Wow....I feel quite terrible about having deserted this project for so long. I figured it out, though--the timing coincides with one of two things: I started hanging out with Andrew (my boyfriend), and I also started working a shift I'm not too fond of. I'd like to think that my lack of inspiration comes from the fact that I'm so bone-tired after dealing with this shift that I'm too tired to write, but it could very well be that I'm just distracted by Andrew.
Regardless, I'll do my best to catch up--now that I'm practically a month behind :P I'm writing this on the spot at the library, so it may not be the absolute best, and there won't be a word count or anything, but I hope you enjoy it!
3/10/10
Prompt: "He drank the scotch like it was an old friend..." (NaNo)
He drank the scotch like it was an old friend.
The amber liquid pooled in the glass, almost glowing in the dim light. Nathan hunched over it, his hands wrapping around the cool glass protectively. Raising it slowly to his lips, he drank the scotch like it was an old friend, a friend providing much needed comfort after a long day. Nathan hadn't always been such close friends with Scotch, but now, after all that had happened, one tumbler of the potent liquor had become a nightly routine. He was careful, knowing that if he made a habit of more than one, it would quickly escalate into something more dangerous, more uncontrollable.
He sighed, holding the cool glass against his forehead, trying to soothe the throbbing ache that had settled there sometime around noon. Today had been hard. The two court cases he was working on were both bogged down by beauracratic bullshit, and there was no way he'd be able to come to a settlement. One of them was pro bono, and that was the one he was most worried about. If he didn't find a way to win the trial soon, then a young mother would lose custody of her child, lose it to her suave, sophisticated asshole of an ex-husband.
With another sigh, he tossed back the remains of the scotch and set the glass down on the bar. He set the money down, and grabbed his jacket, making his way out onto the street. The night was clear and chilly, but not too cold. He could see the stars twinkling overhead, a rare occurence in the city. Slowly, he began walking towards his apartment, deliberately calming his thoughts so he could puzzle his way through the two cases. And that's all they were: puzzles. Once he figured out the puzzle, he could win the case. All he had to do was put the pieces together, that was it. He knew he would, knew he could, he just needed to figure out how. Something cool touched his cheek and he looked up. Several clouds had stolen over the sky, and a light dusting of snow was beginning to fall. He smiled at the serenity of it all, and calmly walked up the stairs to his apartment. It would all be figured out soon.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Excuse #2
Wow, I'm not setting too great of a track record! Well, this one's worth the delay, I hope. It took me a while, and I wrote it longhand, so there's no timestamp. I would request some input, both on the story continuity and the character of Victor. Anywho, here you are!
3/8/10
Prompt: “Eternity is far too long to hold a grudge.” (NaNo)
He stared out the window into the darkening sky, his fingers clinching unconsciously as he watched the ominous clouds gathering in the distance. Henri was at it again. Damn. He loathed the suave Parisian. How long had it been since the betrayal? A decade? A century? He couldn’t remember. All he remembered was the image, the picture of Henri standing before him, the lovely Caroline on his arm, her eyes glassy and vacant.
Victor had spat in his face, snarling as he struggled vainly to free himself, to free Caroline. Henri had been his best friend, his sole confidant, yet had turned on him at the earliest moment. Henri had always coveted Victor’s happiness with Caroline, but Victor had been too blinded, too enmeshed in his paradise to notice his friend’s withdrawal. That had only made the betrayal more painful.
Henri’s soldiers had come in the night, too many of them for Victor to fight. He had commanded Caroline to leave, to flee, yet she had refused to leave his side. That had been their undoing. The soldiers had trussed Victor up, chaining him to the wall, then left the room, dragging Caro along with them. Victor had struggled, had cursed, but Henri had power beyond any Victor could dream of. Once, they had been equals, but now Victor suspected that Henri had struck a pact with something far more powerful than even Henri realized.
It had been at least an hour before anyone had entered the room again—this time, it was Henri, with Victor’s Caroline hanging off his arm. She stared blindly into space, her eyes blank and empty, glazed over as if under a spell. Victor had raged then, nearly tearing his bindings out of the wall, but even one as strong as he could not break iron chains.
Henri had merely laughed, tilting Caro’s head up so he could kiss her viciously. She made no movements, neither to stop nor encourage. Henri had stared at Victor the whole time, his cold eyes taunting. Victor had turned into an animal, wild snorts and curses ripping from his throat until it was raw, and blood began to fleck his lips. Henri left then, his hand resting blatantly on Caroline’s hip. The soldiers had taken Victor then, dragging him away and locking him in one of Henri’s many towers.
That had been years ago. Victor had tried to escape time and time gain, but the safeguards proved too much, even for him. And so he waited. For how long, he knew not, but still he waited, hoping for the day when Henri would slip. He almost had, once, and victor still had the hideous scars crisscrossing his body from that terrible day.
Henri had made a habit of visiting Victor, of telling him little things about Caroline. Each story, each recounting of the shameful things Henri forced her to do was like a knife to Victor’s heart. He stored them deep, never letting Henri see his rage…at least, until the day Henri informed him that Caroline was dead.
Some inside Victor had snapped that day. His control, his sanity, he knew not, but what restraint he’d shown in the past was gone. He’d attacked Henri with his bare hands, nearly strangling the loathsome man before the guards managed to pry him off. Henri had retaliated with a vengeance, whipping Victor until not one inch of skin remained unmarred. And then he had left.
He hadn’t returned since then, and Victor bided his time, hoping he would be forgotten as the years dragged by. Maybe he had been, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that now was the time for action. If he didn’t exact his revenge now, Henri would keep him captive for eternity, and that was far to long too hold a grudge, no, not even a grudge, far too long to hold the abject pain of betrayal without acting on it. Victor was prepared, his strength gathered, and tonight was the night. Henri would die. By the end of the night, Henri would die.
Word Count: 677
3/8/10
Prompt: “Eternity is far too long to hold a grudge.” (NaNo)
He stared out the window into the darkening sky, his fingers clinching unconsciously as he watched the ominous clouds gathering in the distance. Henri was at it again. Damn. He loathed the suave Parisian. How long had it been since the betrayal? A decade? A century? He couldn’t remember. All he remembered was the image, the picture of Henri standing before him, the lovely Caroline on his arm, her eyes glassy and vacant.
Victor had spat in his face, snarling as he struggled vainly to free himself, to free Caroline. Henri had been his best friend, his sole confidant, yet had turned on him at the earliest moment. Henri had always coveted Victor’s happiness with Caroline, but Victor had been too blinded, too enmeshed in his paradise to notice his friend’s withdrawal. That had only made the betrayal more painful.
Henri’s soldiers had come in the night, too many of them for Victor to fight. He had commanded Caroline to leave, to flee, yet she had refused to leave his side. That had been their undoing. The soldiers had trussed Victor up, chaining him to the wall, then left the room, dragging Caro along with them. Victor had struggled, had cursed, but Henri had power beyond any Victor could dream of. Once, they had been equals, but now Victor suspected that Henri had struck a pact with something far more powerful than even Henri realized.
It had been at least an hour before anyone had entered the room again—this time, it was Henri, with Victor’s Caroline hanging off his arm. She stared blindly into space, her eyes blank and empty, glazed over as if under a spell. Victor had raged then, nearly tearing his bindings out of the wall, but even one as strong as he could not break iron chains.
Henri had merely laughed, tilting Caro’s head up so he could kiss her viciously. She made no movements, neither to stop nor encourage. Henri had stared at Victor the whole time, his cold eyes taunting. Victor had turned into an animal, wild snorts and curses ripping from his throat until it was raw, and blood began to fleck his lips. Henri left then, his hand resting blatantly on Caroline’s hip. The soldiers had taken Victor then, dragging him away and locking him in one of Henri’s many towers.
That had been years ago. Victor had tried to escape time and time gain, but the safeguards proved too much, even for him. And so he waited. For how long, he knew not, but still he waited, hoping for the day when Henri would slip. He almost had, once, and victor still had the hideous scars crisscrossing his body from that terrible day.
Henri had made a habit of visiting Victor, of telling him little things about Caroline. Each story, each recounting of the shameful things Henri forced her to do was like a knife to Victor’s heart. He stored them deep, never letting Henri see his rage…at least, until the day Henri informed him that Caroline was dead.
Some inside Victor had snapped that day. His control, his sanity, he knew not, but what restraint he’d shown in the past was gone. He’d attacked Henri with his bare hands, nearly strangling the loathsome man before the guards managed to pry him off. Henri had retaliated with a vengeance, whipping Victor until not one inch of skin remained unmarred. And then he had left.
He hadn’t returned since then, and Victor bided his time, hoping he would be forgotten as the years dragged by. Maybe he had been, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that now was the time for action. If he didn’t exact his revenge now, Henri would keep him captive for eternity, and that was far to long too hold a grudge, no, not even a grudge, far too long to hold the abject pain of betrayal without acting on it. Victor was prepared, his strength gathered, and tonight was the night. Henri would die. By the end of the night, Henri would die.
Word Count: 677
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Excuse
So, my excuse for not getting this up yesterday is three-fold. One, I hadn't written it then (oops!); two: I had a friend over for most of the day (fun!); and three: my siblings got me addicted to Ninja Warz, one of those little flash games on Facebook (pathetic!). Needless to say, having started it yesterday, I am now almost to level 16, I have 7 ninjas, and a whole lot of gold. Anyway, I'm sure you can tell where my mind was simply by reading my story...I would like to point out, however, that it is not historically accurate, and may not even take place in any actual historic time. I may have just made it all up :). Enjoy!
