressed worry about one of his classes.
“Bio, mostly,” Callum said. “The whole citric acid cycle is doing my head in. The whole phosphorylation procedure is...”
Sady glanced up at a photo of a palm tree on a beach. Beside it was a photo of actual people for once. It must have been Callum’s family. Only besides Callum and the man and woman who must have been his parents, there was another boy: blond, classically handsome, blue-eyed, aloof. Sady knew his face - it was Vaughn.
Vaughn had died a year ago, sacrificed himself for his little brother, the one who was more brilliant and loving and was going to save the world. He’d shielded his brother from the world, from Sady’s wrath when she found out; he’d given everything for the brother Sady never knew.
Callum’s brother had died a year ago, right after Callum was released from a long stay in the hospital. How could she not have known? They had blue eyes - the same blue eyes - and the same quirky smile, and -
“...Sady?” Callum stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her oddly.
“Is this Vaughn?” Sady asked.
“Yes. It’s the only one Mum keeps.” Callum’s brow furrowed. “How do you know his name?”
“I met him,” Sady said.
Surprise flared in Callum’s eyes. “What?”
Sady nodded. “At the hospital. About - about a year ago. When my gran was in. He was there whenever I was, and he’d play cards with me and Gran, and...”
“And?”
“And then Gran died, and I left, and I never came back. He told me to stay away, because I got angry with him when he told me -”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he was going to save his baby brother.”
Callum closed his eyes. “So this whole time, you knew?”
“Not at all. He never said your name, never let me see you.” Sady tried to smile. “I was in love with him.”
(500 words)
Friday, November 12, 2010
This Whole Time
“Guys, where’s Damon?” Sam asked.
The director looked up from his script and scanned the crowd of actors and extras who were milling in the courtyard; Damon’s familiar blond head was nowhere to be seen.
Sam, who was still surrounded by make-up ladies, craned his neck. “Has anyone seen him?”
“He got a phone call and rushed off somewhere to take it in private,” Lily said. “I expect that’s where he still is.”
The alcove just below the main stairwell up to the great hall was by unspoken agreement the place to take private phone calls. The director nodded his head at one of the ADs, who peeled away from the cluster near the camera to summon the missing actor.
Several moments later, three more ADs scurried after her. Sam extricated himself from the make-up ladies and moved to follow, see what was the matter. Then the director came tearing past, and Sam knew something was genuinely wrong. Luckily, he managed to get into the building before the ADs began corralling it off.
“What’s going?” he asked.
And then he saw. Damon was curled into the alcove, sobbing wretchedly into his hands. His mobile lay on the floor at his feet, the screen flashing, a tinny voice shouting,
“Son, son, are you all right? What’s the matter?”
Sam knelt down and peered at the screen. The name and the photo were familiar - it was Damon’s dad. Sam scooped up the phone carefully.
“Hi, Mr. Hamilton. It’s me, Sam - one of Damon’s costars. Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know.” Mr. Hamilton sounded shaken. “Is something the matter with Damon? He answered the phone, and then he went insane - accused me of being an impostor or playing some prank on him. He asked me all sorts of strange questions and said he didn’t believe I was his father because his father died when he was sixteen. This isn’t some drama exercise, is it? Because it’s not in very good taste.”
Sam said, “I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll speak to Damon. I’ll have him call you when things are settled down.” Then he disconnected.
Damon had scrunched himself into a corner and was batting away anyone who tried to come near. Sam saw the stark emotion on his best mate’s face and knew it was unfeigned. Damon was an amazing actor, but what Sam saw was raw and uncontrolled. That first day, Damon had explained why he was an engineer - because his father had died when was sixteen and he needed a practical job to help support his family.
Sam felt his heart plummet into his shoes. Everyone had been sure Damon’s semi-amnesia was some extended prank, but this whole time, Damon hadn’t been lying - he’d meant every bit. And now he’d just heard his dead father’s voice.
(471 words)
The director looked up from his script and scanned the crowd of actors and extras who were milling in the courtyard; Damon’s familiar blond head was nowhere to be seen.
Sam, who was still surrounded by make-up ladies, craned his neck. “Has anyone seen him?”
“He got a phone call and rushed off somewhere to take it in private,” Lily said. “I expect that’s where he still is.”
The alcove just below the main stairwell up to the great hall was by unspoken agreement the place to take private phone calls. The director nodded his head at one of the ADs, who peeled away from the cluster near the camera to summon the missing actor.
