tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55863293140669285882024-02-20T01:22:45.064-08:00sparks + splinters fly"No, it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel." - Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the StarAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-16717673039462301682012-07-26T12:51:00.002-07:002012-07-26T12:51:24.560-07:00Pink Bicycles<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Together with "Bananarama" (kinda) and "Oh, Nancy," this is a flash fiction piece that takes a different look at well-known characters. I'm working on some things at the moment--writing new stuff, editing old, goofing off on Tumblr--so accept this in the meantime :]</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>--------</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Pink Bicycles</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/>
<w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
<w:Word11KerningPairs/>
<w:CachedColBalance/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">“Here, sugar.”<span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">She tossed the pack of Bicycle playing cards in his lap without so much
as a glance.<span> </span>He picked up the pack and
immediately undid the cellophane wrapping, grinning at her back as she began
unpacking her other purchases.<span> </span>“Thanks, <i>chère</i>,” he said.<span> </span>“You know, I’m always burning through these
things.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">She tossed him a smirk over her shoulder and removed a glove.<span> </span>“I know it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">He flipped open the pack and took out the cards, flicking aside the two
informational cards and the Jokers out of habit.<span> </span>He grinned at the ace of spades, then turned
the deck over in his hand.<span> </span>He made a
startled sound that made her turn back to face him.<span> </span>He met her eye.<span> </span>“These are <i>pink</i>,” he informed her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">“Fifteen cents of every purchase goes to support breast cancer
research,” she replied.<span> </span>“Read the
packaging.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">“But…they’re <i>pink</i>.”<span> </span>He picked the first card off the top of the
deck and twirled it in his hand.<span> </span>“I
can’t use these.<span> </span>I have a reputation, <i>chère</i>.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 115%;">“What’s it matter?<span> </span>The money goes to a good cause.”<span> </span>She crossed the room, pausing just long
enough to peck him on the cheek.<span> </span>She
grinned at him.<span> </span>“And, like you said,
honey—you’re just gonna burn right through ‘em, anyhow.”</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-6412258573545658842012-06-13T11:03:00.002-07:002012-06-13T11:03:50.955-07:00Bananarama<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Happy Summer! Also, possibly "In Bruges" fanfiction? Oops.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b>--------</b> </div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Bananarama</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Ray
turned down the radio and looked over at Chloe, his eyes wide with unfiltered
shock. “How can you not like
Bananarama?” he demanded to know, pounding the beach blanket with his balled
fist. “It’s summer, for Christ’s
sake. This is summer music. This is </span><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">fun
</i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">music.”</span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">“It’s
shit,” Chloe replied, shifting on the blanket.<span>
</span>“Pop music!<span> </span>It’s nothing.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span> </span>“<span style="line-height: 115%;">‘</span>Cruel
Summer’ is a classic,” Ray argued.<span> </span>“It
was in <i>The Karate Kid</i>.”</span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/>
<w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
<w:Word11KerningPairs/>
<w:CachedColBalance/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span> </span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">She
didn’t bother to look at him, or even to lift her sunglasses.<span> </span>“<i>Merde</i>,”
Chloe pronounced, with all the gravity of a death sentence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span> </span>Ray
scowled, waiting for further rebuttal.<span>
</span>When he got none, he turned the music back up and sang along for all he
was worth.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-44000448430533949692012-03-21T13:30:00.000-07:002012-03-30T12:34:39.378-07:00All the Stars in Texas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Possibly to be submitted to my Fiction class? I think so, yes.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Inspired mostly by Ludo's "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VqNKz1wBgM">All The Stars in Texas</a>." Also by a writing exercise in class that had us writing about divorce, which is always awesome. I guess all I really did was name the characters.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">One day, I'll dedicate this to Ludo.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">- - - - - - - - - -</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b>All the Stars in Texas</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Texas Tom had robbed every bank between Chicago and NewOrleans. He’d driven up and down hischunk of the world so many times that he thought he might just be king of itall. He’d killed dozens of men, loved afew hundred women, and he’d probably left quite a few Tom Juniors floatingaimlessly around the American Midwest. But, so far, Tom only had one wife, and Maggie was the only thing in hislife that he couldn’t control.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Maggie wasn’t afraid of him, which had drawn them together in thefirst place. They’d first met at a bankin a small town in Illinois, when Tom had a gun pointed at her father’s heartand a sack of cash in the other fist. Maggie had been seated behind a desk, quietly answering phones and dictatingmemos on filigreed letterhead, and she’d hardly moved when Tom and his gangentered the space. Her father was thebank manager and a beloved figure in their little town, perfection in the eyesof all the townspeople, except Maggie. Tom had never been able to quite figure out what had gone on betweenfather and daughter. But Maggie’s subtlenod of the head had been enough for the love-struck gangster. Dazzled by the glint of afternoon sun on herhair, he’d put old Mr. Miller out of his misery, signaled for the guys to roundup the rest of the haul, and offered an arm to Maggie.