3/7/10
Prompt: “There was going to be a fight this time. We’d both crossed the line; neither was going to let that go.” (NaNo)
With slight intake of breath, I turned back to glare at him. There was going to be a fight this time. We’d both crossed the line, and neither was going to let that go. He met my gaze with a challenge, his eyes seeming to scream “Come and get me.” I bared my teeth in a snarl, sliding my razor-edged tachi out of its sheath as I did so. I held it out in a challenge, at an angle, with the flat of the blade at a level with my shoulder. Only one of us would walk away this time, and I intended to make sure it was me.
His eyes held my gaze as he slid his swords from their sheaths. Nakatu fought with two swords, a katana and a wakizashi, while I preferred the stability granted by a single, larger weapon. But that didn’t mean he was faster. My smaller size gave me an edge, as did my many years of practice. Nakatu was older than I by two years, but while he was always flitting about the countryside, I was in the dojo, practicing. I knew one day it would come to this, and I intended to walk away from it alive.
Our weapons met in a clash of steel and sparks, the beginning of a deadly dance that wove through the dojo and out into the fields. Our dojo was situated on a hill, a ways out of town, so we did not need to fear being discovered. Our battle would remain our own, with no outside interference. That was how I wished it.
We fought, swords against sword, strength against speed. Nakatu was better than I thought, but I still remained confident. I would win this. Putting on an extra burst of speed, I feinted to the left, then leaped left, using a nearby boulder as a launch pad to catapult myself over his head, so I could land behind him, my sword weaving through his defenses and brushing his throat. I held it poised there, waiting, a hair’s breadth from his beating pulse. I could finish him off now, if I wanted, one nick, and his lifeblood would flow away as the life ebbed from his body. I could kill him.
His weapons dropped to the ground and he regarded me with a level eye, as if doubting my resolve. My blade never wavered, but a little spark flashed in my eyes. I wouldn’t kill him today, and he knew it. That realization was quickly followed by a gasp of surprise as he suddenly whirled into action, his hands slapping my blade away and his foot lashing out to hook behind my knee. I was unprepared for this type of assault, and landed heavily, barely managing to twist out of the way as he commandeered my tachi. I avoided the blade, scissoring my legs up and sending the weapon flying. Now we were both unarmed, fighting viciously. I wasn’t giving up, but I knew he’d won. Hand to hand had never been my strong point, whereas Nakatu had taken to it like a duck to water.
I was right. Although I put up a good fight, it was only minutes before he had me pinned beneath him, my arms locked above my head. I glared up at him, my eyes spitting sparks, but he just laughed breathlessly. Both of us were breathing hard, and I was pleased to see a bruise forming over one of his eyes where I’d landed a hearty blow. He grinned down at me, shaking his head.
“You’ve gotten good, sui-toha-to. Almost as good as me.”
I wriggled under him and demanded he let me up. Once his grip loosened, however, I brought my knee up in a hard jab, catching him unawares. I was on my feet in a flash, making a mad sprint to where both our weapons had landed. I scooped them up, sheathing my tachi on the run, and clutching his swords tightly. I flew back to the dojo, leaving him cursing as he tried to catch me. It wouldn’t happen. I could outrun him even if I had a sprained ankle. Well, maybe not then, but any other time for sure. My feet pounded the grass and I finally slid into the dojo with a breathless sigh. I’d won. Finally, I’d won.
Several minutes passed before I heard his footsteps approaching. I glanced up at him, my eyes sparkling with laughter. He grinned at me, and soon we both were chuckling together, laughing at our respective appearances. He looped his arm around my shoulder and I turned my face up for a kiss. We started back to town, both of us knowing we needed to be back in time for the ceremony. After all, it wasn’t every day one was wed, and we needed to look our best.
Total Time: 20 minutes
Word Count: 813
3/7/10
Prompt: “There was going to be a fight this time. We’d both crossed the line; neither was going to let that go.” (NaNo)
With slight intake of breath, I turned back to glare at him. There was going to be a fight this time. We’d both crossed the line, and neither was going to let that go. He met my gaze with a challenge, his eyes seeming to scream “Come and get me.” I bared my teeth in a snarl, sliding my razor-edged tachi out of its sheath as I did so. I held it out in a challenge, at an angle, with the flat of the blade at a level with my shoulder. Only one of us would walk away this time, and I intended to make sure it was me.
His eyes held my gaze as he slid his swords from their sheaths. Nakatu fought with two swords, a katana and a wakizashi, while I preferred the stability granted by a single, larger weapon. But that didn’t mean he was faster. My smaller size gave me an edge, as did my many years of practice. Nakatu was older than I by two years, but while he was always flitting about the countryside, I was in the dojo, practicing. I knew one day it would come to this, and I intended to walk away from it alive.
Our weapons met in a clash of steel and sparks, the beginning of a deadly dance that wove through the dojo and out into the fields. Our dojo was situated on a hill, a ways out of town, so we did not need to fear being discovered. Our battle would remain our own, with no outside interference. That was how I wished it.
We fought, swords against sword, strength against speed. Nakatu was better than I thought, but I still remained confident. I would win this. Putting on an extra burst of speed, I feinted to the left, then leaped left, using a nearby boulder as a launch pad to catapult myself over his head, so I could land behind him, my sword weaving through his defenses and brushing his throat. I held it poised there, waiting, a hair’s breadth from his beating pulse. I could finish him off now, if I wanted, one nick, and his lifeblood would flow away as the life ebbed from his body. I could kill him.
His weapons dropped to the ground and he regarded me with a level eye, as if doubting my resolve. My blade never wavered, but a little spark flashed in my eyes. I wouldn’t kill him today, and he knew it. That realization was quickly followed by a gasp of surprise as he suddenly whirled into action, his hands slapping my blade away and his foot lashing out to hook behind my knee. I was unprepared for this type of assault, and landed heavily, barely managing to twist out of the way as he commandeered my tachi. I avoided the blade, scissoring my legs up and sending the weapon flying. Now we were both unarmed, fighting viciously. I wasn’t giving up, but I knew he’d won. Hand to hand had never been my strong point, whereas Nakatu had taken to it like a duck to water.
I was right. Although I put up a good fight, it was only minutes before he had me pinned beneath him, my arms locked above my head. I glared up at him, my eyes spitting sparks, but he just laughed breathlessly. Both of us were breathing hard, and I was pleased to see a bruise forming over one of his eyes where I’d landed a hearty blow. He grinned down at me, shaking his head.
“You’ve gotten good, sui-toha-to. Almost as good as me.”
I wriggled under him and demanded he let me up. Once his grip loosened, however, I brought my knee up in a hard jab, catching him unawares. I was on my feet in a flash, making a mad sprint to where both our weapons had landed. I scooped them up, sheathing my tachi on the run, and clutching his swords tightly. I flew back to the dojo, leaving him cursing as he tried to catch me. It wouldn’t happen. I could outrun him even if I had a sprained ankle. Well, maybe not then, but any other time for sure. My feet pounded the grass and I finally slid into the dojo with a breathless sigh. I’d won. Finally, I’d won.
Several minutes passed before I heard his footsteps approaching. I glanced up at him, my eyes sparkling with laughter. He grinned at me, and soon we both were chuckling together, laughing at our respective appearances. He looped his arm around my shoulder and I turned my face up for a kiss. We started back to town, both of us knowing we needed to be back in time for the ceremony. After all, it wasn’t every day one was wed, and we needed to look our best.
Total Time: 20 minutes
Word Count: 813
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Update from Home!
We have internet!!! As wonderful as that is, however, it means that I no longer have an excuse for not updating :P. Anyways, here is today's post! Hope you enjoy it :)!
3/6/10
Prompt: “Baby blue and kick-ass lime green were not good colors for a funeral…” (NaNo)
After looking around the room, Keisha decided that baby blue and kick-ass lime green were not good colors for a funeral. Everyone else in the entire church was wearing black—black slacks, black skirts, black shirts, black pantyhose—the only color in the whole room were the pale pink carnations on the casket, and the obscenely bright colors of Keisha’s outfit.
She sighed awkwardly, wriggling down in her seat to avoid the condemning stares of the other funeral-goers. It didn’t matter to them that Lena had requested that no one wear black to her funeral. It didn’t matter to them that Lena herself had requested that she be dressed in her gold lame pantsuit with her sparkly fuchsia blouse under it. They didn’t care, and Lena’s own children had ignored her last wishes, dressing her instead in a sober ivory dress, and fixing her hair in a perfect coif.
A moment or two of self-recrimination passed, then Keisha sat straight in her seat, her previous embarrassment forgotten. If Lena’s children didn’t care about what she’d requested, then Keisha wouldn’t care what they thought of her. It was Lena’s funeral, and dad-gum it, she would want them to show respect to her personality, not the stiff personalities of her remaining family. And Keisha would be damned if she’d cater to the stuffy old restrictions of the upper crust. She was Lena’s goddaughter, and she would show her the proper respect, baby blue and kick-ass lime green outfits and all.
Total Time: 6 minutes
Word Count: 248
3/6/10
Prompt: “Baby blue and kick-ass lime green were not good colors for a funeral…” (NaNo)
After looking around the room, Keisha decided that baby blue and kick-ass lime green were not good colors for a funeral. Everyone else in the entire church was wearing black—black slacks, black skirts, black shirts, black pantyhose—the only color in the whole room were the pale pink carnations on the casket, and the obscenely bright colors of Keisha’s outfit.
She sighed awkwardly, wriggling down in her seat to avoid the condemning stares of the other funeral-goers. It didn’t matter to them that Lena had requested that no one wear black to her funeral. It didn’t matter to them that Lena herself had requested that she be dressed in her gold lame pantsuit with her sparkly fuchsia blouse under it. They didn’t care, and Lena’s own children had ignored her last wishes, dressing her instead in a sober ivory dress, and fixing her hair in a perfect coif.