Several moments later, three more ADs scurried after her. Sam extricated himself from the make-up ladies and moved to follow, see what was the matter. Then the director came tearing past, and Sam knew something was genuinely wrong. Luckily, he managed to get into the building before the ADs began corralling it off.
“What’s going?” he asked.
And then he saw. Damon was curled into the alcove, sobbing wretchedly into his hands. His mobile lay on the floor at his feet, the screen flashing, a tinny voice shouting,
“Son, son, are you all right? What’s the matter?”
Sam knelt down and peered at the screen. The name and the photo were familiar - it was Damon’s dad. Sam scooped up the phone carefully.
“Hi, Mr. Hamilton. It’s me, Sam - one of Damon’s costars. Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know.” Mr. Hamilton sounded shaken. “Is something the matter with Damon? He answered the phone, and then he went insane - accused me of being an impostor or playing some prank on him. He asked me all sorts of strange questions and said he didn’t believe I was his father because his father died when he was sixteen. This isn’t some drama exercise, is it? Because it’s not in very good taste.”
Sam said, “I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll speak to Damon. I’ll have him call you when things are settled down.” Then he disconnected.
Damon had scrunched himself into a corner and was batting away anyone who tried to come near. Sam saw the stark emotion on his best mate’s face and knew it was unfeigned. Damon was an amazing actor, but what Sam saw was raw and uncontrolled. That first day, Damon had explained why he was an engineer - because his father had died when was sixteen and he needed a practical job to help support his family.
Sam felt his heart plummet into his shoes. Everyone had been sure Damon’s semi-amnesia was some extended prank, but this whole time, Damon hadn’t been lying - he’d meant every bit. And now he’d just heard his dead father’s voice.
(471 words)
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Doctors' Orders
Alicia was standing on Joey’s doorstep, juggling groceries and keys, when his door swung open.
“Joey, hey!” She smiled brightly at him. Maybe one day he would see the brightness in her smile meant I love you.
“Hey, Alicia.” He blinked at her, surprised. “What brings you here?”
“You mentioned the other day that your cupboards were bare and I know all your favorites, so I swung by the grocery store on my way home,” Alicia said. “I thought maybe we could hang out and cook together.”
Joey continued eyeing her as if she were slightly mad. Alicia’s throat tightened, but she kept wearing the bright smile just in case. When they were dating, they’d cooked together often.
“That’s really sweet of you,” Joey said, “but I’m going out for dinner.”
“Oh.” The bags in Alicia’s arms suddenly seemed so much heavier. “I should put these away before you go...”
“She has a key,” a familiar voice said from somewhere deeper in the apartment. “She can lock up after herself. Right, Alicia?” A woman appeared behind Joey, and she smirked from over his shoulder.
Alicia’s heart plummeted into her shoes. Jennifer, the girl Joey had dated before he’d met Alicia.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Joey missed the hostility in her tone. “You two know each other? I ran into Jennifer in the park when I was running this morning, and we got to talking. We thought we’d go to dinner and catch up.”
“I’d heard about the accident,” Jennifer said, “but I didn’t really understand it until I talked to him and he didn’t remember me.”
“Jennifer and I have loads in common,” Joey said. “We must have been great friends back in the day - shame we drifted apart.” Then he noticed Alicia’s crestfallen expression. “Would you like to come with us?”
Jennifer placed a proprietary hand on Joey’s shoulder. “I’m sure Alicia has other plans for her evening.”
“My plans mostly involved you,” Alicia said in a low voice to Joey.
His brow furrowed. “So you would like to come with us?”
Alicia swallowed hard. “Yes. Just - let me get everything put away.” She didn’t know if she could handle watching Jennifer flirt with Joey the entire night; judging by Jennifer’s smirk, she planned to do exactly that.
Joey smiled. “I don’t know that I’d be much help. You know your way around my kitchen better than I do.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Jennifer, do you spend much time with me? I’ll bet you know the kitchen better than I do.”
“Alicia’s always been very domestic,” Jennifer said, her tone strychnine-sweet.
“Really?” Joey asked. He glanced at Alicia. “You never seemed the type.”
Alicia gave a small shrug. “One of us had to be.”
“From when we roomed together?” Joey asked. “Jennifer told me all about it.”
