Angel looked at Asia. Asia looked at Angel. On the other side of the room, Tobias cleared his throat, uncomfortable.
“Commander,” he began, “I have a question about –”
Asia held up one hand to forestall comment, and Tobias fell silent. Asia didn’t look away from Angel; veritable storm clouds were gathering in her eyes, and were they in a less public place, she’d likely have a storm cloud spinning on one open palm too.
“What you’re asking me to do –”
“Is no less repugnant than the time I ordered you to kill a pregnant woman,” Asia said.
The look on Angel’s face said he disagreed.
Asia threw her hands up. “How have you made it this far along in human existence and been so unrelentingly straight? How did you survive the Greeks and the Romans and the Seventies?”
“I’m not going in there and you cannot make me,” Angel said.
Asia’s eyes flashed silver, eerily, and Tobias felt power spark in the room. He knew that he and the rest of the boys hadn’t seen the full extent of her power; he’d always thought that was a shame, but now he suspected that was for the better.
“I can make you, but I shouldn’t have to, because orders are orders and you’ve been given a bloody command!”
DJ poked his head into the room; he wore a pleasant smile. Tobias attempted to ward him off, hand gestures and spikes across the web and all, but DJ was just coming off a kung fu high.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I have to go undercover in a gay bar,” Angel said flatly.
Tobias’s heart plummeted into his shoes. No way. Angel was a womanizer nonpareil, the original Casanova, Romeo, Don Juan, James Bond. DJ’s pleasant smile turned into an amused smirk.
“Oh really? How about that?”
“I won’t do it,” Angel said.
“Yes, you will,” Asia said.
DJ tipped his head to the side, blue eyes gleaming, and Tobias recognized Chadstone in the mannerism. “Should mom and dad really be fighting in front of the children like this?”
“You’re doing your job, and that’s final,” Asia said.
The tension in the room rocketed upward, and Tobias realized that Angel’s gift was circling the room, closer and closer to Asia, ready to strike.
DJ grinned, and oh, but he was both beautiful and terrifying. “Now now, Lieutenant Rastaban, surely you aren’t unwilling to do something one of your subordinates would have to do.”
Angel turned a fierce glare on him.
DJ peeled himself away from the doorframe and strutted across the room, and there was something distinctly sinuous and dirty about every line of his body. “I danced in a gay strip bar once. Surely you can just flirt with a man a little bit, ask him out on a date?”
Angel spluttered at the display. Even Asia looked alarmed. DJ draped himself across the nearest piece of furniture.
“Come on, Angel,” he said, “come osi.”
(500 words)
Angel blinked. Then he sighed, defeated. “Fine.”
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Maybe Not
“It’s pretty simple,” Christian said.
Gabriel looked down at the mission dossier, then up at Christian. “Where are Angel and Asia? Why are you giving me this?”
“They’re helping Tobias with some undercover work. When they’re gone, I’m the commanding officer. I outrank you all by at least three decades.”
“If we’re going by age –”
“DJ doesn’t count. He has a big sleep between his first and his second life.”
Gabriel accepted the dossier reluctantly and scanned through it. His gaze darkened. “You want me to –”
“Infiltrate and destroy an organization, yes,” Christian said patiently.
“You mean I have to pretend to – I have to wear the white pointed –” Gabriel flung the piece of paper aside. “No way. I won’t do that. I won’t!”
“Just because you associate with them and pretend to be like them doesn’t mean you believe what they say,” Christian said. He kept his voice gentle, even. “You just have to pretend long enough to get us their outlying schedule, and then you get first crack at total annihilation.”
“Like hell they’re going to accept me.” Gabriel ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Seriously. Why would they?”
“Tobias and DJ have a way,” Christian said. “A little illusion, a little shapeshifting, and no one will even recognize you.”
“You mean you’re going to make me look whiter than I am,” Gabriel said flatly.
“If you don’t want to get shot on sight, yes.”
Gabriel closed his eyes. “Do you know what it was like, back then?”
“I was alive during the sixties, thanks,” Christian said.
Gabriel shook his head. “I mean before - during my first life. Do you know what it was like to be treated as nothing better than an especially useful animal? To know that your life was subject to the whims of one drunken, tyrannical man and was forfeit for his amusement?” His words came out broken, choked, and Christian could see his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.
“Gabriel,” Christian began.
“Do you know?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes, dammit, I do know,” Christian snapped. “I was ripped from my home and sold to Roman slavers, and then I was sold to fight in the Colosseum where every day of my life I wondered if I would live or die, if the crowds would like me enough to save me from having to throw myself on my own sword. In my next life I was nobility, and I fought every day to never be a slave, never be subject to someone else’s will again, but guess what? We’re all slaves, every one of us, to whatever is going on above Sector Three. So do your job or forfeit your existence.” Christian shoved a bracelet at him, one woven with runes and Tobias’s blood to secure the illusion. He spun on his heel and walked away. As he left, he mused that Angel or Asia would likely have handled that a lot better.
Or, upon reflection with his own experiences, maybe not.
Gabriel looked down at the mission dossier, then up at Christian. “Where are Angel and Asia? Why are you giving me this?”
“They’re helping Tobias with some undercover work. When they’re gone, I’m the commanding officer. I outrank you all by at least three decades.”
“If we’re going by age –”
“DJ doesn’t count. He has a big sleep between his first and his second life.”
Gabriel accepted the dossier reluctantly and scanned through it. His gaze darkened. “You want me to –”
“Infiltrate and destroy an organization, yes,” Christian said patiently.
“You mean I have to pretend to – I have to wear the white pointed –” Gabriel flung the piece of paper aside. “No way. I won’t do that. I won’t!”
“Just because you associate with them and pretend to be like them doesn’t mean you believe what they say,” Christian said. He kept his voice gentle, even. “You just have to pretend long enough to get us their outlying schedule, and then you get first crack at total annihilation.”
“Like hell they’re going to accept me.” Gabriel ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Seriously. Why would they?”
“Tobias and DJ have a way,” Christian said. “A little illusion, a little shapeshifting, and no one will even recognize you.”
“You mean you’re going to make me look whiter than I am,” Gabriel said flatly.
“If you don’t want to get shot on sight, yes.”
Gabriel closed his eyes. “Do you know what it was like, back then?”