A moment or two of self-recrimination passed, then Keisha sat straight in her seat, her previous embarrassment forgotten. If Lena’s children didn’t care about what she’d requested, then Keisha wouldn’t care what they thought of her. It was Lena’s funeral, and dad-gum it, she would want them to show respect to her personality, not the stiff personalities of her remaining family. And Keisha would be damned if she’d cater to the stuffy old restrictions of the upper crust. She was Lena’s goddaughter, and she would show her the proper respect, baby blue and kick-ass lime green outfits and all.
Total Time: 6 minutes
Word Count: 248
Friday, March 5, 2010
On Time!
Here's today's post, amazingly on time and fairly long! Enjoy :)
3/5/10
Prompt: “The abyss seemed to never end, like a vacuum of cheesy-B-movie proportions.” (NaNo)
Jacquelyn stared down in front of her, at the chasm plunging down before her feet. The abyss seemed to never end, like a vacuum of cheesy-B-movie proportions. She took a step back, accidentally dislodging a couple pebbles. They tumbled down into the black void, bouncing off the walls as they continued the mad plunge. Jackie waited, but didn’t hear them hit bottom.
A shiver rippled down her spine. That was some 680 big hole, and she had to cross it. How, she had no idea. There was a fraying rope bridge spanning the chasm, but she didn’t trust it to hold her weight. Most of the planks were missing, and in some places, the rope was only holding together by solitary strands.
She eased her knapsack off her shoulders and set it on the ground, rifling through it to find her climbing gear. The gorge wasn’t extraordinarily wide, only about 15 or 20 feet. She had plenty of rope to span that distance, but the trick would be securing it on the other side.
Her gaze fell on the wooden stakes holding the ancient bridge in position. They would do nicely, provided she could get her rope around them. Forming a noose in one end, she spun it experimentally, testing the weight. She figured it would take two practice shots before she managed to successfully lasso the stake.
The first shot fell short by a good three feet, and the second overshot by another foot. Gritting her teeth, she let off the third toss, managing to slip the noose around the small post. She pulled it tight, making sure it was secure before tying off the other end on her side. Two swift strokes with her boot knife severed the decaying bridge, sending rotten slats tumbling down the chasm. Now her rope was the only method of crossing the gorge.
She fastened her clips securely to her harness, attaching the other end to the rope. It was lucky she’d thought to bring extra, as she’d need as much as she could get. Her second length was attached to the other post on her side, and she slowly eased herself off the edge of the cliff. She was harnessed securely to her side; in the event of a fall, she wouldn’t freefall to her death.
Slowly, cautiously, she began to hand-over-hand her way across the chasm, sweat beading on her brow with every passing second. At the middle of the expanse, she released the grip her right hand had on the rope, dangling only by the strength of one arm. Swiftly, almost desperately, she lobbed the noosed end of her final rope at the stake embedded in the ground on the far side of the gorge. It missed, slapping against the cliff wall and starting a lazy fall down into the inky depths. She cursed, gathering it back up with her free hand. She tried again, this time managing an awkward hit, the noose looped about the stake and a jaunty angle. Pulling it as tight as she dared, she regained her grip on the overhead rope and continued on, managing a few feet before the rope began to strain, dipping farther and farther downward.
Taking a deep breath, she released her hold on her lifeline, freefalling for a moment before the last rope caught her weight. She clung to it, falling in an arc and finally slamming against the cliff wall. She waited for a moment, catching her breath, before she began the slow rappel towards the top. It seemed eons, but she finally made it, letting her exhausted body collapse against the rocky earth.
Long moments dragged by as she caught her breath. Finally, she took her knapsack off her shoulders yet again and removed her flashlight. Gathering what she could salvage of her ropes, she replaced them in the sack and continued on, following the edge of the gorge, shining her light along the darkened expanse. Minutes passed, then an hour, and she suddenly espied something that caused her to drop to her knees, hysterical laughter bubbling up from a place deep inside her.
There, an mere hour’s walk from the site of her perilous crossing, hung a bridge, in perfect condition, suspended safely over the cavernous gorge. She continued to laugh, curling into a little ball to try and ease the cramps lancing through her abdomen. Her sides hurt, her stomach hurt, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She’d risked her life, and a perfectly safe crossing had been present, only a few miles away.
Now that would be a story to bring home.
Total Time: 20 minutes
Word Count: 766
3/5/10
Prompt: “The abyss seemed to never end, like a vacuum of cheesy-B-movie proportions.” (NaNo)
Jacquelyn stared down in front of her, at the chasm plunging down before her feet. The abyss seemed to never end, like a vacuum of cheesy-B-movie proportions. She took a step back, accidentally dislodging a couple pebbles. They tumbled down into the black void, bouncing off the walls as they continued the mad plunge. Jackie waited, but didn’t hear them hit bottom.
A shiver rippled down her spine. That was some 680 big hole, and she had to cross it. How, she had no idea. There was a fraying rope bridge spanning the chasm, but she didn’t trust it to hold her weight. Most of the planks were missing, and in some places, the rope was only holding together by solitary strands.
She eased her knapsack off her shoulders and set it on the ground, rifling through it to find her climbing gear. The gorge wasn’t extraordinarily wide, only about 15 or 20 feet. She had plenty of rope to span that distance, but the trick would be securing it on the other side.
Her gaze fell on the wooden stakes holding the ancient bridge in position. They would do nicely, provided she could get her rope around them. Forming a noose in one end, she spun it experimentally, testing the weight. She figured it would take two practice shots before she managed to successfully lasso the stake.
The first shot fell short by a good three feet, and the second overshot by another foot. Gritting her teeth, she let off the third toss, managing to slip the noose around the small post. She pulled it tight, making sure it was secure before tying off the other end on her side. Two swift strokes with her boot knife severed the decaying bridge, sending rotten slats tumbling down the chasm. Now her rope was the only method of crossing the gorge.
She fastened her clips securely to her harness, attaching the other end to the rope. It was lucky she’d thought to bring extra, as she’d need as much as she could get. Her second length was attached to the other post on her side, and she slowly eased herself off the edge of the cliff. She was harnessed securely to her side; in the event of a fall, she wouldn’t freefall to her death.
Slowly, cautiously, she began to hand-over-hand her way across the chasm, sweat beading on her brow with every passing second. At the middle of the expanse, she released the grip her right hand had on the rope, dangling only by the strength of one arm. Swiftly, almost desperately, she lobbed the noosed end of her final rope at the stake embedded in the ground on the far side of the gorge. It missed, slapping against the cliff wall and starting a lazy fall down into the inky depths. She cursed, gathering it back up with her free hand. She tried again, this time managing an awkward hit, the noose looped about the stake and a jaunty angle. Pulling it as tight as she dared, she regained her grip on the overhead rope and continued on, managing a few feet before the rope began to strain, dipping farther and farther downward.
Taking a deep breath, she released her hold on her lifeline, freefalling for a moment before the last rope caught her weight. She clung to it, falling in an arc and finally slamming against the cliff wall. She waited for a moment, catching her breath, before she began the slow rappel towards the top. It seemed eons, but she finally made it, letting her exhausted body collapse against the rocky earth.
Long moments dragged by as she caught her breath. Finally, she took her knapsack off her shoulders yet again and removed her flashlight. Gathering what she could salvage of her ropes, she replaced them in the sack and continued on, following the edge of the gorge, shining her light along the darkened expanse. Minutes passed, then an hour, and she suddenly espied something that caused her to drop to her knees, hysterical laughter bubbling up from a place deep inside her.
There, an mere hour’s walk from the site of her perilous crossing, hung a bridge, in perfect condition, suspended safely over the cavernous gorge. She continued to laugh, curling into a little ball to try and ease the cramps lancing through her abdomen. Her sides hurt, her stomach hurt, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She’d risked her life, and a perfectly safe crossing had been present, only a few miles away.
Now that would be a story to bring home.
Total Time: 20 minutes
Word Count: 766
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Finally!
Alrighty, folks! I'm finally completely caught up! Here's today's story, and tomorrow's will also be on time...no guarantees over the weekend, though.
3/4/10
“Morning bells shattered, and the tattered wallpaper applauded in earnest.”
Morning bells shattered, and the tattered wallpaper applauded in earnest. The ringing of the small bells sounded throughout the entire building, and gay laughter flooded the halls. Bright beams of sunlight bounced off the wallpaper, giving it a shimmering appearance, as if it was alive and celebrating. Rice showered down on the couple as they made their escape down the hallway and out the front door.
It hadn’t been a church wedding, but had instead been held in their living room, surrounded by family and friends. One of the relatives had brought the rice, but they weren’t sure who, and it really didn’t matter. What mattered was the joy resounding through the place, resonating through the very walls and floorboards. The house literally sang with the emotion, seeming to swell proudly as it watched the happy couple make a mad dash to their car.
As they pulled away, the tin cans attached to the rear bumper bounced and clattered along the asphalt, adding to the joyous cacophony of sounds. Cheered on by their well-wishers, the couple made their way to the airport, and their new life.
Total Time: 4 minutes
Word Count: 186
3/4/10
“Morning bells shattered, and the tattered wallpaper applauded in earnest.”
Morning bells shattered, and the tattered wallpaper applauded in earnest. The ringing of the small bells sounded throughout the entire building, and gay laughter flooded the halls. Bright beams of sunlight bounced off the wallpaper, giving it a shimmering appearance, as if it was alive and celebrating. Rice showered down on the couple as they made their escape down the hallway and out the front door.