Roommed together? Alicia glanced at Jennifer. Is that how you spun it? But she remembered the doctors’ orders, and she said,
“Yeah. Have fun. See you around.”
(500 words)
“Joey, hey!” She smiled brightly at him. Maybe one day he would see the brightness in her smile meant I love you.
“Hey, Alicia.” He blinked at her, surprised. “What brings you here?”
“You mentioned the other day that your cupboards were bare and I know all your favorites, so I swung by the grocery store on my way home,” Alicia said. “I thought maybe we could hang out and cook together.”
Joey continued eyeing her as if she were slightly mad. Alicia’s throat tightened, but she kept wearing the bright smile just in case. When they were dating, they’d cooked together often.
“That’s really sweet of you,” Joey said, “but I’m going out for dinner.”
“Oh.” The bags in Alicia’s arms suddenly seemed so much heavier. “I should put these away before you go...”
“She has a key,” a familiar voice said from somewhere deeper in the apartment. “She can lock up after herself. Right, Alicia?” A woman appeared behind Joey, and she smirked from over his shoulder.
Alicia’s heart plummeted into her shoes. Jennifer, the girl Joey had dated before he’d met Alicia.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Joey missed the hostility in her tone. “You two know each other? I ran into Jennifer in the park when I was running this morning, and we got to talking. We thought we’d go to dinner and catch up.”
“I’d heard about the accident,” Jennifer said, “but I didn’t really understand it until I talked to him and he didn’t remember me.”
“Jennifer and I have loads in common,” Joey said. “We must have been great friends back in the day - shame we drifted apart.” Then he noticed Alicia’s crestfallen expression. “Would you like to come with us?”
Jennifer placed a proprietary hand on Joey’s shoulder. “I’m sure Alicia has other plans for her evening.”
“My plans mostly involved you,” Alicia said in a low voice to Joey.
His brow furrowed. “So you would like to come with us?”
Alicia swallowed hard. “Yes. Just - let me get everything put away.” She didn’t know if she could handle watching Jennifer flirt with Joey the entire night; judging by Jennifer’s smirk, she planned to do exactly that.
Joey smiled. “I don’t know that I’d be much help. You know your way around my kitchen better than I do.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Jennifer, do you spend much time with me? I’ll bet you know the kitchen better than I do.”
“Alicia’s always been very domestic,” Jennifer said, her tone strychnine-sweet.
“Really?” Joey asked. He glanced at Alicia. “You never seemed the type.”
Alicia gave a small shrug. “One of us had to be.”
“From when we roomed together?” Joey asked. “Jennifer told me all about it.”
Roommed together? Alicia glanced at Jennifer. Is that how you spun it? But she remembered the doctors’ orders, and she said,
“Yeah. Have fun. See you around.”
(500 words)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Knowing and Not
The silence that settled over the room could have been sliced with a knife. Connor sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.
“What was that?” Lena’s words were sharp, icy shards. Connor could feel them in his lungs when he tried to breathe again.
“I –”
Lena had one hand up to guard; her other hand was hovering near her hip right above the grip of her ever-present gun. Her entire body was tense, but her eyes were wide, startled. Almost angry.
There were a quarter of a million words in the English language, and Connor knew every single one of them, but none of them could adequately convey what he needed to say right then.
“Connor, are you in shock?”
He had an answer for that. “No.”
“Then tell me - what was that just then?”
Words skittered through Connor’s brain, battled for some semblance of syntactical logic, but none of it was working. “I -”
Lena nodded for him to continue.
Connor closed his eyes and uttered, for perhaps the first time in his life, “I don’t know.”
There was definite anger in Lena’s eyes now. “You just kissed me, and now you’re saying you don’t know why you did?”
“I don’t!” Connor cried. He dragged a hand through his hair, turned away from her. She caught him by the wrist and yanked him back around to face her.
“Connor, you can’t just go around kissing me. I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to keep you safe, to teach you to keep yourself safe.”
“I know that,” Connor said.
“Then you know that it means leaving me behind to save yourself, even if it means I must die.”
Connor swallowed hard. “I know that too.” He did know it - intellectually, the same way he knew the sun was warm and the grass was green and a pretty woman could look like roses damasked red and white and love was an ever-fixed mark.
“Then why the hell did you kiss me?”
“Because I’m in love with you!”
The anger drained from Lena’s eyes in an instant, turning her eyes dark and hollow.
“Oh,” she said in a small, timid voice.