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She hadn’t come along quietly. Concerned citizens had begun to congregate outside the bank, making weakattempts to stop the robbers as they loaded up the cars with cash and madetheir getaway. Maggie had fought Tom allthe way to the car, screaming for help, and two brave souls tried to rescueher. Tom had shut them all up with thecrack of a gun, firing a warning shot into the air. He’d thanked the townspeople for theircooperation and shoved Maggie roughly into the car, then climbed in himself anddrove them as far away from town as quickly as he could. It was only later, nearly thirty miles downthe road and with that now-familiar grin on her face, that Tom realized Maggiehad just been putting on a show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">A few months after that, Tom and Maggie grew tired of living in sinand married in a courthouse in Minnesota. Tom pledged to love, honor, and cherish her, and he’d meant it. Maggie promised to knock his teeth out if hekept calling her Maggie, but she hadn’t yet fulfilled that promise—not for lackof trying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">It was over a year later, after Maggie had wheedled her way fullyinto his life and learned all his secrets, that Tom realized that taking such ahot-headed young thing as his wife had been the only mistake he’d made in hisillustrious criminal career. She didn’tfight him on many things, except to insist that he call her Margaret and thathe stop visiting brothels whenever he “went away on business.” Tom hadn’t bothered following her directiveson either point. But, now, facing theend of his marriage and the end of the line, he began to wish he had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He’d only been home about an hour when Margaret came into theliving room of their modest ranch house with the look on her face like a risingsummer storm. Tom was settled in hisfavorite easy chair, skimming a few different national newspapers for anymention of his name. Margaret waswearing a pretty dress he’d picked up for her in New York, which only served toaccentuate the ugly rage on her features. “I want a divorce,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom sighed and folded the newspaper in half. “You said that last week, sweetheart,” hereminded her. “Nothing’s changed sincethen. I told you—I’m not leaving you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She’d been saying things like this for awhile and Tom couldn’t makeheads or tails of the sudden urge to end their partnership. Maggie—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Margaret</i>—kneweverything. She knew that his name wasn’treally Tom and that he wasn’t really from Texas. Tom had moved here in his late teens, whenhe’d decided to make his fortune in bank robbery and murder, and it was here heplanned to die. Whether that would be ina hail of FBI bullets, in his bed due to old age, or at the twitchy hands ofMargaret, he wasn’t entirely sure anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Margaret came along on a lot of his trips and she was fond ofhelping him pull a few local jobs every now and again. She seemed to enjoy the lifestyle, runningaround the country and scooping up what wasn’t hers, and had once revealed thatthe day Texas Tom robbed her father’s bank had been the absolute best of herlife. But Margaret also had friends inhigh places that, should the fancy strike, she could lead straight to thegang’s hideout in rural Texas. Herfather had been well-connected and she had charmed each of his business associateswith her quiet demeanor and pretty eyes. She drank and smoked expensive French cigarettes and Tom knew for a factthat she’d screwed quite a few of the guys on his payroll. She luxuriated in being a kept woman. But, damn it all to hell, he loved her likenobody’s business.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">As if reminded of this point now, Tom added, “I left you a presentin the kitchen.” He then turned resolutelyback to his newspaper, having decided that the conversation was over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">But Margaret pulled the newspaper out of his hands and tossed it onthe floor. “I could leave you,” shereplied. “Women walk out on men all thetime.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Sure.” Tom folded his hands neatly in his lap, using hisreasonable, give-me-all-your-money tone. “When the husband’s abusive, or dangerous.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You’re dangerous,” she said, and there was a flash of the oldexcitement in her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom paused, a small smirk on his face. “Maybe. But so are you, honey. It’s whywe got married in the first place.” Hestood up to retrieve the paper and tossed it back on the pile with the others,then took Margaret’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “But I’ve never hit you, not once. And I never will. I compliment you all the time. Hell, I realized you got a haircut a fewweeks back without you having to tell me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Yeah,” Margaret said snidely, “a week after it happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“How many husbands notice at all?” He watched his wife push his hands away and stomp out of the room, thenfollowed her wearily into the kitchen. “It’s a very becoming look on you. I always say it kid—you’re the prettiest thing I ever stole.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">But she didn’t seem to be in the mood for romance. “So, you won’t make this easy on me becauseyou think I’m pretty?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Beautiful,” Tom corrected her. “I won’t make it easy on you because I love you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Bull<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shit</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“So is this damn divorce idea.” Tom felt anger rising to the surface. He argued, “I gave you a home, I give you food, I give you jewelry,anything you want. And all you ever crowabout is running away from me. Why thehell should I let you go, Maggie?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Margaret had picked up the neatly wrapped box he’d left on thecounter, stroking the velvet ribbon absently. She raised her eyes to meet Tom’s and told him, “Because you killed myfather, that’s why.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom narrowed his eyes and didn’t have a word to say in reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“And, unless I get my divorce,” Margaret continued, “I’ll make suremy good friend the Chicago district attorney knows it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You wanted him gone,” Tom said softly. Everything else was irrelevant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“And now I want <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>gone,”she said, her tone disturbinglysoothing. Margaret pulled the ribbonfrom around the package and neatly removed the paper. She opened the box underneath and smiled alittle at the diamond necklace glittering back at her. “I wonder where you got this little number.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom considered her words, her dark eyes, her friend the districtattorney. “I’ll call a lawyer,” he said,at last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She grinned brightly at him and held out the necklace. “Help me put this on? I think it will look just lovely with this dress.