It hadn’t been a church wedding, but had instead been held in their living room, surrounded by family and friends. One of the relatives had brought the rice, but they weren’t sure who, and it really didn’t matter. What mattered was the joy resounding through the place, resonating through the very walls and floorboards. The house literally sang with the emotion, seeming to swell proudly as it watched the happy couple make a mad dash to their car.
As they pulled away, the tin cans attached to the rear bumper bounced and clattered along the asphalt, adding to the joyous cacophony of sounds. Cheered on by their well-wishers, the couple made their way to the airport, and their new life.
Total Time: 4 minutes
Word Count: 186
Doubles
Here's another double post, the 2nd and 3rd. I'll get today's up soon, I promise :).
3/2/10
Prompt: "Do you know how to use one of these?" (NaNo)
"Do you know how to use one of these?" Jax asked skeptically, her brow raised. Daryn grinned cheekily.
"Of course I do!" He grinned again and punched the throttle, ratcheting the engines up higher as the ship lifted off, wobbling slightly as it threatened to stall.
"Daryn…" Jax’s voice was low, warning her friend. He just laughed and checked the altitude as he jacked the craft first one way, then the other. It rattled and hummed in an unsettling manner, and Jax finally shoved the younger boy out of the way. She plopped into the pilot’s seat, chuckling as Daryn landed on his rear on the hard deck floor.
With a slight twitch of her wrists, she sent the small craft into a sharp downward plunge, spiraling towards the planet’s surface. At the last possible second, she wrenched the controls, pulling out of the mad dive and soaring for the sky.
Laughter bubbled out of her as she glanced at Daryn’s white face.
"Now that," she said smugly, "is flying."
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 170
3/3/10
Prompt: "A pillar of sun filtered through the forsaken window." (NaNo)
The lot was silent. Nothing stirred except a faint breeze through the shell of the overgrown building. A pillar of sun filtered through the forsaken window, casting a mottled pattern on the dusty floorboards. No one had been to the house in many years. The glass that had once been clear and polished was broken, lying in ragged shards about the windowpane. The once-grand mahogany front door hung on rusty hinges, creaking wearily in the soft breeze. The house was old, old and alone, but not sad. Ivy creepers crawled up the clabbered siding, and morning glories bedecked the front porch. Woodland creatures had made it their home, squirrels nesting in the abandoned chimney, and a family of raccoons taking up residence in the large attic. Dormice scampered about the remains of the pantry, hoping to find scraps of food, left behind so many years ago.
It wasn’t a sad sight, despite its raggedness. It was simply an illustration of the passage of time, a picture of what happens as the years go by. Once, it had been a wondrous house, full of gaiety and laughter, and now it provided shelter to the creatures of the forest. Neither existence was better than the other, simply different, and the house would go through many more existences before its days were over.
The breeze wafted lazily in the soft summer sun, teasing the whiskers of the dormice, and ruffling the feathers of the swallows living in the gables. It was simply life, moving on and passing through, heedless of wind and weather, simply passing through.
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 263
3/2/10
Prompt: "Do you know how to use one of these?" (NaNo)
"Do you know how to use one of these?" Jax asked skeptically, her brow raised. Daryn grinned cheekily.
"Of course I do!" He grinned again and punched the throttle, ratcheting the engines up higher as the ship lifted off, wobbling slightly as it threatened to stall.
"Daryn…" Jax’s voice was low, warning her friend. He just laughed and checked the altitude as he jacked the craft first one way, then the other. It rattled and hummed in an unsettling manner, and Jax finally shoved the younger boy out of the way. She plopped into the pilot’s seat, chuckling as Daryn landed on his rear on the hard deck floor.
With a slight twitch of her wrists, she sent the small craft into a sharp downward plunge, spiraling towards the planet’s surface. At the last possible second, she wrenched the controls, pulling out of the mad dive and soaring for the sky.
Laughter bubbled out of her as she glanced at Daryn’s white face.
"Now that," she said smugly, "is flying."
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 170
3/3/10
Prompt: "A pillar of sun filtered through the forsaken window." (NaNo)
The lot was silent. Nothing stirred except a faint breeze through the shell of the overgrown building. A pillar of sun filtered through the forsaken window, casting a mottled pattern on the dusty floorboards. No one had been to the house in many years. The glass that had once been clear and polished was broken, lying in ragged shards about the windowpane. The once-grand mahogany front door hung on rusty hinges, creaking wearily in the soft breeze. The house was old, old and alone, but not sad. Ivy creepers crawled up the clabbered siding, and morning glories bedecked the front porch. Woodland creatures had made it their home, squirrels nesting in the abandoned chimney, and a family of raccoons taking up residence in the large attic. Dormice scampered about the remains of the pantry, hoping to find scraps of food, left behind so many years ago.
It wasn’t a sad sight, despite its raggedness. It was simply an illustration of the passage of time, a picture of what happens as the years go by. Once, it had been a wondrous house, full of gaiety and laughter, and now it provided shelter to the creatures of the forest. Neither existence was better than the other, simply different, and the house would go through many more existences before its days were over.
The breeze wafted lazily in the soft summer sun, teasing the whiskers of the dormice, and ruffling the feathers of the swallows living in the gables. It was simply life, moving on and passing through, heedless of wind and weather, simply passing through.
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 263
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Day Late, A [Story] Short
Well, here's yesterday's! I'll get today's up as soon as I can, but internet connection is spotty...and on a library computer, I can only put up what I have on my external harddrive--meaning yesterday's story. Anyway, the inspiration for this one comes from my younger brother, Isaac. He has this weird ability to shut everything out, every emotion, every person, everything. Anywho, here it is...
3/1/10
Prompt: "What the hell is wrong with you?!" (NaNo)
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" The voice was angry, livid. The calm gaze that stared back was the opposite, blank, detached. A fist was raised, pulled back, but it faltered under the power of that cool stare. It was unaffected by the rage directed at it, unaffected by the potential power of the fist. It remained studiously blank, completely disconnected from emotion.
That was the strength of the gaze. The ability to detach itself, the ability to pull away and shut down, shut out any outside influence, that was its power. And it was a frightening power, one that was capable of striking doubt into any oppressor’s heart.
The angry voice faded before the empty gaze, the fist dropping to its owner’s side. Footsteps stormed away, a door slammed, and still the gaze remained coolly blank. There was no emotion in it, no life, merely survival. And survive it would, for a long time, but would it live? Would the gaze find the strength to truly live? Or would it remain silent, detached, empty for eternity. It didn’t know, didn’t think, it merely willed itself to survive. Emotions were dangerous, and it couldn’t survive with them. So it remained, blank and cold, utilizing the only avenue open for its survival.
It would survive.
Total Time: 8 minutes
Word Count: 212
3/1/10
Prompt: "What the hell is wrong with you?!" (NaNo)
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" The voice was angry, livid. The calm gaze that stared back was the opposite, blank, detached. A fist was raised, pulled back, but it faltered under the power of that cool stare. It was unaffected by the rage directed at it, unaffected by the potential power of the fist. It remained studiously blank, completely disconnected from emotion.
That was the strength of the gaze. The ability to detach itself, the ability to pull away and shut down, shut out any outside influence, that was its power. And it was a frightening power, one that was capable of striking doubt into any oppressor’s heart.
The angry voice faded before the empty gaze, the fist dropping to its owner’s side. Footsteps stormed away, a door slammed, and still the gaze remained coolly blank. There was no emotion in it, no life, merely survival. And survive it would, for a long time, but would it live? Would the gaze find the strength to truly live? Or would it remain silent, detached, empty for eternity. It didn’t know, didn’t think, it merely willed itself to survive. Emotions were dangerous, and it couldn’t survive with them. So it remained, blank and cold, utilizing the only avenue open for its survival.
It would survive.
Total Time: 8 minutes
Word Count: 212
Monday, March 1, 2010
Last Two!
Another double...since there's only two left until we're caught up with February, I'll just put both of them up now. I really like the second one--it was a lot of fun to write such a crotchety character. Hope you enjoy them!
2/27/10
“As she watched, it began to whir and beep in a most unsettling way.”
Jayne tilted her head at the curious object. It just lay there, shiny and silver in the starlight. She bent down, poked it. Nothing happened. She took a step closer, poking it again. Still nothing. Crouching down on her haunches, she picked it up and looked it over. It was perfectly spherical, with no seams at all. She inspected it thoroughly, and noticed a darker circle, nearly indistinguishable in the dim light. She brushed her finger over, once, twice, trying to see what it was.
Suddenly, a brilliant white beam lanced out from the dark spot, nearly blinding her. She dropped it immediately and stepped back. As she watched, it began to whir and beep in a most unsettling way. Finally, it quieted, and the white light broadened, forming a solid square in the air. An image appeared, a head, with pale skin and a shock of tousled brown hair. A strange object sat on its head, blue, with silver shapes pinned on it in rows. Jayne took another step back, calling her companions to come look. They approached the object carefully, starting sharply when sounds began to emanate from the image. Jayne had no idea what they meant. After several more minutes of looking at the object, she lost interest, as did the rest of the herd. With a ululating howl, they loped off across the plains, their long fur shining in the light of their planet's three moons.
The stars shone down on the lonely object, sitting alone on the grassy knoll. Illuminated in the dim light were the words “Property of the United States government.”
Word Count: 268
2/28/10
“The cameras flash.”
The cameras flash. I hate cameras. They're bright and blinding, and they always catch me at just the wrong angle. You know the feeling? When you're just sitting there, and someone snaps a picture just as you open your mouth to say something, or just when that sneeze finally comes out, and there you are, immortalized with your eyes scrunched up and your hand covering your mouth. And yet, here I am, voluntarily exposing myself to these beasts of embarrassment. Why, you ask? Well, because apparently, I'm famous. I didn't really do anything, I just yanked that stupid kid out of the road before a truck squished him flatter than a pancake on Sunday. I didn't do any more than anyone else would have, and now they've stuck me in front of all these stupid cameras.