Connor hadn’t known she could ever be timid. “Lena -”
“No.” She shook her head, reached for her cellphone.
“What are you doing?” Connor asked.
“Calling my supervisor to let him know you’re safe and I need to be transferred. Immediately.”
Connor’s throat closed. “Lena, don’t -”
“You know I have to.”
Connor shut his eyes, bowed his head. “Yes, yes I do.”
(420 words)
“What was that?” Lena’s words were sharp, icy shards. Connor could feel them in his lungs when he tried to breathe again.
“I –”
Lena had one hand up to guard; her other hand was hovering near her hip right above the grip of her ever-present gun. Her entire body was tense, but her eyes were wide, startled. Almost angry.
There were a quarter of a million words in the English language, and Connor knew every single one of them, but none of them could adequately convey what he needed to say right then.
“Connor, are you in shock?”
He had an answer for that. “No.”
“Then tell me - what was that just then?”
Words skittered through Connor’s brain, battled for some semblance of syntactical logic, but none of it was working. “I -”
Lena nodded for him to continue.
Connor closed his eyes and uttered, for perhaps the first time in his life, “I don’t know.”
There was definite anger in Lena’s eyes now. “You just kissed me, and now you’re saying you don’t know why you did?”
“I don’t!” Connor cried. He dragged a hand through his hair, turned away from her. She caught him by the wrist and yanked him back around to face her.
“Connor, you can’t just go around kissing me. I’m your bodyguard. It’s my job to keep you safe, to teach you to keep yourself safe.”
“I know that,” Connor said.
“Then you know that it means leaving me behind to save yourself, even if it means I must die.”
Connor swallowed hard. “I know that too.” He did know it - intellectually, the same way he knew the sun was warm and the grass was green and a pretty woman could look like roses damasked red and white and love was an ever-fixed mark.
“Then why the hell did you kiss me?”
“Because I’m in love with you!”
The anger drained from Lena’s eyes in an instant, turning her eyes dark and hollow.
“Oh,” she said in a small, timid voice.
Connor hadn’t known she could ever be timid. “Lena -”
“No.” She shook her head, reached for her cellphone.
“What are you doing?” Connor asked.
“Calling my supervisor to let him know you’re safe and I need to be transferred. Immediately.”
Connor’s throat closed. “Lena, don’t -”
“You know I have to.”
Connor shut his eyes, bowed his head. “Yes, yes I do.”
(420 words)
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Aftermath of Confession
Laura dialed her own number with shaking hands. She had to erase the last four digits and retype them three times before she got it right. She counted the rings on the other end and felt her throat close when it sounded like she would get voicemail. But then she heard her own voice curled with Crawford’s sleep-slurred accent.
“You’ve got Laura,” he said.
“Crawford, it’s me.”
As always, at the sound of his own voice, he became more alert. “Laura, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What’s happening?”
“I did something bad,” she said, and self-loathing swept through her when her voice caught in a sob. She didn’t know if the emotion was her own or backlash from Crawford’s male hormones or what, and she was tired of second-guessing herself and who she was because she was trapped in his body. Dammit, she still had her own soul. Didn’t she?
“What do you mean?” Crawford asked. “Is it the press? What did they catch you doing?”
Laura shook her head, swiped one of Crawford’s big, rough hands over her - his - stinging eyes. She was the one crying; right now they were her eyes. “No. They don’t know anything. And I don’t think they will. I’m so sorry.”
Crawford sighed. “Look, I’m not going to get angry. Just tell me what happened.”
Laura took a deep breath. Crawford’s voice shook, and she hated that too. “I told Riley.”
“Told Riley what?” Crawford asked patiently.
“How I feel.”
“How do you feel about Riley?”
“I’m in love with him.”
“What?”
Laura hadn’t even known her voice could hit that note. She cringed. “You said you wouldn’t be angry.”
“I didn't think you’d just gone and made my best mate afraid that I’m in love with him!” Crawford hissed.
“I didn’t mean to,” Laura said. “It just came out, and now - now he hates us.” When she closed her eyes, she could see the expression on Riley’s face - revulsion and fear and fury.
“You mean me. He hates me,” Crawford huffed. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He just got up and left.”
“Did you tell him out in public?” Again with that unnaturally high note.
“We were in a café. Don’t worry - no one else heard.” Laura sniffled. “I’m sorry. I just - couldn’t do it any longer.”