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He snatched the necklace from her hand, picturing the old womanhe’d demanded it from at a bank a few states over. He slipped it around her neck and pretendedto fumble with the clasp, really debating whether or not to end both theirproblems right here and now. “Thisdoesn’t mean you’ve won,” he growled in her ear, finally hooking the clasp intoplace and then striding out of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">They ate dinner in silence that night, Tom sitting stiffly in hischair at the table, while Margaret smiled radiantly and drank the good Italianwine a contact had recently sent them as an anniversary present. The first words spoken were Margaret excusingherself to go to bed. Tom sat at thetable for another ten minutes afterward, before shoving his plate away andpacing angrily on the porch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He wasn’t going to do it. Hehad six crooked lawyers under his thumb, but he wasn’t going to give upMargaret—damn it, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maggie</i>—without afight. The self-satisfied smirk on herface was driving him insane with rage, and the only way he knew to combat itwas to keep her from getting what she wanted. When he finally went back inside, Tom fully expected the bedroom door tobe locked, but it wasn’t. The room wasdark and his wife appeared to already be asleep, so he banged around the roomto find pajamas and only laughed when she rolled over and snapped at him tokeep the noise down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Sweet dreams, Maggie,” he said, as he stuffed his feet in underthe sheets. He fell asleep with a smileon his face and his favorite gun under her pillow, just in case her silentfuming took a turn for the violent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The next morning, Tom rolled over with his eyes squeezed shutagainst the early sun and flung an arm over what should have been Margaret’sbody. The usual wake-up call wasforgotten as Tom opened his eyes and glanced around the room, realizing thathis wife was nowhere to be found. Thehouse was silent, but he called her name, anyway, and got no reply. Instead of a warm body, Tom shared the bedwith only a scrap of paper with a note scribbled on it: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I know you won’t do it. I betthe boys at the pen will love to meet a real celebrity!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">If Tom hadn’t hated he so damn much, he would have admitted what asly move this was. But he did hate her,he realized, as he got out of bed and hurried to wash his face and put on hisbest suit. He hated her as he’d lovedher the day before. Margaret Millerwould always be his crowning jewel, but she’d sooner burn in Hell than pull oneover on Texas Tom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The gangster packed a suitcase and tossed it in his car, then headedout to the cluster of cabins he’d had built for his gang. He roused his lieutenant and told him he wasgoing out of town. “Some business totake care of,” Tom told him. “Watch theranch. Keep the boys in line.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You want us to come along, boss?” the lieutenant replied. “I’ll have ‘em up and out in twenty minutes,tops.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I want you wise guys to lay low,” Tom said. He forced a smile. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. Just some personal business I have to dealwith. But I’ve got to head out now, tomake sure the job gets done.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Sure, sure, go on. You wantme to check in on Maggie tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom’s eyes darkened at the mention of his wife. “No,” he said, pulling his gun from itsholster and double-checking that it was loaded and ready. “That won’t be necessary.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom knew that Margaret had to be headed up to Chicago. She had family there, plus the districtattorney she’d bragged about. Tomwouldn’t be surprised if she’d screwed around with Elliot Ness, the head honchoof the FBI, himself. He didn’t know whenshe’d left, but one of the cars and only a few changes of clothes were missing,so she was traveling light and fast. Tomdrove all day and late into the night, but there was no sign of his wife on theroads. He gave up around one in themorning and pulled into a roadside motel for a catnap, picking up the routeagain at dawn. He’d given up on tryingto find Margaret. He’d just have to beather to Chicago and talk some sense into her before she had a chance to rat himand the boys out to the cops.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom made it to Chicago in another four days. The first thing he did was send word back tothe ranch, via telegram, that he’s be gone a bit longer than expected. Then he hurried to the hardware store ownedby a large man named Frank O’Shea, a contact of Tom’s from way back. The speakeasies he owned across the citybrought in more revenue than even the top criminals of the day saw in alifetime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">After the formalities, Tom got to the point. “I’m looking for a girl,” he said. “Long brown hair, green eyes, about sotall. She’s from Illinois and hasfriends here, might know Chicago pretty well, actually.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You mean the pretty thing you picked up Lovington? Having trouble with that one, aye?” O’Shea laughed heartily. When Tom grumbled a response, the businessmandecided to stick to the facts and avoid speculation. “She came in last night,” he told him. “Had herself a few fingers of whiskey andwent on her way. She headed north whenshe left—alone, I promise you, Tom—and I think she left a hotel matchbook onthe counter. Maybe. I don’t remember the place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I don’t care what she did,” Tom said, “as long as I find her. Thanks for your help, Frank.” He put out a hand for O’Shea to shake, thenstuck his hat back on his head and rushed from the store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">It wasn’t worth checking hotel registers for Margaret’s name (or anoticeable alias) or parking garages for the car she’d stolen. It was still early in the day, so Tom madehis way to the courthouse and silently begged that Margaret hadn’t yet stoppedby. He watched lawyers in stiff suitsand prisoners in their Sunday best run up the stairs, shaking withanticipation. Someone important enoughto draw a crowd of newspaper reporters arrived in a shiny car and Tom almostmissed Margaret’s arrival in the rush. He took the stairs two at a time to get ahead of her and waited to catchher arm at the top of the stairs. Shewore a new black trench coat and sensible shoes, with a few layers of powderunder her eyes to hide a hangover. Shetried to shake him off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Sweetheart,” Tom said, flashing a dangerous smile, “let’s go for awalk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I’m going inside, Tom,” Margaret replied coolly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You’re not,” he assured her, tightening his grip. “Let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">As they waded back down through the crowd of spectators, Margaretasked quietly, “You still won’t give me up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“It’s a matter of pride. I’mnot going to mar my record with a divorce.