“How did you feel?” they ask me. How did I feel? I was pissed! I didn't want that brat getting squished like a bug right in front of my house! But I don't say that. I tell them that I didn't feel much at all, that I just did what I had to do to, what anyone would have done.
“So, what's it like to be a hero,” another asks. Well, it feels pretty damn shitty, that's the truth. Stupid reporters nosing into my life, finding out about the kitten I saved from the river maybe 10 years ago. Apparently I started being a hero way before now. But I don't say that. I just say that I don't really feel like a hero, I just did what anyone else would have done.
They don't get the message. I'm stuck there for hours, while they take their goddamned pictures, and ask me stupid questions. I pull my cardigan tighter. Damn reporters. They can go to hell for all I care. Stupid idiots, they'd probably bring the cameras with them.
Word Count: 315
2/27/10
“As she watched, it began to whir and beep in a most unsettling way.”
Jayne tilted her head at the curious object. It just lay there, shiny and silver in the starlight. She bent down, poked it. Nothing happened. She took a step closer, poking it again. Still nothing. Crouching down on her haunches, she picked it up and looked it over. It was perfectly spherical, with no seams at all. She inspected it thoroughly, and noticed a darker circle, nearly indistinguishable in the dim light. She brushed her finger over, once, twice, trying to see what it was.
Suddenly, a brilliant white beam lanced out from the dark spot, nearly blinding her. She dropped it immediately and stepped back. As she watched, it began to whir and beep in a most unsettling way. Finally, it quieted, and the white light broadened, forming a solid square in the air. An image appeared, a head, with pale skin and a shock of tousled brown hair. A strange object sat on its head, blue, with silver shapes pinned on it in rows. Jayne took another step back, calling her companions to come look. They approached the object carefully, starting sharply when sounds began to emanate from the image. Jayne had no idea what they meant. After several more minutes of looking at the object, she lost interest, as did the rest of the herd. With a ululating howl, they loped off across the plains, their long fur shining in the light of their planet's three moons.
The stars shone down on the lonely object, sitting alone on the grassy knoll. Illuminated in the dim light were the words “Property of the United States government.”
Word Count: 268
2/28/10
“The cameras flash.”
The cameras flash. I hate cameras. They're bright and blinding, and they always catch me at just the wrong angle. You know the feeling? When you're just sitting there, and someone snaps a picture just as you open your mouth to say something, or just when that sneeze finally comes out, and there you are, immortalized with your eyes scrunched up and your hand covering your mouth. And yet, here I am, voluntarily exposing myself to these beasts of embarrassment. Why, you ask? Well, because apparently, I'm famous. I didn't really do anything, I just yanked that stupid kid out of the road before a truck squished him flatter than a pancake on Sunday. I didn't do any more than anyone else would have, and now they've stuck me in front of all these stupid cameras.
“How did you feel?” they ask me. How did I feel? I was pissed! I didn't want that brat getting squished like a bug right in front of my house! But I don't say that. I tell them that I didn't feel much at all, that I just did what I had to do to, what anyone would have done.
“So, what's it like to be a hero,” another asks. Well, it feels pretty damn shitty, that's the truth. Stupid reporters nosing into my life, finding out about the kitten I saved from the river maybe 10 years ago. Apparently I started being a hero way before now. But I don't say that. I just say that I don't really feel like a hero, I just did what anyone else would have done.
They don't get the message. I'm stuck there for hours, while they take their goddamned pictures, and ask me stupid questions. I pull my cardigan tighter. Damn reporters. They can go to hell for all I care. Stupid idiots, they'd probably bring the cameras with them.
Word Count: 315
Here's a Shorty...
Since the first one is so short, I'll put two up with this post...
2/25/10
“For once, there was no chaos.”
The sharp crack echoed through the still air, leaving no doubt in his mind. The world began to tilt and blur, as if sliding off a steep precipice. The gun dropped from his slack fingers, and he felt himself crumple slowly to the ground. There were no thoughts, no regrets running through his mind. As he last shades of black covered his vision, he felt peace for the first time in his entire existence. For once, there was no chaos.
Word Count: 80
2/26/10
“The heavy drops pelted down, covering the windshield in a liquid haze.”
It was raining. The heavy drops pelted down, covering the windshield in a liquid haze. The wipers moved quickly, but they needed replacing. Swish swish squeak. Swish swish squeak. Jessica grimaced and turned the music up louder, needing to drown out the annoying squeak. She really needed to get Eric to fix that. Thin strains of music wafted from the blown out speakers. She frowned again. She definitely needed to get Eric to fix that.
Eric was good at fixing things, and he never complained while doing it. Jessica could ask him anything, and eventually he'd do it. That was the key, eventually. As much as Jess didn't like to admit it, Eric had a life of his own. He had a wife and daughter, which unfortunately took up most of his time. Jessica was only a customer, but she had a special place in her heart for him. Anytime she needed something fixed, all she had to do was bring it into the shop, and Eric would take care of it. Jessica knew he loved her. She knew that he didn't really care for his family, in fact, she was doing him a favor by going over there tonight. Eric was out of town on business, and his family was alone.
Jessica's car pulled into the driveway, and she got out, wrapping herself tightly in her wool coat. She rang the doorbell and Eric's wife answered. She knew Jessica, had met her before at the shop. They seemed to get along fine, but Jessica knew she hated her. No one really liked Jessica except Eric. He always listened, and never told her she was irritating, or worthless. Jessica smiled at his wife and lifted the gun.
The neighbors called 911 after they heard the shots, but Jessica didn't notice the sirens wailing down the street. The raindrops painted a silent smile on her lips as she thought of Eric. Yes, he would thank her for ridding his life of those burdens, and now he could start a new one, with her. After all, he did love her.
Word Count: 348
2/25/10
“For once, there was no chaos.”
The sharp crack echoed through the still air, leaving no doubt in his mind. The world began to tilt and blur, as if sliding off a steep precipice. The gun dropped from his slack fingers, and he felt himself crumple slowly to the ground. There were no thoughts, no regrets running through his mind. As he last shades of black covered his vision, he felt peace for the first time in his entire existence. For once, there was no chaos.
Word Count: 80
2/26/10
“The heavy drops pelted down, covering the windshield in a liquid haze.”
It was raining. The heavy drops pelted down, covering the windshield in a liquid haze. The wipers moved quickly, but they needed replacing. Swish swish squeak. Swish swish squeak. Jessica grimaced and turned the music up louder, needing to drown out the annoying squeak. She really needed to get Eric to fix that. Thin strains of music wafted from the blown out speakers. She frowned again. She definitely needed to get Eric to fix that.
Eric was good at fixing things, and he never complained while doing it. Jessica could ask him anything, and eventually he'd do it. That was the key, eventually. As much as Jess didn't like to admit it, Eric had a life of his own. He had a wife and daughter, which unfortunately took up most of his time. Jessica was only a customer, but she had a special place in her heart for him. Anytime she needed something fixed, all she had to do was bring it into the shop, and Eric would take care of it. Jessica knew he loved her. She knew that he didn't really care for his family, in fact, she was doing him a favor by going over there tonight. Eric was out of town on business, and his family was alone.
Jessica's car pulled into the driveway, and she got out, wrapping herself tightly in her wool coat. She rang the doorbell and Eric's wife answered. She knew Jessica, had met her before at the shop. They seemed to get along fine, but Jessica knew she hated her. No one really liked Jessica except Eric. He always listened, and never told her she was irritating, or worthless. Jessica smiled at his wife and lifted the gun.
The neighbors called 911 after they heard the shots, but Jessica didn't notice the sirens wailing down the street. The raindrops painted a silent smile on her lips as she thought of Eric. Yes, he would thank her for ridding his life of those burdens, and now he could start a new one, with her. After all, he did love her.
Word Count: 348
Moving on up...
2/24/10
“I’m not asking for your advice, I’m asking for your support!”
“Would you shut up already? I'm not asking for your advice, I'm asking for your support!” Karyn nearly screamed in frustration. Abigail, her older sister, just looked at her.
“Karyn,” she said calmly. “You need my advice. There's no way you're going to get away with this. It's foolhardy, impulsive, and just plain stupid. Mom and Dad will find out, and then you'll be sorry.”
Karyn scowled. “I came to you and told you what I was going to do, not what I wanted to do. You can't change my mind on this, I just wanted your support.”
Abigail tossed her perfect hair contemptuously. “Well, you can't have it.”
That was enough. It didn't take Karyn long to throw what she needed in a backpack and toss it in the trunk of her car. That was her plan anyway, she had just hoped that her big sister would help her pack. This wasn't how she'd dreamed of leaving home. She knew her parents would never let her go—they were very conservative, and extremely orthodox in their beliefs. Karyn hadn't dared tell them about her change in philosophy—to put it lightly, reason was not part of the family belief system.
She turned the key, hearing the familiar click as her car decided not to start. She shoved the clutch down harder and turned it again. Click. Once more, she pushed down on the clutch and turned the key, this time taking a deep breath as she did so. The car coughed to life, and she put it in gear, crawling out of the driveway, praying that she wouldn't stall halfway into the road.
Karyn had been driving a standard for about two weeks, and still hadn't gotten the hang of it all the way. She had come to the conclusion that a standard car was a lot like life—sometimes you had a really good teacher, and only stalled while you were learning, and sometimes you just kept stalling and stalling until you figured it out on your own. Karyn belonged to the latter group. No one had taught her about the basics of life—everyone just shoved religion down her throat and assumed that she'd figure the rest out on her own. And she had, at least some of it, but not in the way they'd expected. It was Abigail, the sister, who had gotten the life thing right, at least according to her parents. Abigail wore dresses, Karyn wore jeans; Abigail read the Bible, Karyn read Ann Rice and Christine Feehan; Abigail didn't have a computer, Karyn Facebooked and Twittered with the best of them; but most of all, Abigail was a virgin, Karyn was not.