“Do what?”
“See him every day and not tell him.”
“Yeah, but as far as he knows, you aren’t you - you’re me.” Crawford groaned. “Riley’s the best friend I’ve had in forever. Are you insane?”
“I think so,” Laura said quietly.
On the other end, Crawford was silent. “This can’t go on. I’m borrowing money from Deanna and I’m flying over there as soon as possible, and we have to tell everyone.”
“Okay,” Laura said, and again, “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. I worked hard to keep your life intact.”
Laura sniffled again. “Crawford --”
“Don’t bloody well apologize again. Just - pick me up at the airport.”
(497 words)
“You’ve got Laura,” he said.
“Crawford, it’s me.”
As always, at the sound of his own voice, he became more alert. “Laura, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What’s happening?”
“I did something bad,” she said, and self-loathing swept through her when her voice caught in a sob. She didn’t know if the emotion was her own or backlash from Crawford’s male hormones or what, and she was tired of second-guessing herself and who she was because she was trapped in his body. Dammit, she still had her own soul. Didn’t she?
“What do you mean?” Crawford asked. “Is it the press? What did they catch you doing?”
Laura shook her head, swiped one of Crawford’s big, rough hands over her - his - stinging eyes. She was the one crying; right now they were her eyes. “No. They don’t know anything. And I don’t think they will. I’m so sorry.”
Crawford sighed. “Look, I’m not going to get angry. Just tell me what happened.”
Laura took a deep breath. Crawford’s voice shook, and she hated that too. “I told Riley.”
“Told Riley what?” Crawford asked patiently.
“How I feel.”
“How do you feel about Riley?”
“I’m in love with him.”
“What?”
Laura hadn’t even known her voice could hit that note. She cringed. “You said you wouldn’t be angry.”
“I didn't think you’d just gone and made my best mate afraid that I’m in love with him!” Crawford hissed.
“I didn’t mean to,” Laura said. “It just came out, and now - now he hates us.” When she closed her eyes, she could see the expression on Riley’s face - revulsion and fear and fury.
“You mean me. He hates me,” Crawford huffed. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He just got up and left.”
“Did you tell him out in public?” Again with that unnaturally high note.
“We were in a café. Don’t worry - no one else heard.” Laura sniffled. “I’m sorry. I just - couldn’t do it any longer.”
“Do what?”
“See him every day and not tell him.”
“Yeah, but as far as he knows, you aren’t you - you’re me.” Crawford groaned. “Riley’s the best friend I’ve had in forever. Are you insane?”
“I think so,” Laura said quietly.
On the other end, Crawford was silent. “This can’t go on. I’m borrowing money from Deanna and I’m flying over there as soon as possible, and we have to tell everyone.”
“Okay,” Laura said, and again, “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. I worked hard to keep your life intact.”
Laura sniffled again. “Crawford --”
“Don’t bloody well apologize again. Just - pick me up at the airport.”
(497 words)
Monday, November 8, 2010
One More Chance
“I thought you looked familiar,” Kylie said quietly. She had both hands, white-knuckled, curled around her purse.
“We did spend a lot of time together.” Henry had his hands tucked into his pockets. The posture was familiar, but now that he was clothed in a five-thousand dollar Armani suit instead of ill-fitting clothes from the open door mission he was a different man.
Kylie nodded. “You didn’t lie about that much, did you? Your name, the subjects you liked in school. The little things.” She tilted her head to one side. Her dark eyes were curiously blank. “The things people who are in love with each other should know about each other.”
Henry swallowed hard. “You didn’t care how rich I was then. Why should it matter now?”
“It doesn’t, in the grand scheme of things.” Kylie worked one hand loose from her purse and reached for the door. “Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not about how rich you are - it’s about who you really are. And who you really are is a man who can never be with me.” She turned away and pushed the door open.
Henry caught her shoulder. “Kylie, wait.”
She glanced back at him. “Yes, Your Highness?”
He flinched. “It’s not like that in my country. I’m allowed to marry the woman I love.”
“I’m happy for you, Highness,” Kylie said.
“Then why are you leaving?”
“I was in love with a man, but I don’t think he really exists.”
Henry closed his eyes and sighed. “Kylie, I promise, everything I told you about me was true - where I was born, how I grew up. I just had to be sure that you wouldn’t care about stupid things like - like titles.”
“Your title can’t be that stupid, that you felt the need to hide it.”