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You can hardly say the word.” Margaret smirked. They crossedthe street to avoid the crowd. “I didn’tsee the D.A. yet, you know. We can stillforget this ever happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom watched her as they walked, then slowly shook his head. “You betrayed me. You thought about it, anyway. I can’t have that, kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I’m not a kid!” she exclaimed suddenly. “God, you’ve got a thick skull. I know what I want and I know what I’m goingto do. I’m turning you in, Tom, and whenyou hang, I’ll be a damn folk hero—the only girl he ever loved, the only girlthat got away, unscathed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">They had strolled out of sight of the courthouse and this citystreet was smaller and very quiet. Tomstill had a firm grasp on her upper arm. He and Margaret could almost be lovers again, caught close together andenjoying a quiet morning in a dirty city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“The only girl that got away,” Tom echoed, thoughtful. “That certainly has a nice ring to it. But it’s not quite the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom’s first mistake had been marrying Margaret. His second was murdering her. He pulled his gun out from under his suitjacket and shot her twice in the abdomen, so close that her blood warmed hisskin through his shirt. She choked onher shock and grasped at Tom to keep herself upright, but he gave her a gentlepush and watched with interest as she sprawled across the pavement. Tom raised his eyes and spied a womanwatching the scene from her window, but she let the curtain fall back intoplace when he met her eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Tom holstered his gun and took the time to squat beside hisbleeding wife. Her eyes were bright withterror when she looked up at him, her hands pressed over her stomach to staunchthe flow of blood. A puddle formedunderneath her and Toms shifted his foot out of the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I told,” she whispered. Tomleaned closer to listen. “I met with theD.A. and I told him. About you. About what I’ve…what I’ve seen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“And you didn’t tell him about that woman you killed in Wichita orall that money that isn’t yours.” Tomnodded, unsurprised. “You’ve always beena planner kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Always,” she gasped. Sheclosed her eyes, and the struggle to open them again was plain on herface. “You’ll hang, Tom.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">A triumphant cry rang out from the top of the block and Tom raisedhis head. The reporters from thecourthouse had abandoned their original quarry, in exchange for a wantedcriminal and a fresh corpse. Margaretwouldn’t die alone on a quiet Chicago street. Suddenly, the sidewalk was swarming with newspapermen, bringing withthem the bright flash of cameras and babble of voices. No one thought to call for help for Margaret;she wasn’t long for the world, anyway, and there was a story at stake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Texas Tom!” someone shouted over the chaos. “Tom, why did you do it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Tom, is it true this is your wife?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Did she take your money? Was there another man?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Two uniformed officers forced their way through the crowd, gunsdrawn. Tom raised his hands wearily andallowed each of them to take an arm. Hefelt the cool metal of handcuffs on his skin. The reporter’s questions mingled with the tired recitation of his rightsby the cop on his left, and Tom’s mind filled with a haze that deadened theexcitement around him. “I should haveexpected as much from her,” he said quietly, meeting Margaret’s eyes again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The photographers were crouching to capture the dying woman’s finalmoments. Covered in her own blood, Margaret forced a weak and wickedsmile. She again mouthed the words,“You’ll hang.” Then she closed her eyesand didn’t bother trying to open them again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Sweet dreams, Maggie,” Tom said aloud, speaking to the bloodpooled on the sidewalk. “You were theprettiest thing I ever stole. And youwere worth it all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">More police officers arrived, trying to clear away the scribblingpencils and flashbulbs, but they were unable to fight the tide of currentevents. The original officers who had arrestedTom started forcing their way back through the crowd, shoving roughly at thecameras being shoved in their face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Someone stole Tom’s hat off his head to get a better shot, so heraised his head to make sure he got a good picture on the front page. He’d be there; Maggie, too. She was gorgeous and he was infamous—onlyDillinger had a shot at dethroning them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Can I say something?” Tom asked the officers. One of them shook his head and the otherhesitated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Make it quick,” the first muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">They turned him around so Tom was facing the crowd again and a hushfell over the street. In the background,one of the cops carefully draped Maggie’s body in a crisp white cloth. “Do me a favor, fellas,” Tom said, his voiceclear in the silence of the morning. “WhenI hang, make sure you spread the word that it wasn’t me who got myself intothis mess. I’m damn good at what I doand I’d never let myself get caught on a job. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.” He grinned and the reporters chuckled,clicking a few more pictures for posterity. “When I hang,” he continued, “make sure everyone knows that it’s a womanwho put that noose around my neck.”</span><b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-17885118592034245212012-03-19T13:00:00.000-07:002012-03-30T12:34:59.730-07:00History Repeats<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 200%;">Vampires and werewolves; oh joy! I know, I know...but it was stuck in my head and it had to be written. Enjoy!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 200%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 200%;"><b>- - - - - - - - - -</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 200%;"><b><br />
</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b>History Repeats<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">What fascinated Elsie Minor the most about Martin Bullen wasn’tthat he drank other people’s blood, or that he’d live forever. Being with him meant that she, too, would beimmortal, but that wasn’t all that interesting, either. She liked being your average, run-of-the-millwerewolf, and mortality had its perks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">What most fascinated Elsie was the fact that she couldn’t readabout Martin Bullen in any textbook. Shecouldn’t find his name on registers or confirm that what he said was true. But why would he lie? All he’d had to do was find himself in theright place at the right time, alone, with Elsie, trapped in the gloomy breakroom at the hospital, and, with a grin, he’d pulled her under his spell. By his own admission, and she was willing totake his word for it, he hadn’t even had to use any of the tricks of hisspecies to win her over. Elsie had towonder if she was truly that easy to read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He’d started telling his story before she’d even revealed her loveof history. If he was a con man (to behonest, he’d had centuries of practice), he was a damn good one, to be able torecognize such a personal trait so easily. But Elsie had learned, long ago, not to ask questions. She liked to listen. Martin didn’t mind doing all the talking.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">“They’re out?” Martin said, his gaze on one of the windows of theMinor apartment’s living room.</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Elsie’s eyes were on the same window. “They’re out,” she confirmed. “We’ll be gone before either of them ishome.