She hadn't told her parents that little detail, but she assumed that they'd figured it out. After all, she'd been dropped off by her boyfriend many times around midnight...or later. She sighed and down-shifted as she pulled into another driveway. She smiled at the brown-haired man standing by a blue Chevy pickup. He was waiting for her. She hopped out of the car and gave him a weary hug. He knew without asking how the conversation with her sister had gone. He just smiled, and handed her a key.
“I haven't gone in yet. I wanted to do it with you.”
She smiled up at him, and together, they unlocked the door and walked into their new house.
Word Count: 567
“I’m not asking for your advice, I’m asking for your support!”
“Would you shut up already? I'm not asking for your advice, I'm asking for your support!” Karyn nearly screamed in frustration. Abigail, her older sister, just looked at her.
“Karyn,” she said calmly. “You need my advice. There's no way you're going to get away with this. It's foolhardy, impulsive, and just plain stupid. Mom and Dad will find out, and then you'll be sorry.”
Karyn scowled. “I came to you and told you what I was going to do, not what I wanted to do. You can't change my mind on this, I just wanted your support.”
Abigail tossed her perfect hair contemptuously. “Well, you can't have it.”
That was enough. It didn't take Karyn long to throw what she needed in a backpack and toss it in the trunk of her car. That was her plan anyway, she had just hoped that her big sister would help her pack. This wasn't how she'd dreamed of leaving home. She knew her parents would never let her go—they were very conservative, and extremely orthodox in their beliefs. Karyn hadn't dared tell them about her change in philosophy—to put it lightly, reason was not part of the family belief system.
She turned the key, hearing the familiar click as her car decided not to start. She shoved the clutch down harder and turned it again. Click. Once more, she pushed down on the clutch and turned the key, this time taking a deep breath as she did so. The car coughed to life, and she put it in gear, crawling out of the driveway, praying that she wouldn't stall halfway into the road.
Karyn had been driving a standard for about two weeks, and still hadn't gotten the hang of it all the way. She had come to the conclusion that a standard car was a lot like life—sometimes you had a really good teacher, and only stalled while you were learning, and sometimes you just kept stalling and stalling until you figured it out on your own. Karyn belonged to the latter group. No one had taught her about the basics of life—everyone just shoved religion down her throat and assumed that she'd figure the rest out on her own. And she had, at least some of it, but not in the way they'd expected. It was Abigail, the sister, who had gotten the life thing right, at least according to her parents. Abigail wore dresses, Karyn wore jeans; Abigail read the Bible, Karyn read Ann Rice and Christine Feehan; Abigail didn't have a computer, Karyn Facebooked and Twittered with the best of them; but most of all, Abigail was a virgin, Karyn was not.
She hadn't told her parents that little detail, but she assumed that they'd figured it out. After all, she'd been dropped off by her boyfriend many times around midnight...or later. She sighed and down-shifted as she pulled into another driveway. She smiled at the brown-haired man standing by a blue Chevy pickup. He was waiting for her. She hopped out of the car and gave him a weary hug. He knew without asking how the conversation with her sister had gone. He just smiled, and handed her a key.
“I haven't gone in yet. I wanted to do it with you.”
She smiled up at him, and together, they unlocked the door and walked into their new house.
Word Count: 567
Almost There!
Home stretch, and we'll be all caught up!
2/23/10
“Just a little more, I think.”
"Hmm....just a little more, I think," Gerald thought to himself. Dipping his brush in the paint, he added one more swirl of cerulean to his canvas. He nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect." He stepped back, gazing fondly at the canvas. It was fairly large, almost three feet in length, and 21 inches in height. He loved working with large images. This particular painting he referred to as his 'blue period'--nothing to do with Picasso, and everything to do with the fact that he ran out of everything except blue...ah well, they say necessity is the mother of invention.
Gerald was quite proud of this painting. It almost resembled an under the sea scene, with various swirls of blue complementing each other in pockets of flowing light and shadow. darker blue specks, almost black, dotted various bits of the water-scape, resembling tiny schools of fish on their way to school. Slightly lighter streaks waved up from the floor, long fingers tangling together--fronds of seaweed, he decided. Gerald smiled. This was perfect, absolutely perfect. Apparently he had a knack for working with individual colors, maybe next time he'd go with orange. Ah, the wonderful things you could do with orange. He looked around the white walls of his isolation room, imagining covering them in bright colors. The doctors would be unhappy--and if they were unhappy, he wouldn't get anymore paints and canvas. He would stick with the canvas. Maybe when he got out, they would let him sell them to museums...after all, they were definitely good enough.
Word Count: 257
2/23/10
“Just a little more, I think.”
"Hmm....just a little more, I think," Gerald thought to himself. Dipping his brush in the paint, he added one more swirl of cerulean to his canvas. He nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect." He stepped back, gazing fondly at the canvas. It was fairly large, almost three feet in length, and 21 inches in height. He loved working with large images. This particular painting he referred to as his 'blue period'--nothing to do with Picasso, and everything to do with the fact that he ran out of everything except blue...ah well, they say necessity is the mother of invention.
Gerald was quite proud of this painting. It almost resembled an under the sea scene, with various swirls of blue complementing each other in pockets of flowing light and shadow. darker blue specks, almost black, dotted various bits of the water-scape, resembling tiny schools of fish on their way to school. Slightly lighter streaks waved up from the floor, long fingers tangling together--fronds of seaweed, he decided. Gerald smiled. This was perfect, absolutely perfect. Apparently he had a knack for working with individual colors, maybe next time he'd go with orange. Ah, the wonderful things you could do with orange. He looked around the white walls of his isolation room, imagining covering them in bright colors. The doctors would be unhappy--and if they were unhappy, he wouldn't get anymore paints and canvas. He would stick with the canvas. Maybe when he got out, they would let him sell them to museums...after all, they were definitely good enough.
Word Count: 257
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Last One For Today...
Here's the last one for today, I'll put the rest up tomorrow (don't want to overwhelm you at once!).
2/22/10
"There were exceptions for everything else...except for this."
Clarissa lived her life with exceptions to rules. She was done with men, but always managed to meet the exception. She was going to stop eating so much sugar—with the exception of chocolate and cappuccinos. She was going to start exercising—with the exception of rainy days, weekends, days she worked, and days she didn't feel like it. Everything had its exception...everything, except this. The one thing Clarissa knew there was no exception for, was the simple fact that shit happens. That was her justification for her terrible day. Even though she made exceptions, she knew that life didn't, and even though she tried to keep her Karma bank full, sometimes, it was overdrawn.
“Oh, shit!” She looked mournfully down at the puddle she currently stood in. Why? Why did it have to be raining now, on the one day she decided to dress up? Her one expensive skirt had coffee stains now, after a clumsy co-worker had spilled an espresso on it, and now, her one pair of designer boots were ankle deep in sludge. “Shit!” she reiterated, then stomped up the sidewalk to her apartment. First she dropped her key, then, just as she picked it up, someone flew past her on their bicycle, sending a wave of muddy droplets splashing up her back. She scowled, and shoved her key into the lock, where it promptly got stuck. She jiggled it futily, cursing the rainy skies above. It was all their fault.
Finally, a very wet, very stained, very upset Clarissa made it into the dry apartment building. She shook most of the water off her hands, and wrung out her hair in the foyer. Fortunately, no one was there to see her bedraggled state. A sniffle started, then a single tear, but she wiped it away quickly. No use in crying over something you can't change, she scolded herself. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the elevator. Naturally, it was out of order, so to the stairs she went. Perfect, she thought to herself. I know the rent is better, but why did I have to pick the thirteenth floor?
She started grimly up the narrow stairwell, grumbling to herself the whole way. Finally, she made it to her floor. A loud clap of thunder and the flickering of the building's lights showed that the storm was getting worse, and she scowled even more. Nothing was going to make this day better. Nothing.
She angrily opened the door to her apartment and slammed it behind her. Then she froze. Soft strains of music filtered through the air, and the whole place was filled with the flickering glow of candles. She made her way slowly into the dining room to find the table set for an intimate dinner for two, complete with vase full of crimson red roses. A man came out of the kitchen, smiling at her.
“I thought you might have had a bad day, so I thought I'd make it up to you.”
Clarissa smiled through the tears that were welling up. “Mark,” she breathed as she stepped into her fiancé's open arms. “Thank you so much.”
After all, there are exceptions for everything else, but when it comes to comfort, only the one you love can provide that.
Total Time: 16 minutes
Word Count: 547
2/22/10
"There were exceptions for everything else...except for this."
Clarissa lived her life with exceptions to rules. She was done with men, but always managed to meet the exception. She was going to stop eating so much sugar—with the exception of chocolate and cappuccinos. She was going to start exercising—with the exception of rainy days, weekends, days she worked, and days she didn't feel like it. Everything had its exception...everything, except this. The one thing Clarissa knew there was no exception for, was the simple fact that shit happens. That was her justification for her terrible day. Even though she made exceptions, she knew that life didn't, and even though she tried to keep her Karma bank full, sometimes, it was overdrawn.
“Oh, shit!” She looked mournfully down at the puddle she currently stood in. Why? Why did it have to be raining now, on the one day she decided to dress up? Her one expensive skirt had coffee stains now, after a clumsy co-worker had spilled an espresso on it, and now, her one pair of designer boots were ankle deep in sludge. “Shit!” she reiterated, then stomped up the sidewalk to her apartment. First she dropped her key, then, just as she picked it up, someone flew past her on their bicycle, sending a wave of muddy droplets splashing up her back. She scowled, and shoved her key into the lock, where it promptly got stuck. She jiggled it futily, cursing the rainy skies above. It was all their fault.