Henry opened his eyes, and Kylie could see the raw hurt in his expression, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal, that the entire time she’d been fighting to get over Ben and reconcile herself to her feelings for Henry the entire world had been in on the joke.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Henry said.
“You could have told me. Before you left,” Kylie said. “I spent months imagining the worst - that you’d died from exposure or been killed or-”
“I’m still alive,” Henry said quietly. “And I still love you.”
Kylie shook his hand off. “I’m in love with Henry, but I don’t know who Prince Henry is.”
“Prince Henry is the man who was grateful for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, hot chocolate, and a warm blanket in the middle of winter,” he said.
“Did you think you could reveal your identity and I’d fall into your arms?”
“No. But I hoped you’d at least give me a chance.”
Chances were what had gotten her into this mess. Kylie took a deep breath and decided that she could do like Ben always said and take one more.
“We did spend a lot of time together.” Henry had his hands tucked into his pockets. The posture was familiar, but now that he was clothed in a five-thousand dollar Armani suit instead of ill-fitting clothes from the open door mission he was a different man.
Kylie nodded. “You didn’t lie about that much, did you? Your name, the subjects you liked in school. The little things.” She tilted her head to one side. Her dark eyes were curiously blank. “The things people who are in love with each other should know about each other.”
Henry swallowed hard. “You didn’t care how rich I was then. Why should it matter now?”
“It doesn’t, in the grand scheme of things.” Kylie worked one hand loose from her purse and reached for the door. “Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not about how rich you are - it’s about who you really are. And who you really are is a man who can never be with me.” She turned away and pushed the door open.
Henry caught her shoulder. “Kylie, wait.”
She glanced back at him. “Yes, Your Highness?”
He flinched. “It’s not like that in my country. I’m allowed to marry the woman I love.”
“I’m happy for you, Highness,” Kylie said.
“Then why are you leaving?”
“I was in love with a man, but I don’t think he really exists.”
Henry closed his eyes and sighed. “Kylie, I promise, everything I told you about me was true - where I was born, how I grew up. I just had to be sure that you wouldn’t care about stupid things like - like titles.”
“Your title can’t be that stupid, that you felt the need to hide it.”
Henry opened his eyes, and Kylie could see the raw hurt in his expression, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal, that the entire time she’d been fighting to get over Ben and reconcile herself to her feelings for Henry the entire world had been in on the joke.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Henry said.
“You could have told me. Before you left,” Kylie said. “I spent months imagining the worst - that you’d died from exposure or been killed or-”
“I’m still alive,” Henry said quietly. “And I still love you.”
Kylie shook his hand off. “I’m in love with Henry, but I don’t know who Prince Henry is.”
“Prince Henry is the man who was grateful for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, hot chocolate, and a warm blanket in the middle of winter,” he said.
“Did you think you could reveal your identity and I’d fall into your arms?”
“No. But I hoped you’d at least give me a chance.”
Chances were what had gotten her into this mess. Kylie took a deep breath and decided that she could do like Ben always said and take one more.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Project #74: Critical Scene
Pick the scene from a story you've always wanted to write, the scene that will make your readers hold their breath, start to cry, scream in fear, throw the book across the room, chew their nails down to the quick. (Picking one from last week's plot bunnies would be super welcome, actually.) Don't bother setting up too much background - jump right into the middle of the plot and set people's pulses pounding, and make the moment work. Without bringing in clichés, without overdoing the drama. Write the scene that, were your novel turned into a movie, would get those actors nominated for Oscars. Ready, set...write! 100-500 words.
Overview #73: Plot Bunnies
So this week I winged it solo. That's fine. It was a little soul-baring, to throw out some of my stupidest but most well-loved plot kinks and unwritten plot bunnies, but it was also fun remembering them and thinking about how much I want to write them or even read someone else's take on them. They're the stories that I write in my head to fall asleep at night, and even though I don't know the details, I know how reading them would make me feel, and I want to make someone else feel the same thing. I had fun, though, being a giddy teenage girl again and throwing all my crazy novel fantasies out in the open. I'm hoping, one day, I'll have the time to come back and give some of these stories the lives they deserve.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Bulletproof Kink #3
Theme: heartbreak hotel. Minus the hotel.