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Good. It’s for the best,darling.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I know.” She turned herhead and tucked her face against her shoulder, doing her best to ignoreMartin. It was hard to be involved withsomeone who could read you with a glance, the way he could. He’d been studying faces for years, whetherhe’d realized it or not. His ability tocall her out on her emotions was unnerving. Elsie sighed and straightened her back, looking back at the apartmentbuilding. “Wait here. I’ll be out in half an hour, tops.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Martin placed a hand on her shoulder, his face painted with concern. “You’re sure you don’t want me to come upwith you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You shouldn’t,” Elsie replied. “They’ll know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“They’ll find out either way, whether I’m in the apartment or not.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She turned to face him. “Don’t invade their space. Please.” She knew he understood. He was going through the motions, trying tosupport her, but he’d leave it be. “Waitfor me here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">They kissed, briefly, and then Elsie glanced out of the alleyway,before hurrying to the curbside and jaywalking hurriedly across the city street. She paused at the door with her keys in hand,glancing back to where Martin was waiting for her. He was staring back, emotionless, and gaveher a gentle nod. Elsie turned back tothe door, muttering affirmations as she let herself into the building andjogged up to the third floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The apartment seemed like hostile territory, as quiet as it shouldbe at the seven o’clock hour when her husband was working late and her daughterwas upstairs, eating dinner with her best friend’s family. Everything was right, but nothing felt thatway in the shadows of the life she had once lived. Elsie shut and locked the front door behindher, then moved into her bedroom to grab a backpack from the closet and startstuffing it with clothing and necessities. She’d had her escape list planned for weeks, knew where to findeverything and how it would fit into her bag. She had plenty of time to get what she needed and get out. She even had the letter written.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Elsie Minor was thirty-eight years old. For the last seventeen of those years, she’dbeen married to Glenn and, for the last fourteen, she’d been Stella’smother. Her first love, history, hadbeen deemed too flighty by her parents, who had refused to pay the bills if sheinsisted on pursuing such a frivolous degree to the college level. She hadn’t had the money to support herself,and every dream of becoming a historian, or the curator of a museum, or theauthor of books and giver of lectures, had vanished with the declaration of anursing major. History, in a fit ofrebellion, stuck as a useless minor. Medicine wasn’t her calling, but helping people seemed nobleenough. She liked kids and she wantedthem; pediatrics seemed to be the way to go. And she could always read, couldn’t she? Dreams could still be dreams, even if you knew they’d never beattained. For thirty-eight years, Elsierealized, somewhere between packing underwear and toothpaste, she had been moreor less happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">But Martin Bullen was six hundred and ninety four years old. He’d survived the Black Death and spokesixteen languages. He’d read everything,or so it seemed to Elsie. He’d had eightchildren and lost just two to the plague, and he’d been happy, too, once upon atime. For thirty-four years, Martin hadlived his quiet life as a peasant of honest work and a good reputation. When he’d been turned, he’d gone without muchof a fuss. Centuries later, he’d beenalive to watch his great-great-great-granddaughter become Queen for three shortyears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">That’s what had won Elsie over, all the things he knew that shecould never have learned without him. She didn’t want to be without him anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She heard the key in the lock and froze, listening to Glenn’sfamiliar footfall crossing the threshold and her own panicked breathing. One hand in the sock drawer, the lights stilloff in the apartment, Elsie could hear her husband and daughter talking out inthe hallway. She quietly closed thedrawer and zipped up her backpack, rising to meet them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Els?” Glenn said, puzzled as he took in the pack over one shoulderand the tears already forming in his wife’s eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I have to go,” Elsie replied. The letter, explaining everything, was lost in the bottom of thebackpack, forgotten. It was useless now,anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Mom?” Stella narrowed hereyes suspiciously. “Where are yougoing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Just let me go.” Elsiewiped tears from one eye. “Please.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She tried to move towards the front door, still ajar, but Glenn putout a hand to block her exit. With agentle push, he moved Stella silently out of the way. He paused, raised his head, and scented theair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Just let me go,” Elsie repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Glenn turned to fix his hard stare on Martin, who appeared in thedoorway with a mild smile playing on his lips. “You told me about him,” Glenn said, his tone accusatory. He turned back to his wife. “You sat at our dinner table after work and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">told </i>me about him, the masochisticvampire surgeon on the fourth floor. Yousat and told me about him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Elsie turned from her husband to her daughter. Stella said nothing. Elsie turned back to Martin, looking forhelp. He shook his head subtly, butasked, “May I come in?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Don’t you dare let him in our house,” Glenn said, turning to theunwanted guest to snarl, “You’re not invited.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Come in, please,” Elsie begged, her voice cracking on theplea. She forced Glenn’s arm out of theway and Martin entered, taking in the surroundings with only dampenedcuriosity. He leered at Stella, who rosefrom her spot on the sofa with clenched fists, then stuck out a hand for Glennto shake. “Martin Bullen, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Glenn lunged at the vampire, rage convincing him of the strength hedidn’t posses as a man. Martin let themortal land a few blows, for ego’s sake, then simply threw out an arm and sentGlenn flying into the living room wall across the room. The man collapsed at the foot of the wall,dazed, and Stella hurried to her father’s side with a strangled cry of fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“We should go,” Martin murmured to Elsie, heading for the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Elsie didn’t follow. Transfixed, she stood by the door, rooted to the spot, her eyes unableto leave the sight of her husband and daughter. The backpack slipped from her shoulder. If only they’d listened to her and stayed away. If only they were reading a note