Finally, a very wet, very stained, very upset Clarissa made it into the dry apartment building. She shook most of the water off her hands, and wrung out her hair in the foyer. Fortunately, no one was there to see her bedraggled state. A sniffle started, then a single tear, but she wiped it away quickly. No use in crying over something you can't change, she scolded herself. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the elevator. Naturally, it was out of order, so to the stairs she went. Perfect, she thought to herself. I know the rent is better, but why did I have to pick the thirteenth floor?
She started grimly up the narrow stairwell, grumbling to herself the whole way. Finally, she made it to her floor. A loud clap of thunder and the flickering of the building's lights showed that the storm was getting worse, and she scowled even more. Nothing was going to make this day better. Nothing.
She angrily opened the door to her apartment and slammed it behind her. Then she froze. Soft strains of music filtered through the air, and the whole place was filled with the flickering glow of candles. She made her way slowly into the dining room to find the table set for an intimate dinner for two, complete with vase full of crimson red roses. A man came out of the kitchen, smiling at her.
“I thought you might have had a bad day, so I thought I'd make it up to you.”
Clarissa smiled through the tears that were welling up. “Mark,” she breathed as she stepped into her fiancé's open arms. “Thank you so much.”
After all, there are exceptions for everything else, but when it comes to comfort, only the one you love can provide that.
Total Time: 16 minutes
Word Count: 547
One of my Favorites
This is one of my favorites...I'm not really sure why, but I hope you enjoy it!
2/21/10
"The bassoon lay tattered in the lonely corner"
Detective Crady pushed open the door and stepped into the derelict apartment. The stench was nearly overpowering, emanating from the crumpled heap on the sagging bed. A rat scurried across the floor, followed in short order by another, smaller one. Crady stepped over the debris littering the floor, trying to hold his breath while he inspected the scene. Death was nothing new to him; he'd been on the police force for over ten years. He smiled grimly, at least this was no homicide. He was sure that the coroner's report would show that victim had died of natural causes, or at least self-inflicted causes.
Habit took over as he took another step, and he began scanning the debris. Empty take-out boxes were piled in one corner, and the next corner contained a stack of molding cardboard boxes. The third corner held the bed, and the fourth—well, that was interesting. It was nearly empty, the one clean space in the entire apartment. All alone on it's grimy stand, a battered bassoon stood sentinel. Beside it lay one other object, an ancient tape recorder. Crady pulled on his latex gloves and picked it up. Curiously, he pressed play.
His eyes shut in wonder as the first strains of music filtered through the death-ridden air. Clear and beautiful, the dead man's last legacy played through the static of the forgotten recorder. Crady looked over at the tattered bassoon, where it lay in the lonely corner. A single beam of sunlight shone through the broken window, illuminating the instrument, and for just a moment, Crady could see an image in the dust, of a young man in his prime, sitting on a stage before hundreds, his precious bassoon cradled in his lap.
Total Time: 11 minutes
Word Count: 289
2/21/10
"The bassoon lay tattered in the lonely corner"
Detective Crady pushed open the door and stepped into the derelict apartment. The stench was nearly overpowering, emanating from the crumpled heap on the sagging bed. A rat scurried across the floor, followed in short order by another, smaller one. Crady stepped over the debris littering the floor, trying to hold his breath while he inspected the scene. Death was nothing new to him; he'd been on the police force for over ten years. He smiled grimly, at least this was no homicide. He was sure that the coroner's report would show that victim had died of natural causes, or at least self-inflicted causes.
Habit took over as he took another step, and he began scanning the debris. Empty take-out boxes were piled in one corner, and the next corner contained a stack of molding cardboard boxes. The third corner held the bed, and the fourth—well, that was interesting. It was nearly empty, the one clean space in the entire apartment. All alone on it's grimy stand, a battered bassoon stood sentinel. Beside it lay one other object, an ancient tape recorder. Crady pulled on his latex gloves and picked it up. Curiously, he pressed play.
His eyes shut in wonder as the first strains of music filtered through the death-ridden air. Clear and beautiful, the dead man's last legacy played through the static of the forgotten recorder. Crady looked over at the tattered bassoon, where it lay in the lonely corner. A single beam of sunlight shone through the broken window, illuminating the instrument, and for just a moment, Crady could see an image in the dust, of a young man in his prime, sitting on a stage before hundreds, his precious bassoon cradled in his lap.
Total Time: 11 minutes
Word Count: 289
Mayan Hot Chocolate
Have you ever had Mayan hot chocolate? It's amazing, rich hot chocolate steeped with a little cinnamon, vanilla, and chili pepper. Absolutely amazing, the food of the gods, and the inspiration for this little story.
2/20/10
"It was too deliciously spicy to resist."
She sighed, breathing in the heady aroma. It floated through the air, assailing her senses deliciously. Her hands closed around the cup and the warmth seeped through the thin paper cup into her cold hands. She couldn't take a sip yet, it was too hot, but the scent itself was enough to drive her nearly mad with longing. Hot chocolate on a cold winter's day, made in the traditional Mayan style. Rich, creamy chocolate melted into hot milk and beaten to a froth, then mixed with a little vanilla, a dash of cinnamon, and, last of all, just a hint of chili pepper.
Mmmm...it was too deliciously spicy to resist.
Word Count: 110
2/20/10
"It was too deliciously spicy to resist."
She sighed, breathing in the heady aroma. It floated through the air, assailing her senses deliciously. Her hands closed around the cup and the warmth seeped through the thin paper cup into her cold hands. She couldn't take a sip yet, it was too hot, but the scent itself was enough to drive her nearly mad with longing. Hot chocolate on a cold winter's day, made in the traditional Mayan style. Rich, creamy chocolate melted into hot milk and beaten to a froth, then mixed with a little vanilla, a dash of cinnamon, and, last of all, just a hint of chili pepper.
Mmmm...it was too deliciously spicy to resist.
Word Count: 110
And Another...
2/19/10
"The air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall."
Jaq stood on the hill, breathing deeply. The sun shone brightly, but the air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall. In the distance, she could see the brightly colored leaves dancing in the wind, the court jesters of October's palace. She loved autumn. Out of all the seasons, fall was by far her favorite. She didn't know why, exactly, but she assumed it had something to do with the cool air and the russet hues that covered the landscape. That may have been part of it, but it was definitely not the whole reason.
Jaq was not entirely human. Sure, she looked, talked, and acted human, but she really wasn't. She didn't know that, but somewhere, deep inside her soul, lived something else. Her human skin, the skin she'd lived in nearly her entire life, wasn't really hers. It was a gift, a gift from her loving parents who didn't want her to grow up in a world nearly ruined by war and radiation. They pooled their innate talents and gave her a new skin. She was too young at the time to remember the event; all she knew was that her name was Jaqueline Harpy, and she lived in Northern New England with her aunt and uncle, Rob and Marsha.
I'm sure you guessed already that they weren't truly her aunt and uncle. They were wholly human, but they didn't know that Jaq wasn't. They had been conveniently convinced that Jaq was the daughter of Marsha's sister, who died tragically in a car accident. Jaq never questioned the story, but now, at age 19, she had begun to wonder why there were never any pictures of her mother, and why no one knew anything about her father. Her musings were soon to be answered, and Jaq's life was soon to be turned upside down.
Word Count: 306
"The air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall."
Jaq stood on the hill, breathing deeply. The sun shone brightly, but the air was cool and crisp, smelling of fall. In the distance, she could see the brightly colored leaves dancing in the wind, the court jesters of October's palace. She loved autumn. Out of all the seasons, fall was by far her favorite. She didn't know why, exactly, but she assumed it had something to do with the cool air and the russet hues that covered the landscape. That may have been part of it, but it was definitely not the whole reason.
Jaq was not entirely human. Sure, she looked, talked, and acted human, but she really wasn't. She didn't know that, but somewhere, deep inside her soul, lived something else. Her human skin, the skin she'd lived in nearly her entire life, wasn't really hers. It was a gift, a gift from her loving parents who didn't want her to grow up in a world nearly ruined by war and radiation. They pooled their innate talents and gave her a new skin. She was too young at the time to remember the event; all she knew was that her name was Jaqueline Harpy, and she lived in Northern New England with her aunt and uncle, Rob and Marsha.
I'm sure you guessed already that they weren't truly her aunt and uncle. They were wholly human, but they didn't know that Jaq wasn't. They had been conveniently convinced that Jaq was the daughter of Marsha's sister, who died tragically in a car accident. Jaq never questioned the story, but now, at age 19, she had begun to wonder why there were never any pictures of her mother, and why no one knew anything about her father. Her musings were soon to be answered, and Jaq's life was soon to be turned upside down.
Word Count: 306
Time-Saver
Alright, in the interests of time, here are some prompts that I wrote when I first discovered the wonderful world of writing prompts. While they're not exactly from this year, I figure it balances out since I started a month late :). I'll catch up in other ways, probably slipping bonus stories in here and there, but I hope you enjoy these!
*I'm putting them up one at a time, for ease of reading :)
2/18/10
“I want to go home…” (NaNo)
It's dark and wet, and I don't understand why I'm here. Why was I ripped from my cool, breezy heaven and thrust into this hot, wet world? I can't breathe, oxygen must be coming to me through the thick sac that encases my fragile body. Where am I? What's happened to me? I've been trapped here for months, never understanding why, why this was done to me. There's no one around. I have been without contact for months. I can hear some sounds, but they're distant, coming from outside the fleshy walls that surround me. I miss my world, my heaven, with it's open expanses and dry air. I hate wet. I hate dark. The sun never sets in my world, never.