It goes like this: leading lady is a teenage girl whose grandmother is dying, so she hangs around the hospital after school every day for three months, keeping her grandmother company. While there she meets a boy and, while they’re both abrasive and abrupt at first, they become friends. They talk and play cards, bring each other food and jokes and make up ways to entertain her grandmother. He, too, is there every day, but the girl doesn’t know why, and she doesn’t talk about it, until she finds out, near the end, that the boy has a twin brother who is dying, and the boy, who suffers from a terminal illness of his own, is going to give up one of his lungs to save his brother, and then likely die shortly thereafter as a result. During this three months, of course, girl and boy fall in love, and the boy insists that the girl stay away after the operation, because he doesn’t want her to see him dying. The day before the operation, the girl’s grandmother dies, so she never does see the boy, and she never finds out who his brother is (because they are fraternal, not identical twins - I like to think they will be chiaroscuro twins, one blond and one dark), and she misses the boy fiercely because she knows she will never see him again. Then one day at school, across the cafeteria, she sees a new boy who has a familiar smile, and they get to talking and become friends, and one day, when she goes over to her new friend’s house for a study date, she sees a picture in the foyer, and she knows that the boy she loved is dead and the boy standing before her is breathing with his brother’s lungs. Living boy falls in love with girl, but she knows she will always love his brother and cannot give him what he wants, and there is a walking away at the end. I would want this to feel the way the novel Plum Wine made me feel at the end.
(358 words)
It goes like this: leading lady is a teenage girl whose grandmother is dying, so she hangs around the hospital after school every day for three months, keeping her grandmother company. While there she meets a boy and, while they’re both abrasive and abrupt at first, they become friends. They talk and play cards, bring each other food and jokes and make up ways to entertain her grandmother. He, too, is there every day, but the girl doesn’t know why, and she doesn’t talk about it, until she finds out, near the end, that the boy has a twin brother who is dying, and the boy, who suffers from a terminal illness of his own, is going to give up one of his lungs to save his brother, and then likely die shortly thereafter as a result. During this three months, of course, girl and boy fall in love, and the boy insists that the girl stay away after the operation, because he doesn’t want her to see him dying. The day before the operation, the girl’s grandmother dies, so she never does see the boy, and she never finds out who his brother is (because they are fraternal, not identical twins - I like to think they will be chiaroscuro twins, one blond and one dark), and she misses the boy fiercely because she knows she will never see him again. Then one day at school, across the cafeteria, she sees a new boy who has a familiar smile, and they get to talking and become friends, and one day, when she goes over to her new friend’s house for a study date, she sees a picture in the foyer, and she knows that the boy she loved is dead and the boy standing before her is breathing with his brother’s lungs. Living boy falls in love with girl, but she knows she will always love his brother and cannot give him what he wants, and there is a walking away at the end. I would want this to feel the way the novel Plum Wine made me feel at the end.
(358 words)
Friday, November 5, 2010
Bulletproof Kink #2
Theme: bulletproof plot kink - alternate universe!
Leading Lady: is a hard-working grad student in biochemistry who spends all her time in the lab, teaching, or doing martial arts for stress relief.
Leading Man: is a civil engineer at an architectural firm who loves his job and his wife and wants to have kids and a dog.
Conflict: Leading Man goes to sleep in a hotel in Chicago at an engineering conference and wakes up in an alternate universe where he is an immensely popular film star and not married to his universe’s version of Leading Lady. Complications ensue, wherein Leading Man tries to get home to his wife, Leading Lady is dragged into the shenanigans, and we all know Leading Man is in the wrong universe because in his universe his father died and that’s why he took the practical route of becoming an engineer instead of an actor, but in this universe his father is alive and there is something of an emotional breakdown the first time leading man calls him.
Resolution: this tale calls for a broken heart. After a year of being in the new universe, Leading Man surrenders himself to the fact that he is never going home and asks Leading Lady to marry him and she, against her better judgment, says yes. Every morning when he wakes up she asks him, “Which one are you?” and he always says, “Yours” until the morning when he doesn’t.
(242 words)
Leading Lady: is a hard-working grad student in biochemistry who spends all her time in the lab, teaching, or doing martial arts for stress relief.
Leading Man: is a civil engineer at an architectural firm who loves his job and his wife and wants to have kids and a dog.