“I was alive during the sixties, thanks,” Christian said.
Gabriel shook his head. “I mean before - during my first life. Do you know what it was like to be treated as nothing better than an especially useful animal? To know that your life was subject to the whims of one drunken, tyrannical man and was forfeit for his amusement?” His words came out broken, choked, and Christian could see his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.
“Gabriel,” Christian began.
“Do you know?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes, dammit, I do know,” Christian snapped. “I was ripped from my home and sold to Roman slavers, and then I was sold to fight in the Colosseum where every day of my life I wondered if I would live or die, if the crowds would like me enough to save me from having to throw myself on my own sword. In my next life I was nobility, and I fought every day to never be a slave, never be subject to someone else’s will again, but guess what? We’re all slaves, every one of us, to whatever is going on above Sector Three. So do your job or forfeit your existence.” Christian shoved a bracelet at him, one woven with runes and Tobias’s blood to secure the illusion. He spun on his heel and walked away. As he left, he mused that Angel or Asia would likely have handled that a lot better.
Or, upon reflection with his own experiences, maybe not.
Leveling
Men and women in white ghees accentuated by various shades of belts milled about the large multipurpose room on the lower level of the training facility; the low buzz of conversation filled the air.
"Attention!" a Drill Sergent shouted as he stepped into the room followed by several men in Ghees, all belted at the waist with black belts stripped with red. All of the soldiers snapped to ramrod straight attention.
"Form ranks!" the Sergent shouted.
In less than a moment all of the soldiers were in perfectly dressed lines, standing at attention, awaiting orders.
"Alright you Leathernecks, time for belt advancements again," the Sergent said as he paced back and forth in front of the men, "your instructors today are Sensei Akane, Sensei Daichi, and Sensei Kiyoshi."
The Sergent stopped in front of the ranks, "I know you will all give it your very best, and I expect nothing less than completion of your rank requirements." He gave the gathered men a steely glance, "Pair up and get to it!"
Joe fiddled with his blue belt as he stepped up next to Steve in his red belt. "Steve, can you help me out for a moment?"
Steve looked around at Joe, his green eyes taking in the nervous young man, "sure Joe; what do you need help with?"
"The lower joint lock, I'm not sure I am getting it right," Joe said.
"Alright, lets run through it," Steve said as he fell into the ready stance.
Joe followed suit and stood ready, waiting for Steve to make the first move.
Steve moved with lightning fast reflexes, jabbing and twisting away. Joe reacted, blocking and turning in response to Steve's attack. Within a few minutes Joe had Steve in a joint lock, his face pressed to the mat.
"Good," a voice behind them said.
Joe released Steve and snapped to attention, "Sensei Kiyoshi!"
"Easy soldier," he said as he motioned Joe to relax.
Joe fell into a parade rest, waiting for Sensei Kiyoshi to speak.
"You're form could use a little work, but you have the basic principles," he said as he walked around Joe. "Try this," the Master said as he flowed through a couple of forms.
Joe studied the Sensei's forms with a sharp eye, taking in the movements. As the Sensei began the forms again Joe fell into sync beside him, his movements precise and sure as he relaxed into the rhythm.
"Good," Kiyoshi said as they finished, "I can, in good consciousness, award you the rank of green belt."
"Thank you Sensei Kiyoshi!" Joe said.
"Call me Scott," Kiyoshi said.
(perhaps a little lame, but my muse does not want to cooperate. I will work on it though)
"Attention!" a Drill Sergent shouted as he stepped into the room followed by several men in Ghees, all belted at the waist with black belts stripped with red. All of the soldiers snapped to ramrod straight attention.
"Form ranks!" the Sergent shouted.
In less than a moment all of the soldiers were in perfectly dressed lines, standing at attention, awaiting orders.
"Alright you Leathernecks, time for belt advancements again," the Sergent said as he paced back and forth in front of the men, "your instructors today are Sensei Akane, Sensei Daichi, and Sensei Kiyoshi."
The Sergent stopped in front of the ranks, "I know you will all give it your very best, and I expect nothing less than completion of your rank requirements." He gave the gathered men a steely glance, "Pair up and get to it!"
Joe fiddled with his blue belt as he stepped up next to Steve in his red belt. "Steve, can you help me out for a moment?"
Steve looked around at Joe, his green eyes taking in the nervous young man, "sure Joe; what do you need help with?"
"The lower joint lock, I'm not sure I am getting it right," Joe said.
"Alright, lets run through it," Steve said as he fell into the ready stance.
Joe followed suit and stood ready, waiting for Steve to make the first move.
Steve moved with lightning fast reflexes, jabbing and twisting away. Joe reacted, blocking and turning in response to Steve's attack. Within a few minutes Joe had Steve in a joint lock, his face pressed to the mat.
"Good," a voice behind them said.
Joe released Steve and snapped to attention, "Sensei Kiyoshi!"
"Easy soldier," he said as he motioned Joe to relax.
Joe fell into a parade rest, waiting for Sensei Kiyoshi to speak.
"You're form could use a little work, but you have the basic principles," he said as he walked around Joe. "Try this," the Master said as he flowed through a couple of forms.
Joe studied the Sensei's forms with a sharp eye, taking in the movements. As the Sensei began the forms again Joe fell into sync beside him, his movements precise and sure as he relaxed into the rhythm.
"Good," Kiyoshi said as they finished, "I can, in good consciousness, award you the rank of green belt."
"Thank you Sensei Kiyoshi!" Joe said.
"Call me Scott," Kiyoshi said.
(perhaps a little lame, but my muse does not want to cooperate. I will work on it though)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Noble Pride
“You want me to do...what?” Christian asked.
Asia held out a mop and a bucket. “It’s just for a week - you need to pretend you’re a janitor and monitor the target’s movements, and then report back to Angel and I so we can arrange the kill.”
Christian drew himself up to his full height, indignant. “You want me to be a servant? I think not.”
Asia raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious? Look, orders are orders, your commanding officer has delegated this assignment to you, and you need to go do it or get punished.”
An angry flush rose on Christian’s cheeks. “I will not.”
Asia thrust the cleaning supplies at him. “Christian, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”
“I am not a servant,” Christian said.
