It was a cruel game Bob and Clay had played on their father. Back when they were younger, when they were still the same height and their voices sounded exactly alike (Clay’s voice broke first, Bob ended up being taller), they’d pretend to be one another. It was easy, in the mornings, for Bob to dig through Clay’s duffel bag and pull on some of his clothes. Clay just had to pull a baseball cap on backward to cover his hair, let Bob carry his bass case, and their father never knew.
But in dreams the prank took on a twist. Most nights, once a show was ready to roll, Bob and Clay would have to give themselves up, because they were good actors, but they couldn’t play each other’s instruments.
More than once Scott had woken up to the sound of Bob tossing and turning, moaning and kicking at the sheets. Bob was usually the quietest sleeper of them all, and Clay would kneel beside him, shake him hard, but it was impossible to wake him up.
Because in his sleep, no one believed him when he tried to take his identity back. He was twelve years old and backstage, tapping his foot impatiently, because Dad’s pep talk was the same every night, and Bob just wanted to crank out his twenty-five push-ups and hit the stage. Twenty-five push-ups it was, and then Bob was on his feet. He rolled his wrists a few times to loosen them up, tugged his gloves on, and reached for his drum sticks - only Clay had picked them up and was heading for the stage.
Bob tried to catch his shoulder, protest, but then his father yelled at him, told him to come pick up his bass, because Scott was already onstage. Bob tried to explain the truth, that he really wasn’t Clay, that Clay would completely and utterly ruin the rhythm line, but his father shook him, told him the bass was part of the rhythm section too, and to get out there, because Dan was terrible at stalling a crowd.
Bob insisted - he wasn’t Clay. His father spun him around, tugged the baseball cap off his head, and pushed him toward the mirror.
The face looking back at him was Clay’s.
Bob screamed.
He opened his eyes, and the face looking back at him was Clay’s. He lashed out, tried to break the mirror with his fists, and then Clay had him by the wrists and Dan was beside him, stroking his shoulder and making wordless, soothing sounds.
For the next two days, Bob refused to look in a mirror.
(443 words)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Battle of the World
"In my dream, I stood on a high place. Below me I could see armies of the world, past and present, marching across the land. Men in chariots, men in tanks, and men on horseback. There were jets streaking across they sky and bombs falling with bright flashes. I could feel the earth rumbling under my feet, the sky was dark and there was a storm in the distance. The scent of war was on the wind, sharp, acrid, and it burned my nose. The wind was also hot, stuffy, and laden with the the decay of bodies," Joe recounted his dream to the psychologist at his yearly checkup.
Joe continued, "I saw the armies below me in vast platoons, moving slowly across the fields, bent on destroying each other. All around me there were dead and dying men. And I didn't know who I belonged with. I looked around and saw others just standing there, watching as the world destroyed itself, and I didn't know if I was dead or alive myself. I thought for a while that it would be better to be dead. I looked at my own hands and found them stained with blood, bright, vivid red and dripping," Joe finished, looking up at the psychologist.
Laura finished neatly writing down an observation and looked at Joe, "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. I know I have seen many awful things since I have come here. I have done many extreme things," Joe said, hesitant to lead her in any way.
"Well Joe. I think that you need a short vacation. I want you to get away somewhere peaceful and quiet for two weeks," Laura said. She wrote a brief explanation to Major Cole.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Laura asked as Joe was standing up.
"No. I am sure I will find somewhere though," Joe said as he walked quietly from the office.
Joe continued, "I saw the armies below me in vast platoons, moving slowly across the fields, bent on destroying each other. All around me there were dead and dying men. And I didn't know who I belonged with. I looked around and saw others just standing there, watching as the world destroyed itself, and I didn't know if I was dead or alive myself. I thought for a while that it would be better to be dead. I looked at my own hands and found them stained with blood, bright, vivid red and dripping," Joe finished, looking up at the psychologist.
Laura finished neatly writing down an observation and looked at Joe, "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know. I know I have seen many awful things since I have come here. I have done many extreme things," Joe said, hesitant to lead her in any way.
"Well Joe. I think that you need a short vacation. I want you to get away somewhere peaceful and quiet for two weeks," Laura said. She wrote a brief explanation to Major Cole.
"Do you have anywhere in mind?" Laura asked as Joe was standing up.
"No. I am sure I will find somewhere though," Joe said as he walked quietly from the office.