Conflict: Leading Man goes to sleep in a hotel in Chicago at an engineering conference and wakes up in an alternate universe where he is an immensely popular film star and not married to his universe’s version of Leading Lady. Complications ensue, wherein Leading Man tries to get home to his wife, Leading Lady is dragged into the shenanigans, and we all know Leading Man is in the wrong universe because in his universe his father died and that’s why he took the practical route of becoming an engineer instead of an actor, but in this universe his father is alive and there is something of an emotional breakdown the first time leading man calls him.
Resolution: this tale calls for a broken heart. After a year of being in the new universe, Leading Man surrenders himself to the fact that he is never going home and asks Leading Lady to marry him and she, against her better judgment, says yes. Every morning when he wakes up she asks him, “Which one are you?” and he always says, “Yours” until the morning when he doesn’t.
(242 words)
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Bulletproof Kink #1
Theme: bulletproof plot kink - amnesia!
Leading Lady: is a young working professional who enjoys life, is decently pleasant, has easy hobbies (movie night with the girls) and is newly-married.
Leading Man: is Leading Lady’s husband, also a young working professional, who likes to play sports and spend time with the guys but is an amazing cook and loves his wife.
Conflict: amnesia! Leading Man suffers head injury during a sports game and wakes up in hospital with no memory of who he is or what he used to do. Doctors recommend that he be allowed to remember slowly and without outside interference, i.e. the emotional overload of a worried but now relieved wife, so Leading Lady must pretend she does not live in her own home and that she and Leading Man are simply close friends (she is his closest friend; she moves in with one of her movie night girls). Chaos ensues when an old flame of Leading Man discovers his memory loss and attempts to win him back.
Resolution: Leading Man comes home from work (because he has retained his skills, just no memory of his projects or his coworkers) and finds Leading Lady asleep on couch with open wedding photo album on her lap, realizes the truth, and there is happily ever after, and also possibly some catty comeuppance for evil old flame.
(227 words)
Leading Lady: is a young working professional who enjoys life, is decently pleasant, has easy hobbies (movie night with the girls) and is newly-married.
Leading Man: is Leading Lady’s husband, also a young working professional, who likes to play sports and spend time with the guys but is an amazing cook and loves his wife.
Conflict: amnesia! Leading Man suffers head injury during a sports game and wakes up in hospital with no memory of who he is or what he used to do. Doctors recommend that he be allowed to remember slowly and without outside interference, i.e. the emotional overload of a worried but now relieved wife, so Leading Lady must pretend she does not live in her own home and that she and Leading Man are simply close friends (she is his closest friend; she moves in with one of her movie night girls). Chaos ensues when an old flame of Leading Man discovers his memory loss and attempts to win him back.
Resolution: Leading Man comes home from work (because he has retained his skills, just no memory of his projects or his coworkers) and finds Leading Lady asleep on couch with open wedding photo album on her lap, realizes the truth, and there is happily ever after, and also possibly some catty comeuppance for evil old flame.
(227 words)
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Gender Role Reversal #1
Theme: gender role reversal!
Leading Lady: ex-military, skilled with weapons and unarmed combat, a little abrupt on the interpersonal action, but efficient and well-meaning; honorably discharged after a black ops mission ended in the death of most of her team.
Leading Man: certified super-genius and the mind behind the newest solution to renewable energy; beautiful and aloof and abrasive and under threat by various terror groups; also possible target of political/industrial espionage.
Conflict: abrasive genius and no-nonsense bodyguard stuck together for the foreseeable future, dodging danger and getting to know each other and, ultimately, falling in love. Bonus points for awkward conversation, attempts to teach Leading Man how to use a gun, and other fine romance cliché moments. Also maybe Leading Lady on duty while Leading Man is on a date? And comfort after emergency/gunfight/attack.
(142 words)
Leading Lady: ex-military, skilled with weapons and unarmed combat, a little abrupt on the interpersonal action, but efficient and well-meaning; honorably discharged after a black ops mission ended in the death of most of her team.
Leading Man: certified super-genius and the mind behind the newest solution to renewable energy; beautiful and aloof and abrasive and under threat by various terror groups; also possible target of political/industrial espionage.
Conflict: abrasive genius and no-nonsense bodyguard stuck together for the foreseeable future, dodging danger and getting to know each other and, ultimately, falling in love. Bonus points for awkward conversation, attempts to teach Leading Man how to use a gun, and other fine romance cliché moments. Also maybe Leading Lady on duty while Leading Man is on a date? And comfort after emergency/gunfight/attack.
(142 words)
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Teen cliché plot #2
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)
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)
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...
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