“I’m not saying you’re a servant, I’m saying you need to pretend to be one for a week so we can get critical information.” Asia kept her tone as patient and even as possible.
“That’s like being a servant for a week,” Christian huffed.
Asia took a deep breath. Then she set the bucket and mop down, grabbed Christian by the collar, and dragged him close. His eyes went wide, and the rune on his forehead flared, but she ignored the explosion of itching across her skin and held his gaze firmly.
“Listen to me, and listen good. Your family is dead. None of your line remains, and what does remain is as common as the mud under my shoes. Chivalry, knighthood, and everything you lived for is dead. No one knows who you are, no one cares who you are, and no one thinks you’re any better than the rest of the peons out there. As far as Sector Three is concerned, you are a servant, and you will do whatever they say. Now get out there and do your job.” And she shoved him away.
Christian stumbled back, startled, eyes wide. But then he dusted himself off, expression mulish, and picked up the mop and bucket. Then he marched to do her bidding. He was going to lose his job at any moment.
Asia sighed. Damn Christian and his noble pride.
(361 words)
Asia held out a mop and a bucket. “It’s just for a week - you need to pretend you’re a janitor and monitor the target’s movements, and then report back to Angel and I so we can arrange the kill.”
Christian drew himself up to his full height, indignant. “You want me to be a servant? I think not.”
Asia raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious? Look, orders are orders, your commanding officer has delegated this assignment to you, and you need to go do it or get punished.”
An angry flush rose on Christian’s cheeks. “I will not.”
Asia thrust the cleaning supplies at him. “Christian, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”
“I am not a servant,” Christian said.
“I’m not saying you’re a servant, I’m saying you need to pretend to be one for a week so we can get critical information.” Asia kept her tone as patient and even as possible.
“That’s like being a servant for a week,” Christian huffed.
Asia took a deep breath. Then she set the bucket and mop down, grabbed Christian by the collar, and dragged him close. His eyes went wide, and the rune on his forehead flared, but she ignored the explosion of itching across her skin and held his gaze firmly.
“Listen to me, and listen good. Your family is dead. None of your line remains, and what does remain is as common as the mud under my shoes. Chivalry, knighthood, and everything you lived for is dead. No one knows who you are, no one cares who you are, and no one thinks you’re any better than the rest of the peons out there. As far as Sector Three is concerned, you are a servant, and you will do whatever they say. Now get out there and do your job.” And she shoved him away.
Christian stumbled back, startled, eyes wide. But then he dusted himself off, expression mulish, and picked up the mop and bucket. Then he marched to do her bidding. He was going to lose his job at any moment.
Asia sighed. Damn Christian and his noble pride.
(361 words)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Bets
"I bet you won't do it," Bryan shouted as he nudged Mark in the side. They stood in the middle of a crowded club; music pounding and bodies bumping in time to the beat.
"I bet you I will," Mark shot back, clearly embarrassed. Massive amounts of people had always made him uncomfortable.
Bryan snorted, "yeah right. You have never taken the initiative and I doubt that you'll start now."
"I can do it," Mark said with determination.
"Then prove it. Get out there, pick a girl and dance with her. I'll even give you bonus points if you kiss her," Bryan leered at his brother. With one backward glance and a smirk Bryan disappeared into the crowd of gyrating bodies.
Mark stood for a few moments looking around, jostled by the surrounding people. Mark cracked his knuckles and shook his hands out as he let his eyes fall closed, waiting for the beat to become a part of him. It started in his chest, the throbbing of the bass that echoed his heart beat; felt it in the marrow of his bones, his feet and body beginning to move to the beat.
Mark opened his eyes and they met a pair of pretty brown eyes in the crowd. He smiled shyly as he moved towards her at her encouraging smile. He held out one hand in invitation and felt a cool hand slide into his in response.
Mark tugged her close and began to move to the music; the girl following his lead as she glanced up at him through thick eyelashes.
"I'm Mark," Mark shouted over the music.
"My friends call me Mishi," The girl shouted back.
"It's nice to meet you Mishi," Mark smiled at her as a new song came over the speakers and the fell into step again.
"I bet you I will," Mark shot back, clearly embarrassed. Massive amounts of people had always made him uncomfortable.
Bryan snorted, "yeah right. You have never taken the initiative and I doubt that you'll start now."
"I can do it," Mark said with determination.
"Then prove it. Get out there, pick a girl and dance with her. I'll even give you bonus points if you kiss her," Bryan leered at his brother. With one backward glance and a smirk Bryan disappeared into the crowd of gyrating bodies.
Mark stood for a few moments looking around, jostled by the surrounding people. Mark cracked his knuckles and shook his hands out as he let his eyes fall closed, waiting for the beat to become a part of him. It started in his chest, the throbbing of the bass that echoed his heart beat; felt it in the marrow of his bones, his feet and body beginning to move to the beat.
Mark opened his eyes and they met a pair of pretty brown eyes in the crowd. He smiled shyly as he moved towards her at her encouraging smile. He held out one hand in invitation and felt a cool hand slide into his in response.
Mark tugged her close and began to move to the music; the girl following his lead as she glanced up at him through thick eyelashes.
"I'm Mark," Mark shouted over the music.
"My friends call me Mishi," The girl shouted back.
"It's nice to meet you Mishi," Mark smiled at her as a new song came over the speakers and the fell into step again.
Mark of the English
“You’ve got to be joking,” Keith said. He looked Caomhin up and down, only he wasn’t really Caomhin, wasn’t the man who’d sneak Keith and his mates a pint of guinness after school.
“I’m not,” Caomhin - Angel - said. He had a smooth, upper-crust British accent, and all along, he’d been a bloody spy for MI6, hadn’t he? Keith knew he was breathing hard, that his gift was crackling dangerously under his skin, but he didn’t care. Maybe he should set this bloody impostor on fire - only he knew that the man before him had dangerous talents of his own.
“You lied to me all this time,” Keith said, voice low and dangerous.
“Yes and no,” Angel said. “I lied about who I am, yes, but I didn’t lie about why I’m here or what I believe –”
“You’re one of them!” Keith hissed. “You’re one of the English –”
“Look at me,” Angel said, patient. “Do I look like I’m English? Did Holly look English?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before – you’ve got it written all over you – you’re one of those James Bond types, aren’t you, all public schooled.” Heat began to flare in the palms of Keith’s hands; his skin itched, begging him to let flames coalesce on his skin.