Second Unlocking
Maybe the teachers shouldn’t have given him that chemistry textbook, because he was too smart for his own good, and a few hours with that book and an old biology book and suddenly he knew how people were put together.
People looked the most beautiful in his dreams, because he could see each and every part of them, the strands of coiling oxygen and hydrogen, iron and carbon, calcium and potassium that made up blood and bones, marrow and muscle. He learned about polypeptide chains and hydrocarbon chains, and when he looked at the boys who haunted him on the playground, he could see colors dancing through their skin. He knew that if he tugged just the right one - a shimmer of violet tinged fuschia at the edges - he could unravel every single carbohydrate in a given limb.
The rush of power through his body was exhilarating, and in his dream-world he felt as though he could fly.
When Naoya woke in the middle of the night to one of the orphanage mothers screaming, he realized that his talent could wake without him.
And that another door had opened when he was dreaming.
(194 words)
People looked the most beautiful in his dreams, because he could see each and every part of them, the strands of coiling oxygen and hydrogen, iron and carbon, calcium and potassium that made up blood and bones, marrow and muscle. He learned about polypeptide chains and hydrocarbon chains, and when he looked at the boys who haunted him on the playground, he could see colors dancing through their skin. He knew that if he tugged just the right one - a shimmer of violet tinged fuschia at the edges - he could unravel every single carbohydrate in a given limb.
The rush of power through his body was exhilarating, and in his dream-world he felt as though he could fly.
When Naoya woke in the middle of the night to one of the orphanage mothers screaming, he realized that his talent could wake without him.
And that another door had opened when he was dreaming.
(194 words)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Just so you know...
I'm not dead.
Will join back in next week when I must give the assignment.
Sorry guys. ;(
Stress has given me writer's block.
Will join back in next week when I must give the assignment.
Sorry guys. ;(
Stress has given me writer's block.
Twenty-Seven Across, Thirteen Up
It came to him on random nights, when he least expected it, the journey into hell.
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
It began, in the dream, with an obsession. A clue she’d left him when they were children, something she’d whispered to him back in the days when he could wind his arms around her waist and hold her and call it “tag”. Somehow he knew how to find her, and the looks on the faces of the black-suited agents when he asked for Carolyn Pierce were priceless.
Their poleaxed expressions were usually the last moment worth laughing at as the dream sequence spiraled on downward. From there it was...paperwork. For some reason his subconscious decided paperwork and requests, poking through outdated paper archives and microfiche deserved their own montage, like a bad eighties movie, set to Massive Attack’s Safe From Harm.
He wondered why, when he was in the dank basement of the nameless agency, he was safe from harm.
The first half of the sequence was lit in sepia and gold, all warm colors, like faded sunlight on an autumn afternoon, but as soon as he found the answer, the world would turn blue, all cerulean shadows and turquoise lights. He could feel the slip of paper in his hands. Name, rank, serial number...and address.
The world shifted from blues to greys, then to blacks and whites, because the drive was agonizing. He was only asleep for a few hours before he woke sobbing, but trapped in his own slumbering mind, the drive lasted for days and days, and the entire time his palms tingled with desperation and anticipation against the steering wheel, and his free foot tapped a nervous rhythm, which would ruin his hi-hat work later.
By the time he reached the address (marked with strange coordinates) he knew what was coming, but his lead feet dragged him up to the gate anyway. When he pushed it open, it creaked, and then he marched across the grass, head held high, determined not to let anyone see him break.
And then he stared out across the rows and rows of uniform headstones, and he counted. Twenty-seven across, thirteen up.
Carolyn Pierce lived to see eighteen, and then she died serving her country.
He sank to his knees, head bowed, and slid a hand across the grass, across the cold granite, and thought, She’s gone.
(397 words)
Where Lovers Meet
David became aware of the warmth of a body beside him; a long slender figure curling into his side; arms wrapping around his chest.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
"Hey Dave," Arianna said, as she leaned over and kissed him; she settled her head on his chest.
"Hey Ari," David said quietly, wrapping his long arms around her, holding her close.
David didn't know why, but he felt like crying. Even though he held her, it was if her warmth was fading with the summer.
"Don't cry David," Arianna said, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"I have dreamed about you so often Ari. So vivid in the night, that when I wake, I expect to find you next to me. But you are never there. Never more than a dream. Never again can I hold you," David said, tightening his embrace. "Never again can I kiss you," he brought his lips to hers. "I miss you so much Ari," David said.
"Rest easy my love," said Arianna, "Dreams are where lovers find each other again. I am with you. Always."