right now,her nice, neat little note, they could know everything and they wouldn’t be insuch pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Stella suddenly stood, watching her mother’s hesitation withdisdain. “Get out,” she growled, hereyes narrowed. Martin took a step back,officially exiting the apartment, as her command had dictated. When Elsie didn’t move, too, Stella strodeforward and gave her mother a forceful shove backwards. “Get out!” she cried, tossing the backpackafter her. Martin retrieved it, only tobe met with a decent punch to the left cheek that probably would have donedamage, had he been human. He raised hiseyes to Stella’s, whose eyes were watering in pain, and she yelled again, “Getout!” She took a step away from thethreshold, away from both the vampire and her mother. “Don’t come near us again. I never want to see you again.” It was clear that she meant it more for hermother than the vampire who was luring her away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">She slammed the door in their faces and Elsie simply stared at thebarrier, until Martin pulled her to her feet and settled the backpack on hershoulders and forced her down the stairs. There were footsteps coming down the stairs, to see what the commotionwas about, and it was possible to make out strangled sobs from within theapartment, following them all the way down to the front door. Outside, the night was dark and cool andElsie didn’t know what she wanted anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p><b> ***</b></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Martin was fascinated by the humanity within Elsie Minor that droveher to drinking. In the beginning, justafter they’d fled Chicago and the angry pack she’d left behind, she became agross, sobbing mess after just two fingers of whiskey and a generous helping ofice cold water. She’d sputter throughher tears and choke on the burn of alcohol at the back of her throat and he’dhave to hold her close all night and pray she didn’t start screaming in hersleep again. She always did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">But there were too many anniversaries to raise a glass to, too manydates to commemorate, for Elsie not to become a seasoned drinker, in time. The woman had the stamina of an ox and put itto good use whenever life left her unsatisfied. Martin, being a vampire, had no such urge for food or drink, and anyliquor he did partake in left nothing within him but an unsettling swirling ofalcohol in his stomach, until the gin evaporated. He sometimes missed the dizziness, the shock,the way the landscape swam before his eyes and his brain convinced him that hewas king of the world. He rememberedthese feelings, all of them, though he’d last been good and drunk over sixcenturies earlier. And though hecouldn’t entirely sympathize, he understood why Elsie felt the need to drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">It was hard in the beginning, when she was out of practice withholding her liquor and the memories seemed to come flooding up like therelentless hurricane tide. Each week,nearly every day, brought something new and stinging to the surface that onlyan extra glass of wine or a few more shots could dampen. The first event was Stella’s birthday, notlong after they’d left. Then it wasElsie’s wedding anniversary. Then,Glenn’s birthday. Then the day Stellawould start her sophomore year of high school. The day Elsie should have been promoted to head nurse. The day she called the family lawyer andlearned that her divorce had been finalized. The birth of a cousin’s baby that she managed to catch wind of. The day they’d bought their first apartmenttogether, the day she’d first met Glenn, the day she could first feel thestirrings of a new life in her womb. Elsie Minor’s life was marching on without her, and she was left withnaught but an increasingly irritated vampire lover and whatever bottles shecould get her hands on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">To put it bluntly, Elsie was a lush for many of their early yearsalone together. Their affair had oncebeen fun, exciting, full of passion and intrigue and the thrill of doingsomething naughty with someone so utterly wrong for you. Running away together had seemed to be thenext logical step in their romantic plan—they had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">such </i>romantic plans. Together, they would live forever. Elsie could go back to school, if she wanted, for her desired historydegree. Martin might take up aprofession; teaching, maybe, or law enforcement, or writing. Something noble for them both. They could do anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Elsie wasted the first three years of forever perfecting herdescent into alcoholism. Three years hadonce seemed like such a short time to Martin, who had survived too much andseen nearly the entire world by now, but the days dragged with Elsie stumblingdrunkenly at his side. There were brightmoments, when she stopped drinking and seemed able to forget what they’d runfrom and just enjoy the fact that they were free to be together now. But they were few and far between in thoseearly years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Eventually, either Martin finally succeeded in talking some senseinto Elsie or Elsie, herself, must have decided that she’d wasted enoughtime. The binges were cut back,lingering only a few days around the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>important dates. Martin found thismanageable; he could easily remember the date of Stella’s birth or Elsie’swedding date, and he could remember to keep his mouth shut and stay out of herway until she called for his aid. Ittook nearly two full bottles of wine for Elsie to start sniveling, a bit moreor something stronger for her to lose control as she had in the earlydays. Eventually, she learned to makethe most use of her liquor, narrow her binges to a mere few hours on theimportant days, and stop losing control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Martin once returned to their latest home in the wee hours of themorning after a night out hunting. Itwas maybe eight years after they’d left Chicago together, and Martin was fairlysurprised to spy Elsie, sitting in an easy chair in the living room with abottle of Jack Daniels balanced delicately on the arm of the chair. He was positive the bottle was new; it wasonly half full.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“My daughter,” Elsie said to the gloom, guessing his question andpreempting it. She hiccupped, paused,inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Mydaughter,” she tried again, “is getting married today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You hadn’t mentioned that,” Martin noted, hanging his overcoat onthe rack and standing behind her chair. He considered taking the bottle away, but she still appeared to beperfectly coherent. If anything, maybethe Jack would just knock her out for a few hours and let her catch up onsleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I got a call,” she continued, her tone decidedly bitter. She coughed out a laugh. “From Glennon. The bastard. Found my number here and called me up and announced it, just likethat. ‘Your daughter’s getting marriednext week.’ And then, you know what thebastard did?” Martin didn’t want tohazard a guess. “He hung up on me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Martin drummed lightly on the back of the chair. “We could still go, you know,” he saidsoftly. “If you’d like to go, I’ll driveyou.