Angel sighed. “Keith, you don’t understand – I’m just like you. I understand how you feel. Your country wasn’t the only one that the British overrode, captured and subdued. Do you understand?”
A fireball burst alight on Keith’s palm. “Why should I trust you?”
“Look at me,” Angel said, and something in his voice made Keith go still, and for the first time he looked.
“Oh,” Keith said. “Oh. But you – your lot had Ghandi, and...”
“The mark of the English hasn’t gone away,” Angel said. “Surely you know that.” His voice was low, his expression solemn. He met Keith’s gaze and held it, waited, and after a few minutes, the flames in Keith’s hands dissipated.
“I do know that,” Keith said.
Angel smiled. “Good. Now, if you think you’re ready, I have a job for you.”
“I’m not,” Caomhin - Angel - said. He had a smooth, upper-crust British accent, and all along, he’d been a bloody spy for MI6, hadn’t he? Keith knew he was breathing hard, that his gift was crackling dangerously under his skin, but he didn’t care. Maybe he should set this bloody impostor on fire - only he knew that the man before him had dangerous talents of his own.
“You lied to me all this time,” Keith said, voice low and dangerous.
“Yes and no,” Angel said. “I lied about who I am, yes, but I didn’t lie about why I’m here or what I believe –”
“You’re one of them!” Keith hissed. “You’re one of the English –”
“Look at me,” Angel said, patient. “Do I look like I’m English? Did Holly look English?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before – you’ve got it written all over you – you’re one of those James Bond types, aren’t you, all public schooled.” Heat began to flare in the palms of Keith’s hands; his skin itched, begging him to let flames coalesce on his skin.
Angel sighed. “Keith, you don’t understand – I’m just like you. I understand how you feel. Your country wasn’t the only one that the British overrode, captured and subdued. Do you understand?”
A fireball burst alight on Keith’s palm. “Why should I trust you?”
“Look at me,” Angel said, and something in his voice made Keith go still, and for the first time he looked.
“Oh,” Keith said. “Oh. But you – your lot had Ghandi, and...”
“The mark of the English hasn’t gone away,” Angel said. “Surely you know that.” His voice was low, his expression solemn. He met Keith’s gaze and held it, waited, and after a few minutes, the flames in Keith’s hands dissipated.
“I do know that,” Keith said.
Angel smiled. “Good. Now, if you think you’re ready, I have a job for you.”
Monday, March 15, 2010
Repeated Orders
"Hey boss," Steve called out as they hunched further down behind the makeshift barrier as bullets flew past overhead.
"Yeah Steve?" David yelled back to his second in command over the chatter of the machine guns.
"How long have we been chasing this guy?" Steve popped up for a brief second and laid down a spray of bullets.
"Boogieman Bates," David said with suppressed anger, "that man is a ghost. Each time I get close, he slips away. And it usually takes me years to find him again." David returned some of the incoming fire; screams from the other side of the room confirmed the hits. "I can guarantee that he is gone by now. He is always one step ahead of me."
David could hear the other men on the team talking about the same thing. David thought back to when he had first been assigned to take care of Bates. All he had was a grainy surveillance photo, and a cock sure attitude of one that had never failed.
That attitude and picture had landed him in the hospital for three weeks with a bullet wound in his leg. Bates had gotten away.
The next time, he was more cautious and methodical in his hunt. David still only narrowly escaped being blown up in a carefully laid trap.
David sighed in frustration. Killing Brody Bates was his one ongoing failure. He still had the original kill order tucked into his wallet.
From: Office of General Command
To: Captain David Cole
Attn: Brody Bates
Captain Cole; you are ordered to eliminate the terrorist known as Brody Bates. Methodology is to your discretion. Further intelligence provided by Commander Hayes.
David pulled out the order from time to time and tried to put himself in Bates's shoes. Tried to think as he would think; tried to get a few steps ahead of him.
David sighed and shook his head. It was near impossible to think like a psychopath like Bates.
Steve broke into David's musings, "so what are we going to do boss?"
"After we eliminate these, then the hunt begins again," David said.
"Yeah Steve?" David yelled back to his second in command over the chatter of the machine guns.
"How long have we been chasing this guy?" Steve popped up for a brief second and laid down a spray of bullets.
"Boogieman Bates," David said with suppressed anger, "that man is a ghost. Each time I get close, he slips away. And it usually takes me years to find him again." David returned some of the incoming fire; screams from the other side of the room confirmed the hits. "I can guarantee that he is gone by now. He is always one step ahead of me."
David could hear the other men on the team talking about the same thing. David thought back to when he had first been assigned to take care of Bates. All he had was a grainy surveillance photo, and a cock sure attitude of one that had never failed.
That attitude and picture had landed him in the hospital for three weeks with a bullet wound in his leg. Bates had gotten away.
The next time, he was more cautious and methodical in his hunt. David still only narrowly escaped being blown up in a carefully laid trap.
David sighed in frustration. Killing Brody Bates was his one ongoing failure. He still had the original kill order tucked into his wallet.
From: Office of General Command
To: Captain David Cole
Attn: Brody Bates
Captain Cole; you are ordered to eliminate the terrorist known as Brody Bates. Methodology is to your discretion. Further intelligence provided by Commander Hayes.
David pulled out the order from time to time and tried to put himself in Bates's shoes. Tried to think as he would think; tried to get a few steps ahead of him.
David sighed and shook his head. It was near impossible to think like a psychopath like Bates.
Steve broke into David's musings, "so what are we going to do boss?"
"After we eliminate these, then the hunt begins again," David said.
High School Horror
“Just go in there, speak to the lady at the office and...wait until you see the target.” Angel smiled encouragingly.
Tobias ran a hand over his new, shorter hair and sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous colt. “You know I hate high school. Why would you send me back to one?”
“I’m just the operational lieutenant,” Angel said. “Sector Three picked this mission.” He smirked and pinched Tobias’s cheek. “They probably picked you because you have such a cute little face.”
Tobias scowled and swatted Angel’s hand aside. “I’m not going in there. I can wait until the target is alone, shift into a poisonous snake or spider or something and just - finish the job.”