David awoke in the field beside his home; chill winds were blowing out of the east. The sun was sinking towards the horizon. Autumn was drifting across the world, the last of summer having retreated. David took a deep breath and looked up at the trees above him, the leaves were turning gold and red, thinning out and falling to the earth.
David curled onto his side and rested his hand on the ground where Arianna would have been. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he thought he felt a slight warmth to the grass beside him.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
At the End of the Day
At the end of a long, hard day at the office, Carolyn wanted to punch something. Or cry.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.
In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.
The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...
And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.
Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.
Trying to Remember
Alastrina dreamed about the bar that night. Heard his voice in her sleep. It was if he was right there, singing her softly to sleep. She could only see his eyes and his smile, just as in life. Her unconscious mind wanting to fill in the blanks.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
A pair of dimples should be with that smile. Dark curly hair, and a slight cleft in the chin. Pretty cheekbones would complete the picture. It would be a face she would recognize.
Struggle as she might, she could not place name to the face. A face begging to be remembered. A voice, calling to her soul.
Alastrina woke slowly. As the night faded, so did the face in her dreams, and the voice in the night.
Dreams or Visions
"I had a dream last night," Steve said.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
"And so did I," Bryan replied.
"Well what was yours?" Steve asked.
"That dreamers often lie," Bryan said with a sly grin.
Steve rolled his eyes at the reference. "No joke, Bry. I had a dream about a mission," Steve said.
Bryan shrugged his shoulders in response and said, "It's what we do. It's no great stretch that you would dream about it too."
"But this dream felt so real. It was if I was there. Not many of my dreams feel like that. I can usually tell when I am dreaming and when I'm not. But this," Steve trailed off.
"So what was the mission and what happened?" Bryan asked.
"I don't know what mission it was supposed to be, I can't recall that particular scenario. We were under heavy enemy fire. You had taken a couple of rounds and were down, but still alive. Mark was helping you get to safety. I turned and saw David go down. He had been shot in the back. He ordered us to leave and he would finish the job," Steve finished up.
"What happened to David?" Bryan asked quietly.
"He died," Steve said in a whisper.
Monday, June 15, 2009
First Unlocking
Dreams were the key to unlocking his mind, opening doors to places he never even knew he had. Naoya closed his eyes and dreamt of vengeance, tucked under a threadbare blanket in his corner of the dorm room. The other boys threw rocks at him, called him a freak.
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Project Assignment # 31 - Dreams
Dreams are very useful in fiction, as well as fun to write. They are a part of life. They can also be used to show a character's mood or even to make a point, as a sort of allegory in the mind of a character. Write a dream for a character.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Lets set the word limit to 800 words. Dreams can be lengthy after all. keep it above 100 words though.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
Okay, I had a few bump this week. I found that the songs that I chose for the piece didn't always fit, or I would start them at the wrong point. I also found that I need to expand my music collection.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
I did like using music and other bits for background music and it helped set the mood.
Some of my writing errors snuck back in towards the end of the week. I need to be more conscious about it. I also found that while I have David's character down pretty good; I need to develop the others personalities more than what they are. I tried to give them all a day to shine this week. My characters do not always feel communicative or cooperative. I also have noticed that I have inconsistencies in characters; even in David's. So those are things to work on for me.
Overview #30 - Soundtrack
So this assignment ended up being better and worse than I thought it would be. It was better because by the end of the week, I had a series of key scenes that could realistically be turned into something in the way of a novel. I'd have to pick a better starting point, and I'd have to develop background and conflict more (what was so important about Bob anyway, right?), but it could be done. All summer I've felt like all I've been writing are tiny pieces that end up being nothing and that my ability to complete a work has gone down the drain, since I skip straight to the fun scene and don't work at the nuts and bolts. But this could be something, and who knows what it would be.
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
In this assignment I also learned the difference between writing to a song and writing for a song. Often the song I ended up using as the background for a piece wasn't the song I actually listened to while I wrote the piece. Once I finished with a piece, I'd surf through my playlists for what might be a good song, then read the piece aloud to the song. It took a lot of finessing, trying to find the right songs, which was what made this assignment worse than I thought it would be. Half the time I couldn't find the song I wanted on YouTube, or I wanted to write to a song that was a horrible soundtrack for a given piece. It was also difficult to figure out where in the piece a given song should start. The play list and concepts I had at the beginning of the week had completely evolved by the end of the week, which reminded me why I don't sit down and plan an entire novel from beginning to end, but plan key scenes and work my way from scene to scene. Maybe planning really isn't for me, and I've learned how to do it.