Time passes, I feel myself growing bigger, stretching the walls surrounding me. I'm trapped, too big for my prison. I try to move around, kicking and hitting, trying to escape. Nothing works. Finally, I feel something, some sort of loosening. I'm turned upside down, a most uncomfortable position, but I can feel air on my head.
Oh God, now it hurts! I'm being forced through a horrible tight tunnel, being squished between those walls that have held me in for so long. The next thing I feel is cold. Cold air, and ghastly bright lights. It hurts, oh, it hurts so bad. I don't want to be here, why did I choose to come back? I want my heaven back. I want to go home.
Word Count: 247
*I'm putting them up one at a time, for ease of reading :)
2/18/10
“I want to go home…” (NaNo)
It's dark and wet, and I don't understand why I'm here. Why was I ripped from my cool, breezy heaven and thrust into this hot, wet world? I can't breathe, oxygen must be coming to me through the thick sac that encases my fragile body. Where am I? What's happened to me? I've been trapped here for months, never understanding why, why this was done to me. There's no one around. I have been without contact for months. I can hear some sounds, but they're distant, coming from outside the fleshy walls that surround me. I miss my world, my heaven, with it's open expanses and dry air. I hate wet. I hate dark. The sun never sets in my world, never.
Time passes, I feel myself growing bigger, stretching the walls surrounding me. I'm trapped, too big for my prison. I try to move around, kicking and hitting, trying to escape. Nothing works. Finally, I feel something, some sort of loosening. I'm turned upside down, a most uncomfortable position, but I can feel air on my head.
Oh God, now it hurts! I'm being forced through a horrible tight tunnel, being squished between those walls that have held me in for so long. The next thing I feel is cold. Cold air, and ghastly bright lights. It hurts, oh, it hurts so bad. I don't want to be here, why did I choose to come back? I want my heaven back. I want to go home.
Word Count: 247
Friday, February 26, 2010
Slowly But Surely :)
And another! This one would have been posted on my little sister's birthday...and I'd thought about doing something sort of dedicated to her...yeah, it didn't happen. By the time I wrote this, her birthday had long since passed, and now I'm just trying to catch up. I will, I promise, it just might take me a little longer.
I'm actually quite proud of myself...this is month two, and I'm still committed to maintaining this! Usually I'd have given up by now, found myself distracted by something else, but my determination is holding strong! And so here you go, my next (very belated) post!
2/17/10
“Pink. Why did it have to be pink?” (NaNo)
Charley moaned as she beheld the frothy confection her sister had chosen for a bridesmaid’s gown. Pink. Why did it have to be pink? Charley hated pink, loathed it, despised the vomitous color. And now she had to walk down the church aisle, in front of a hundred people, wearing a pink gown. And it wasn’t just any pink gown. It was a pink princess gown, with a tulle overskirt, and ruffles edging the underskirt. She felt like throwing up. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. It was her sister, the one person for whom she would actually wear that hideous color. No one else, not even her mother, could manage to convince her to wear pink, in any shade or quantity. But for her sister’s wedding, Charley would wear it. She wouldn’t like it, but she would dress in the frothy confection, feeling like a badly dressed Barbie doll, and she would do her best to make her sister’s wedding the best day ever. After that, however, all bets were completely off. And she would have a blast getting back at Amie for the humiliation. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she began plotting her revenge. It would be harmless, harmless but hilarious. She laughed quietly. Oh, she couldn’t wait.
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 212
I'm actually quite proud of myself...this is month two, and I'm still committed to maintaining this! Usually I'd have given up by now, found myself distracted by something else, but my determination is holding strong! And so here you go, my next (very belated) post!
2/17/10
“Pink. Why did it have to be pink?” (NaNo)
Charley moaned as she beheld the frothy confection her sister had chosen for a bridesmaid’s gown. Pink. Why did it have to be pink? Charley hated pink, loathed it, despised the vomitous color. And now she had to walk down the church aisle, in front of a hundred people, wearing a pink gown. And it wasn’t just any pink gown. It was a pink princess gown, with a tulle overskirt, and ruffles edging the underskirt. She felt like throwing up. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. It was her sister, the one person for whom she would actually wear that hideous color. No one else, not even her mother, could manage to convince her to wear pink, in any shade or quantity. But for her sister’s wedding, Charley would wear it. She wouldn’t like it, but she would dress in the frothy confection, feeling like a badly dressed Barbie doll, and she would do her best to make her sister’s wedding the best day ever. After that, however, all bets were completely off. And she would have a blast getting back at Amie for the humiliation. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she began plotting her revenge. It would be harmless, harmless but hilarious. She laughed quietly. Oh, she couldn’t wait.
Total Time: 7 minutes
Word Count: 212
Another Belated!
Again, sorry it's taking me so long to get this done...I've got fafsa/school/taxes/work on my plate...basically, a whole bunch of un-fun! But it's the life kind of un-fun, and it's pretty unavoidable. Anyhow, here's the next one!
2/16/10
“…you want my number?” (NaNo)
“Well, it’s kinda complicated. The directions, I mean. The event is pretty simple. Alright, first you go down Route 26, heading north—you’re coming from I95, right? Okay, so you take 26 through Gray and Oxford, then you turn off on 117, it’s right after—” She shook her head in frustration. “Here, you want my number? Then you can call before you leave, and I can give you the exact directions…it’ll be simpler.”
David watched his newfound acquaintance with a slightly bemused expression on his face. Taryn was a blur of ideas and thoughts, her mind jumping rapidly from one subject to another. It had been a chance meeting, totally a fluke, but he was exceedingly glad he’d decided to let the young woman go before him at Starbucks. It had been merely a courtesy at first, but then they’d started talking, and now, two hours later, they were just finishing up their coffees.
He took down her phone number, still smiling. She grinned before hopping out of her seat and dancing over to the trash to dispose of her coffee cup. She seemed to either bounce or dance everywhere she went, always full of life and energy. She was never still, her hands constantly flying through the air as she tried to illustrate a point. He found it oddly attractive, especially as he was usually reserved, and surrounded by people who were as reserved and studious as he. It was refreshing to be around someone who was so filled with zest for life, and so eager to try new things.
He pocketed his cell phone and smiled as she suddenly looked at the time and frantically bade him goodbye, hastily mentioning something about a class, and how she always forgot what time it was at. She backed out of the coffee shop, waving, before turning and dashing down the sidewalk towards the campus. David watched her go, still grinning. He was definitely looking forward to getting to know her—she seemed to breathe joy into everything she touched, and maybe some of that joy would rub off on him.
He finished his coffee with one last swig, then tossed the cup into the trash. He chuckled softly as he caught himself in a half-skip as he exited the Starbucks. Looks like she was rubbing off on him already.
Total Time: 12 minutes
Word Count: 390
2/16/10
“…you want my number?” (NaNo)
“Well, it’s kinda complicated. The directions, I mean. The event is pretty simple. Alright, first you go down Route 26, heading north—you’re coming from I95, right? Okay, so you take 26 through Gray and Oxford, then you turn off on 117, it’s right after—” She shook her head in frustration. “Here, you want my number? Then you can call before you leave, and I can give you the exact directions…it’ll be simpler.”
David watched his newfound acquaintance with a slightly bemused expression on his face. Taryn was a blur of ideas and thoughts, her mind jumping rapidly from one subject to another. It had been a chance meeting, totally a fluke, but he was exceedingly glad he’d decided to let the young woman go before him at Starbucks. It had been merely a courtesy at first, but then they’d started talking, and now, two hours later, they were just finishing up their coffees.
He took down her phone number, still smiling. She grinned before hopping out of her seat and dancing over to the trash to dispose of her coffee cup. She seemed to either bounce or dance everywhere she went, always full of life and energy. She was never still, her hands constantly flying through the air as she tried to illustrate a point. He found it oddly attractive, especially as he was usually reserved, and surrounded by people who were as reserved and studious as he. It was refreshing to be around someone who was so filled with zest for life, and so eager to try new things.
He pocketed his cell phone and smiled as she suddenly looked at the time and frantically bade him goodbye, hastily mentioning something about a class, and how she always forgot what time it was at. She backed out of the coffee shop, waving, before turning and dashing down the sidewalk towards the campus. David watched her go, still grinning. He was definitely looking forward to getting to know her—she seemed to breathe joy into everything she touched, and maybe some of that joy would rub off on him.
He finished his coffee with one last swig, then tossed the cup into the trash. He chuckled softly as he caught himself in a half-skip as he exited the Starbucks. Looks like she was rubbing off on him already.
Total Time: 12 minutes
Word Count: 390
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
A Long One...
Alright...sorry it's taken so long, but here's the next one. I'm slowly but surely catching up...emphasis on the slowly :P. Anyway, I'm just going to post the link to this one, as it's exceedingly long...upwards of 1,600 words (oh my!). It hasn't gone through the complete editing session that I plan on giving it, but I definitely plan on tweaking it to perfection. It's interesting, and definitely more thoughtful than most of the other prompts...and I feel that it expresses a point deeper than just the story.
2/15/10
Prompt: "Don't come in yet, I have to put my face on!" (NaNo)
Total Time: n/a (wrote half longhand)
Word Count: Somewhere around 1,616 words
Link: http://gipsyfingers.blogspot.com/2010/02/masks.html
2/15/10
Prompt: "Don't come in yet, I have to put my face on!" (NaNo)
Total Time: n/a (wrote half longhand)
Word Count: Somewhere around 1,616 words
Link: http://gipsyfingers.blogspot.com/2010/02/masks.html
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