Christian sighed. “Look, the whole point of this is that we send a message with this kill - that we have eyes and ears and hands everywhere. A death that could be written off as naturally caused will hardly have the effect we need.”
“Who says we need such an effect?”
“The brass.” Angel planted a hand in the small of Tobias’s back and shoved him toward the front steps of the school. “Now go. I shouldn’t expect to hear from you for at least a month, and then you’ll have to finish out the semester to make it look good.”
Anxiety and fear, all too familiar and sickening, curled in Tobias’s gut. With his grip on his bag white-knuckled, he marched toward the stairs. Halfway up someone jostled his shoulder. Tobias glanced up and saw a thick-necked, square-jawed teenager in a letterman jacket bearing down on him. A football player.
“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the football player snarled.
Tobias ducked his head automatically and mumbled an apology. Then he darted up the stairs and into the relative anonymity of the hallway. Now he just had to talk to the lady in the office, get his schedule and locker assignment, and everything would be fine. If he kept his head down, no one would notice him, no one would --
And then he saw her, the target, standing amidst of a group of admirers - her fellow cheerleaders. She tossed her long blonde hair, and her smile lit up the entire room.
Remember - you need to get the target to trust you, Asia had said. You have to get her alone so you can take your time with her.
Tobias looked down at himself, at the clothes he was wearing, and realized there was no way in hell a girl like the target would look twice at him. He was Tobias, that freaky kid who lived in a trailer park with his drunken uncle because his own parents didn’t even want him --
He swallowed hard and lifted his head cautiously, caught the girl’s eye, smiled. She sniffed and turned away. His throat tightened. How was he going to get this job done?
Tobias ran a hand over his new, shorter hair and sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous colt. “You know I hate high school. Why would you send me back to one?”
“I’m just the operational lieutenant,” Angel said. “Sector Three picked this mission.” He smirked and pinched Tobias’s cheek. “They probably picked you because you have such a cute little face.”
Tobias scowled and swatted Angel’s hand aside. “I’m not going in there. I can wait until the target is alone, shift into a poisonous snake or spider or something and just - finish the job.”
Christian sighed. “Look, the whole point of this is that we send a message with this kill - that we have eyes and ears and hands everywhere. A death that could be written off as naturally caused will hardly have the effect we need.”
“Who says we need such an effect?”
“The brass.” Angel planted a hand in the small of Tobias’s back and shoved him toward the front steps of the school. “Now go. I shouldn’t expect to hear from you for at least a month, and then you’ll have to finish out the semester to make it look good.”
Anxiety and fear, all too familiar and sickening, curled in Tobias’s gut. With his grip on his bag white-knuckled, he marched toward the stairs. Halfway up someone jostled his shoulder. Tobias glanced up and saw a thick-necked, square-jawed teenager in a letterman jacket bearing down on him. A football player.
“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the football player snarled.
Tobias ducked his head automatically and mumbled an apology. Then he darted up the stairs and into the relative anonymity of the hallway. Now he just had to talk to the lady in the office, get his schedule and locker assignment, and everything would be fine. If he kept his head down, no one would notice him, no one would --
And then he saw her, the target, standing amidst of a group of admirers - her fellow cheerleaders. She tossed her long blonde hair, and her smile lit up the entire room.
Remember - you need to get the target to trust you, Asia had said. You have to get her alone so you can take your time with her.
Tobias looked down at himself, at the clothes he was wearing, and realized there was no way in hell a girl like the target would look twice at him. He was Tobias, that freaky kid who lived in a trailer park with his drunken uncle because his own parents didn’t even want him --
He swallowed hard and lifted his head cautiously, caught the girl’s eye, smiled. She sniffed and turned away. His throat tightened. How was he going to get this job done?
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Project Assignment # 64 - Challenges
So the order to issue a challenge turned into this weeks challenge.
This week we are to write challenges our characters are going through. Is James just not getting his lines right or a particular fight scene? How about DJ he is always saying that being pretty is a challenge. How do the special ops boys respond to various challenges in the field? What was their reaction when they were challenged with even joining the service? How about Ariana; what are her challenges?
Have fun!
Max word is 500
This week we are to write challenges our characters are going through. Is James just not getting his lines right or a particular fight scene? How about DJ he is always saying that being pretty is a challenge. How do the special ops boys respond to various challenges in the field? What was their reaction when they were challenged with even joining the service? How about Ariana; what are her challenges?
Have fun!
Max word is 500
Overview #63: This is the Last Time
So I got nailed with an epic bout of writer's block this week, and so every piece I posted after the second was pretty much like pulling teeth. None of them were what I wanted them to be, but let's face it - with these boys, pretty much the best parts of their stories would be the last kisses. All of them. I think I captured James's pretty well in that it parallels the original but was also its own moment. Overall, however, I was dissatisfied with what I churned out this week.
Maybe it's me, or maybe's a pattern, but I feel like I do worse at my own prompts than on someone else's.
Figures.
(Also, Madness, it is your turn to pick a challenge.)
Maybe it's me, or maybe's a pattern, but I feel like I do worse at my own prompts than on someone else's.
Figures.
(Also, Madness, it is your turn to pick a challenge.)
The beatings will continue until writing improves
okay so it was epic fail of all time for me. I only got in one post. I did however finally pick up a copy of strunk and white. So Master can smack me around and I will be reformed. (hopefully)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
June 6th
“I don’t like the look of this at all,” Christian said.
“Neither do I.” Angel took a deep drag off his cigarette.
“Knock it off.” Christian elbowed him. “A sniper can see the cherry of your smoke from miles away. You’re gonna get yourself shot.”
“I noticed you said nothing about me getting myself killed.” Angel smiled grimly.
Christian closed his eyes and felt the rock and sway of the boat, wondered what one of his past incarnations would have thought of climbing into a giant metal death trap and hoping to float on the sea. “I’ve learned by now.”
“Good.” Angel flicked his cigarette over the edge of the boat. “I think this will be my last battle as a peon.”
“Oh? And how do you figure?”
Angel snorted. “You don’t know what it was like before. I’m a general by birth and by training. Taking orders like an automaton isn’t my thing.”