I was worried that having all four brothers like one girl would be a little too Mary Sue and cliché, so I drew a little from real life and decided I could fix things so it wasn't quite so wish-fulfilling, that all four boys liking Carolyn could work, even if all of them weren't actually in love with her. I think this has been some of my best work yet.
I'm looking forward to next week's project!
Slapstick
Mark settled into his seat in the darkened theater just as the beginning credits were starting to roll. Wednesday was his favorite night to go to the movies. Old black and white and silent films were the best. Grinning from ear to ear Mark popped a a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth the antics started.
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.
Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.
From: Major Cole
To: You
Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.
Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.
(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
All For You
“All this. All for me?” Bob gestured a the fallen bodies, the charred buildings.
Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.
“All my life was for you.”
Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”
Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.
She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.
Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”
Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.
Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”
Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,
“Agent Pierce!”
And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.
Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.
“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.
“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”
“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.
“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.
Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”
(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)
Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.
“All my life was for you.”
Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”
Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.
She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.
Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”
Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.
Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”
Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,
“Agent Pierce!”
And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.
Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.
“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.
“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”
“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.
“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.
Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”
(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)
On Our Own
Scott was sure this was a nightmare. He’d had one just like it as a child. He’d wake up in his bedroom and find his brothers slaughtered in bed beside him, throats dripping with blood. Only he was in a hotel room this time, and his brothers were yelling at the sight of black-uniformed men sprawled across the beds and floor, throats cut. Carolyn stood in the doorway, holding a knife. Her hands were covered in blood. She cast the knife aside and drew a gun from somewhere beneath her jacket, and then she shouted for Bob.
“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”
He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.
“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.
“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”
An explosion rocked the building.
The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”
John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”
Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.
Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”
Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”
The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.
John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”
The only response was static.
John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”
Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”
(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)
“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”
He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.
“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.
“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”
An explosion rocked the building.
The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”
John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”
Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.
Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”
Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”
The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.
John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”
The only response was static.
John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”
Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”
(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)
Internet Phenomenon
Bryan sat typing rapidly at his computer. Nothing seemed to be going right today. Bryan glanced up at the clock again and sighed. He knew he was not going to be able to leave for another forty-five minutes. He was going to be late for his date.
Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.
Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.
Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.
Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.
"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.
"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.
"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.
"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.
Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.
Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.
Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you
Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.
Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.
"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.
"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.
"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.
"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
What You Seem
Dan leaned in the doorway and watched Carolyn kick her duffel bag under the bed. She was good, and no one had noticed that it wasn’t the same duffel bag where she kept her books and CDs, but Dan was more observant than his brothers usually gave him credit for. Carolyn went to tug the gun from its holster in the small of her back, and then she turned.
“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.
“No one else has noticed,” he said.
She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”
“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”
Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”
“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”
Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”
That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you done what you’ve done?”
A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”
Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.
But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”
“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.
“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.
Dan felt his throat close. “I --”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.
Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever can.”
(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)
“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.
“No one else has noticed,” he said.
She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”
“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”
Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”
“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”
Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”
That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you done what you’ve done?”
A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”
Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.
But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”
“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.
“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.
Dan felt his throat close. “I --”
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.
Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because no one else ever can.”
(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)
First Solo
Joe fidgeted with the zipper on his jumpsuit. His body made jerking movements as if he was not sure if he wanted to run, or if he was just eager to get started. Joe was dressed in a one piece jumpsuit, his helmet on the ground beside him. His fingers twitched as he mentally checked off procedures in his head.
"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"
Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."
Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."
"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.
"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.
"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.
"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.
"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.
Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.
David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.
"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.
Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.
The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.
Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.
Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.
Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.
Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.
David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.
As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.
"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.
"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.
"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.
"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"
Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."
Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."
"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.
"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.
"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.
"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.
"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.
Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.
David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.
"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.
Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.
The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.
Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.
Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.
Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.
Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.
David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.
As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.
"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.
"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.
"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.
"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Caught
Walking was the only way to properly digest a heavy Italian meal. It hadn’t been horrendous, by any means - just heavy in the way that made you want to curl up on any semi-soft surface and go to sleep. Heavy, but content.
So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.
“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.
“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.
He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.
“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”
Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.
“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.
“You know the answer… don’t you?”
He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.
(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)
So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.
“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.
“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.
He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.
“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”
Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.
“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.
“You know the answer… don’t you?”
He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.
(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)