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You know who this dickhead she’s marrying is?” Elsie was making it painfully obvious thatshe didn’t want to think about attending, let alone talk about it. Martin caught on that she had been informedonly to be cruel. She hadn’t actuallybeen invited. “About to graduate fromBU. Parents are investment bankers inBaltimore. I looked up the announcementsin the papers.” She took a long draughtof Jack Daniels. “He’s all wrong forher.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“She knows.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Yeah.” She looked up atMartin and gently took his outstretched hand. “She knows.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“If you’d like to go,” Martin said again, “we can go. You should go, Elsie, my love. It’s your daughter’s wedding. You deserve to be there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He watched her lips harden into a thin line and her eyesnarrow. Though she directed her rage atthe curtains hanging across the room, he knew it was meant for him, for Glenn,probably a bit for Stella, too. “I don’tdeserve to be there,” she said, dangerously quiet. “Everybody knows that. Don’t be an ass.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He squeezed her hand. “Youcan still go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Or I can sit around and get drunk all day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Your choice. It’s alwaysbeen your choice, darling.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Martin slipped his hand from hers and took his leave. The sun was rising and she was running low onwhiskey. He would need to sleep away theday, to avoid the worst of the tempest and awake later, refreshed enough to beher rock, to hold her hand through the night and listen to her painfulspeculations. He could picture thepretty little girl in her pretty little white dress, walking down the aisle onher father’s arm towards the (as Elsie had so succinctly put it) dickhead she’dchosen to marry. Elsie would spend theday torturing herself with images of wedding cakes and flower arrangements andbanquet halls, wondering what her daughter had grown up to be and if her futurehusband was a werewolf, too. Probablynot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Martin climbed into the small room he spent the daylight hourscloistered within and willed the night never to come.</span><b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-60510977757783161742012-03-16T13:00:00.000-07:002012-03-30T12:35:17.487-07:00The Modern Age<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">This is built from a writing exercise we had to do in my Intermediate Fiction class a few weeks ago. The professor handed out a bunch of wedding announcements from the <i>New York Times</i> and, based on the picture of the couple and the provided information, we had to write the scene in which their marriage crumbled. I literally got the most pretentious-sounding couple in history, and I knew they looked the type to split up over something stupid on their honeymoon, so I wrote that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Names have been changed to protect these people I've never met (and to protect myself from a lawsuit). I don't remember their real names, so I can't Google them to see if they've split up yet. My money's on yes, but I just hope they're both still happy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">- - - - - - - - - - </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The Modern Age<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The night before they were to leave Saint Tropez, Lauren dug her laptop
out of her carry-on bag to check the news.
Three weeks of honeymoon bliss, ignoring the HD TV and limiting yourself
to only a few, furtive glances at the cell, could be bad for business. She logged into her email, skimmed a few
notes and memos, but nothing seemed especially important. No one had posted anything offensive, no
scandals to cover up on the main page.
Her temp was doing a good job of holding down such a huge virtual fort—even
if she hadn’t gone to Harvard, like Lauren had.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">In the next room, Lauren’s husband of two weeks and six days, Brent,
was taking a shower. She could hear him
humming something, a jingle she couldn’t place.
Maybe he’d just come up with it.
Maybe he was already working on a new obnoxiously addictive farm game to
inflict upon the world. His work had
been kind to him—to them both, since Lauren had become a part of his life—but
there were only so many vegetable puns and fertilizer jokes a girl could take.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren closed her email and clicked over to YouTube, her baby. She hadn’t founded the thing, but sometimes,
in her day to day routine as a manager in charge of the company’s PR, she
couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t.
It seemed simple enough to come up with the idea, to get someone to code
it, and then to stab said programmer in the back and take all the profits. She lined up a few stupid cat videos to wait
out the advertisements on the latest Vevo new releases.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">With a burst of steam and a flurry of plush white hotel towels,
Brent appeared, glistening and dripping and tossing her a smile. It only occurred to Lauren, as she smiled
back on automatic response, that maybe she should have sauntered into the
bathroom ten minutes go and joined him there.
She couldn’t even bring herself to ogle him as he dropped his towel and
pulled out fresh pajamas from the nearly empty armoire. Brent would be forty-one next week, which no
one would guess from his abs. But what
had seemed like a tiny age discrepancy when they’d first met at that launch
party, nearly three years ago, now loomed ahead of twenty-eight-year-old Lauren
like a cloaked reaper. Was that a light
at the end of the tunnel, just behind this portent of doom? Or just the glimmer of sunlight reflecting
off Brent’s growing bald spot?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Three weeks—were they already becoming a tired old married couple,
using up a lifetime’s worth of sex drive in these foreign ocean, on these
mass-produced sheets? She had a flash of
them sitting in a modern apartment in San Francisco in twenty, thirty years,
everything cold and chrome and their passion reduced to furtive glances and
heavy silences. How long did it take for
love to run its course and lust to fizzle out?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Any better?” she asked absently, trying for domestic concern. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject on
her mind, especially since Brent was already so sensitive about his hair. She paused the music video on her screen and
opened a new tab to navigate to her Facebook page.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Damn sun,” Brent muttered in reply. As he pulled on boxers and pajama pants, he
clarified, “Nah, I’m still fried—ow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren tapped in her email address and password, hardly sparing her
husband a glance. “Told you not to fall
asleep on the beach.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Told you to wake me up when you wanted to leave for lunch,” he
shot back. “I was looking forward to the
grilled chicken Panini on chibatta.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Over-rated,” Lauren replied.