“And yet here you are, enlisted again.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure I can wrangle getting killed once we storm up this beach.” Angel closed his eyes and sighed. “Will humankind ever tire of wars?”
“No,” Christian said. “Somehow, it’s also in our blood.”
“You’re not humankind,” Angel pointed out rather undiplomatically.
Christian rolled his eyes. Then he sighed and shifted his gun, rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. “What time is it?”
“Oh-one-hundred-thirty-seven,” Angel said without looking at his watch. His sense of time had always been uncanny. Christian wondered if it was a telekinetic thing. “Technically it is now June 6th.”
“Normandy Beach, here we come.” Christian closed his eyes.
“Here we come,” Angel agreed. “Our last charge, right?”
“The last.”
(281 words)
“Neither do I.” Angel took a deep drag off his cigarette.
“Knock it off.” Christian elbowed him. “A sniper can see the cherry of your smoke from miles away. You’re gonna get yourself shot.”
“I noticed you said nothing about me getting myself killed.” Angel smiled grimly.
Christian closed his eyes and felt the rock and sway of the boat, wondered what one of his past incarnations would have thought of climbing into a giant metal death trap and hoping to float on the sea. “I’ve learned by now.”
“Good.” Angel flicked his cigarette over the edge of the boat. “I think this will be my last battle as a peon.”
“Oh? And how do you figure?”
Angel snorted. “You don’t know what it was like before. I’m a general by birth and by training. Taking orders like an automaton isn’t my thing.”
“And yet here you are, enlisted again.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure I can wrangle getting killed once we storm up this beach.” Angel closed his eyes and sighed. “Will humankind ever tire of wars?”
“No,” Christian said. “Somehow, it’s also in our blood.”
“You’re not humankind,” Angel pointed out rather undiplomatically.
Christian rolled his eyes. Then he sighed and shifted his gun, rolled his shoulders to loosen them up. “What time is it?”
“Oh-one-hundred-thirty-seven,” Angel said without looking at his watch. His sense of time had always been uncanny. Christian wondered if it was a telekinetic thing. “Technically it is now June 6th.”
“Normandy Beach, here we come.” Christian closed his eyes.
“Here we come,” Angel agreed. “Our last charge, right?”
“The last.”
(281 words)
Friday, March 12, 2010
She Would
“Leave us,” Arcturus said, and his knights bowed respectfully, ducked out of the tent.
Elaine continued fastening his armor with steady hands, as if this were any other battle, but she knew that it wasn’t. They had been at Camlann for three days now, and both of them had seen Clarent shining in Medraut’s grip on the other side of the battlefield. Arcturus had Caledfwlch and Rhongomyniad, but Elaine had seen the end, and she knew it.
In all her years serving Arcturus, in her years training the young lad Arthwr, he’d never questioned her presence at Emry’s side as anything more than a dogsbody and a master-of-arms, but now she realized that he had suspected the truth all along, that he knew the truth of their power.
“I’m going to die out there, aren’t I?”
“You will kill Medraut.”
“And he will kill me.”
Elaine focused on fastening Arcturus gorge plate, fascinated by the soft, smooth skin at the nape of his neck. He sighed, and she knew that sound, lifted her hands away obediently. He turned to face her, and she kept her gaze obediently averted; she had become too good at playing a servant after so long in the role. He sighed again, and she felt the cool leather of his glove as he tilted her chin up.
“Elaine --”
“My Lord.”
“You never call my Arthwr anymore.”
“You are my king.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I was never your king.”
“You have always been my king,” Elaine said softly, and he had been her king in her dreams long before he was even born.
“You know and I know that this is my last battle,” Arcturus said. “As your king, I ask you to grant me a last request.”
“Anything, My Lord.”
“Call me Arthwr.”
“Yes, Arthwr,” Elaine said. She swallowed hard.
He stepped closer, and his hand slid to cup her face. “Elaine - kiss me --”
She shook her head and stepped back. “My Lord - your queen --”
His green eyes were wide, almost boyish in their fear. “Elaine --”
“I cannot,” she said. But she knew she would, when she was kneeling on the battlefield with him in her arms, listening to him breathe his last.
He bowed his head. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Elaine picked up Caledfwlch, pressed it into his hands. “I would forgive you all, my Lord, but there is naught to forgive.”
(400 words)
Elaine continued fastening his armor with steady hands, as if this were any other battle, but she knew that it wasn’t. They had been at Camlann for three days now, and both of them had seen Clarent shining in Medraut’s grip on the other side of the battlefield. Arcturus had Caledfwlch and Rhongomyniad, but Elaine had seen the end, and she knew it.
In all her years serving Arcturus, in her years training the young lad Arthwr, he’d never questioned her presence at Emry’s side as anything more than a dogsbody and a master-of-arms, but now she realized that he had suspected the truth all along, that he knew the truth of their power.
“I’m going to die out there, aren’t I?”
“You will kill Medraut.”
“And he will kill me.”
Elaine focused on fastening Arcturus gorge plate, fascinated by the soft, smooth skin at the nape of his neck. He sighed, and she knew that sound, lifted her hands away obediently. He turned to face her, and she kept her gaze obediently averted; she had become too good at playing a servant after so long in the role. He sighed again, and she felt the cool leather of his glove as he tilted her chin up.
“Elaine --”
“My Lord.”
“You never call my Arthwr anymore.”
“You are my king.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I was never your king.”
“You have always been my king,” Elaine said softly, and he had been her king in her dreams long before he was even born.
“You know and I know that this is my last battle,” Arcturus said. “As your king, I ask you to grant me a last request.”
“Anything, My Lord.”
“Call me Arthwr.”
“Yes, Arthwr,” Elaine said. She swallowed hard.
He stepped closer, and his hand slid to cup her face. “Elaine - kiss me --”
She shook her head and stepped back. “My Lord - your queen --”
His green eyes were wide, almost boyish in their fear. “Elaine --”
“I cannot,” she said. But she knew she would, when she was kneeling on the battlefield with him in her arms, listening to him breathe his last.
He bowed his head. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Elaine picked up Caledfwlch, pressed it into his hands. “I would forgive you all, my Lord, but there is naught to forgive.”
(400 words)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Last Dance
“The night is almost over,” Tobias murmured in Veronica’s ear.
She nodded against his shoulder. “Indeed it is.”
“Is there no way to slow time?”
“I haven’t found one yet.” Veronica smiled faintly.
Tobias buried his face in her hair and sighed. He wondered if it was a high school cliché, to say that tonight had been the best night of his admittedly short life, and he didn’t want it to end.
“We still have the last dance,” Veronica said. They’d been swaying to slow music for the last fifteen minutes - straight duck walks, all five songs. Tobias thought a good stroll or jitterbug, a jive or a swing might liven things up - it’d be a great way to end the night, breathless and bright-eyed in each other’s arms. Veronica was a terrific dancer.
The DJ announced it, the last dance, the last three minutes Tobias would get to have Veronica in his arms, and he closed his eyes, ready for another pathetic duck walk. He loved feeling the warmth of her against him, of feeling her heartbeat against his, but this was -- too slow. He was restless, she was energetic, and...
The music that poured over the gym was a tango.
Tobias grinned. He pulled back, offered his hand and bowed. “May I have this dance?”
Veronica grinned right back at him. “You may.”
(226 words)
She nodded against his shoulder. “Indeed it is.”
“Is there no way to slow time?”
“I haven’t found one yet.” Veronica smiled faintly.
Tobias buried his face in her hair and sighed. He wondered if it was a high school cliché, to say that tonight had been the best night of his admittedly short life, and he didn’t want it to end.
“We still have the last dance,” Veronica said. They’d been swaying to slow music for the last fifteen minutes - straight duck walks, all five songs. Tobias thought a good stroll or jitterbug, a jive or a swing might liven things up - it’d be a great way to end the night, breathless and bright-eyed in each other’s arms. Veronica was a terrific dancer.
The DJ announced it, the last dance, the last three minutes Tobias would get to have Veronica in his arms, and he closed his eyes, ready for another pathetic duck walk. He loved feeling the warmth of her against him, of feeling her heartbeat against his, but this was -- too slow. He was restless, she was energetic, and...
The music that poured over the gym was a tango.
Tobias grinned. He pulled back, offered his hand and bowed. “May I have this dance?”
Veronica grinned right back at him. “You may.”
(226 words)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Hold Back or Hold On
“This is it,” Dylan said. He leaned against the railing, gazed out at the skyline where high-rises made it jagged, unnatural. He would miss the way the blues and greens played on the edges of the bay, the twinkle of the cable car up to the peak. He wouldn’t miss much else, not as long as Celia was beside him.
“The last fight,” Celia agreed. She nudged his shoulder with hers, the gesture subtle but comforting; he could feel the warmth of her through the sleeve of his jacket.
“I won’t hold back,” he said.
“I don’t think you ever have - at least, not in the first fight,” Celia said.
Dylan ducked his head and sighed. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“You thought I was a boy.” Celia smiled easily. She turned more fully toward him, pressed herself against his side. “You really thought I was a boy?”
“That jacket doesn’t fit nearly as well as you think it does,” he said.
“Yes, well, they’re one size fits all, and we don’t have money like you do. We were lucky to get cute matching jackets at all.” Celia fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve experimentally. “It’s a good thing Tiger has retarded notions about the 1950’s, eh?”
“Indeed,” Dylan agreed, tone mock-solemn. They stood, gazing out at the skyline in comfortable silence. Then Dylan sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Celia said. “You know I’m a capable fighter.”
Dylan turned to her, tugged her close, arms wrapped around her waist. “I know you are. It’s just --”
Celia’s golden eyes gleamed. “We have to make it believable. Give it your all, and I’ll do the rest.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “One last fight.”
“Last fight,” Celia agreed, and kissed him.
Dragon pulled back when a car horn sounded from the street below. Soren and the others hollered for him to come take a ride.
“Catch you later, Demon,” Dragon said.
“Later,” Seal agreed. She watched him vault over the side of the balcony, shimmy down the tree with the agility of a professional acrobat. He had no idea what would hit him.
(362 words)
“The last fight,” Celia agreed. She nudged his shoulder with hers, the gesture subtle but comforting; he could feel the warmth of her through the sleeve of his jacket.
“I won’t hold back,” he said.
“I don’t think you ever have - at least, not in the first fight,” Celia said.
Dylan ducked his head and sighed. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“You thought I was a boy.” Celia smiled easily. She turned more fully toward him, pressed herself against his side. “You really thought I was a boy?”
“That jacket doesn’t fit nearly as well as you think it does,” he said.
“Yes, well, they’re one size fits all, and we don’t have money like you do. We were lucky to get cute matching jackets at all.” Celia fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve experimentally. “It’s a good thing Tiger has retarded notions about the 1950’s, eh?”
“Indeed,” Dylan agreed, tone mock-solemn. They stood, gazing out at the skyline in comfortable silence. Then Dylan sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Celia said. “You know I’m a capable fighter.”
Dylan turned to her, tugged her close, arms wrapped around her waist. “I know you are. It’s just --”
Celia’s golden eyes gleamed. “We have to make it believable. Give it your all, and I’ll do the rest.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “One last fight.”
“Last fight,” Celia agreed, and kissed him.
Dragon pulled back when a car horn sounded from the street below. Soren and the others hollered for him to come take a ride.
“Catch you later, Demon,” Dragon said.
“Later,” Seal agreed. She watched him vault over the side of the balcony, shimmy down the tree with the agility of a professional acrobat. He had no idea what would hit him.
(362 words)
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Last Kiss
James sat in the waiting room at the hospital, staring at his shoes. He had his hoodie pulled up to hide his face; he couldn’t deal with fans right then. He could remember, with painstaking clarity, their last kiss. It had been - innocuous. Soft and brief, the press of her lips against his as she sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her shoes.
“Going for a run,” she’d said, leaned down and pressed her lips to his. “I’ll bring back some fresh bread and cream, all right? Maybe some strawberries.”
“Fraises,” he’d murmured, half awake, drinking in the sight of her backlit by the morning sun.
And then she’d gone.
When Tobias stepped out of the little side room where the doctor had asked to speak to him, James knew. Tobias’s face was pale, expression dangerously blank - especially on an actor - and then he spoke. James saw Tobias’s mouth shape words, heard syllables, but nothing made sense.
After a few moments, he buried his face in his hands and cried.
(173 words)
“Going for a run,” she’d said, leaned down and pressed her lips to his. “I’ll bring back some fresh bread and cream, all right? Maybe some strawberries.”
“Fraises,” he’d murmured, half awake, drinking in the sight of her backlit by the morning sun.
And then she’d gone.
When Tobias stepped out of the little side room where the doctor had asked to speak to him, James knew. Tobias’s face was pale, expression dangerously blank - especially on an actor - and then he spoke. James saw Tobias’s mouth shape words, heard syllables, but nothing made sense.
After a few moments, he buried his face in his hands and cried.
(173 words)
Monday, March 8, 2010
Supper, First and Last
“What are you doing?” Jade stood in the doorway of the tent, arms crossed over his chest. Without his curls he looked older, more dangerous. With the curls, he’d looked benign and boyish. Puppy-like.
Tobias was kneading dough with easy hands, humming an old jazz tune under his breath as he worked. “Sourdough bread. Homemade. Family recipe, as it were. Some of the boys said they were hankering for good sandwiches, and wonderbread doesn’t cut it out here.”
“You say it like it’s their last meal,” Jade said.
Tobias glanced over his shoulder; his eyes were dark. “For some of them it is.”
Jade took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his cheekbone where he’d caught some flak from an explosion earlier that day. “Right. Now that I’m - “ he gestured at himself vaguely - “I forget it’s so much harder for everyone else. To survive.”
“Yes, well, I figure some of the grunts deserve some good food. After all, it’s my last meal.”
Jade looked confused. “But...you don’t have to eat.”
“I know,” Tobias said. “And since I don’t have to eat, there’s no reason for me to waste upwards of three hours a day cooking for the troops, is there? The Commander needs me for things.”
The corners of Jade’s mouth turned down as he considered Tobias’s position, and then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Asia always used to tell me you were the best cook, you know. When she was training me to fly. I guess if you’re never going to cook again, you might as well go out with a --”
“Fondue,” Tobias said.
“Right,” Jade agreed, and grimaced at his poor decision to use a cliché.
Tobias used his elbow to point to a rolling pin. “Ever made pie from scratch?”
Jade rolled his sleeves up. “No. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“And a last,” Tobias agreed.
(316 words)
Tobias was kneading dough with easy hands, humming an old jazz tune under his breath as he worked. “Sourdough bread. Homemade. Family recipe, as it were. Some of the boys said they were hankering for good sandwiches, and wonderbread doesn’t cut it out here.”
“You say it like it’s their last meal,” Jade said.
Tobias glanced over his shoulder; his eyes were dark. “For some of them it is.”
Jade took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his cheekbone where he’d caught some flak from an explosion earlier that day. “Right. Now that I’m - “ he gestured at himself vaguely - “I forget it’s so much harder for everyone else. To survive.”
“Yes, well, I figure some of the grunts deserve some good food. After all, it’s my last meal.”
Jade looked confused. “But...you don’t have to eat.”
“I know,” Tobias said. “And since I don’t have to eat, there’s no reason for me to waste upwards of three hours a day cooking for the troops, is there? The Commander needs me for things.”
The corners of Jade’s mouth turned down as he considered Tobias’s position, and then nodded. “I guess you’re right. Asia always used to tell me you were the best cook, you know. When she was training me to fly. I guess if you’re never going to cook again, you might as well go out with a --”
“Fondue,” Tobias said.
“Right,” Jade agreed, and grimaced at his poor decision to use a cliché.
Tobias used his elbow to point to a rolling pin. “Ever made pie from scratch?”
Jade rolled his sleeves up. “No. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“And a last,” Tobias agreed.
(316 words)
Knew it was a Lie
Joe glanced around guiltily as he ducked from the lighted street into a partially shadowed doorway. He pulled the door closed firmly behind him and made sure it was locked before he even turned away from it.
The hall that stretched before him was illuminated looked like any other hallway in a city condo building. Joe paced down the carpeted alley; making no noise as he passed five doors; three hundred paces to his final destination. Joe raised one fist and knocked gently.
The door was pulled open a crack and then shut again, he could hear the chain rattling on the other side of the wood. As soon as the door was open wide enough he slipped through and gently shut the door behind him so that no one would notice his passing.
The room was dim, though he could see well enough. He knew these rooms like his own and didn't hesitate as he toed off his shoes by the door and hung up his jacket. He could hear breathing coming from his right and turned to face Jen.
Joe took two steps and was enfolded in a soft and sensual embrace; his lips eagerly seeking out hers. Kisses that were soft and urgent quickly turned demanding and passionate; teeth clashing and tongues entwining. Joe quickly lost his shirt as he was backed up against the wall.
Hours later, he slipped quietly from the apartment on stockinged feet.
Each time Joe told himself that it was the last time. But he knew that it was a lie.
The hall that stretched before him was illuminated looked like any other hallway in a city condo building. Joe paced down the carpeted alley; making no noise as he passed five doors; three hundred paces to his final destination. Joe raised one fist and knocked gently.
The door was pulled open a crack and then shut again, he could hear the chain rattling on the other side of the wood. As soon as the door was open wide enough he slipped through and gently shut the door behind him so that no one would notice his passing.
The room was dim, though he could see well enough. He knew these rooms like his own and didn't hesitate as he toed off his shoes by the door and hung up his jacket. He could hear breathing coming from his right and turned to face Jen.
Joe took two steps and was enfolded in a soft and sensual embrace; his lips eagerly seeking out hers. Kisses that were soft and urgent quickly turned demanding and passionate; teeth clashing and tongues entwining. Joe quickly lost his shirt as he was backed up against the wall.
Hours later, he slipped quietly from the apartment on stockinged feet.
Each time Joe told himself that it was the last time. But he knew that it was a lie.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Overview # 61 - Poetry
So I was on a roll this week, but I ended up stumbling at the end of the week. I did turn out some poetry that I thought was rather well done and some that was not so much. I must say, writing the Dance club poem for me was intense as I remembered. Funny how memories can be so potent, and others that are just as important begin to fade...
Project #63: This is the Last Time
So...last times for characters. The last time David saw Ari alive. The last time Asia kissed James. The last time Joe held a gun. It's the last time for someone, so make it good. 100-400 words.
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