“The pesto was better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“They had pesto today? With
spaghetti or the squiggly pasta?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Angel hair; it was the special.
What does it matter? And what the
hell do you mean by ‘squiggly’?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Brent’s face fell as he eased himself down onto the edge of the
mattress, huffing and puffing like a woman in labor. “That’s my favorite,” he sulked. “Spaghetti, I mean, not the squiggly
pasta. You know, the twisty ones.” He tried to draw the shape in the air but
gave up. “Spaghetti is far superior.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You’re sure you don’t like lobster best?” Lauren teased, her tone
just a little too cruel to be endearing.
She poked her husband’s shoulder and Brent winced away. She couldn’t help but smirk at his
discomfort, the angry red skin already stretched and hardening into a shell
across his back. She could feel the heat
of the sun that his skin had soaked up and saved getting thrown back at her
now, stronger than the disapproving glare he hadn’t yet mastered. A few more years of marriage would do it,
maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren turned back to her computer and scrolled through the comments
on the wedding pictures she’d made sure to post to her wall before they left on
their trip. Each one was better than the
next, trying to outdo earlier notes about the bride and groom, and she
luxuriated in answering each one, personally, about her dress, her shoes, her
hair. She stretched out across the duvet
to fully appreciate her magnificence, leaving Brent to his own devices. He managed to get to his feet and toddled across
the room for his iPhone, probably to check his waiting email notifications.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Half an hour later, when the well wishes had been answered, one by
one, and her mother had been reassured that she was having a good time—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yes</i>, really—Lauren returned to the
Facebook news feed. She checked her
application notifications, specifically, and heaved a weary sigh. This one had poked her. That one wanted her to play Tetris. And there, the most offending of them all,
was a waiting message from Brent Kelly, begging her to join Farmville and send
him some desperately-needed firewood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren sat up. “What the
hell is this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“What?” Brent shuffled over,
phone still in hand, to read the screen over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah, just trying to get more people
onboard,” he said. Unconcerned, he
looked back down at the possible merger waiting in his inbox. “We rolled out some updates and I thought you
might want to try it out now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren turned to face Brent, pushing his phone out of his face and
jabbing his bare chest to make her point.
If only he’d fallen asleep on his back earlier that day! “What did I tell you about Farmville?” she
demanded, eyes narrowed. “I’m not some
fourteen-year-old with nothing better to do.
Go ahead and create all the crappy addictions you want, but don’t get <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me </i>involved.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He pushed her finger away.
“Oh. All right. Because game development is such a juvenile
business, not worth your time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You make games where people grow corn and harvest horse
crap.” Lauren crossed her arms over her
chest. “Yeah, it’s juvenile.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I forgot how high and mighty you were. Cats on Roombas are definitely changing the
world—excuse me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“YouTube defends the rights of people—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“To post copyrighted material and laugh at skateboarding dogs,”
Brent interrupted, giving her a double thumbs-up. “Got it.
Awesome. Way to go.” He turned away to plug his phone back into
the wall to charge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Turning pink with rage, Lauren set her teeth and kneeled on the
bed, drawing herself up to full height.
“You’re contributing to childhood obesity!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You let people post those stupid videos where you have to get
close to the screen and then the creepy screaming lady face shows up and scares
the crap out of you!” Brent argued back.
“Tell me that isn’t sending Gen Y into therapy. Get off your pedestal before you fall and
break something.” His phone chirped and
he picked it up again to answer a text, glancing up at Lauren as he typed. “You’ve got such a problem with me? Maybe you should’ve married Mark Zuckerberg when
you had the chance. I’m sure you two
self-righteous ego-maniacs would have gotten along splendidly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Oh, God, this again?”
Lauren’s voice rose in shrill defense.
“It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one </i>time! I made out with him <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">once</i>, and that was all. I
threw the kid a bone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Brent sneered. “I bet he
even let you on Facebook in its beta stage for that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He had, as a matter of fact, and it had sucked. But Lauren held her tongue on the point. “At least I didn’t ask for a cut of his
tomato crop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“In exchange for what? No
one would want anything you have to offer up.”
Brent set his phone down on the bedside table, then knelt beside his
monogrammed suitcase to start packing. “For
the record, you haven’t minded the chunk of change <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my </i>tomato crop has been bringing in these last few years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren sat back down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. “I married Mr. Potato Head.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Brent paused in his work, clutching a T-shirt in one hand and a
mismatched pair of socks in the other.
He exhaled through his teeth before looking back to Lauren. “You know what? Maybe my parents were right all along—you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are </i>too young for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You just can’t keep up,” Lauren huffed haughtily in reply. “Old man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Brent stuffed the socks in with a few leftover pairs of underwear
and then tugged the shirt on over his sunburn, wincing as he did so. He bent carefully to pick up his bag, settled
it on his shoulder, and turned to face his wife. “You look like a horse,” he bellowed, before
storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren hardly had the time to be offended, as she heard the key
card in the door lock a beat later and Brent returned. He crossed the room, grabbed his forgotten
phone, and looked Lauren up and down.
“You still look like a horse,” he said.
“And LonelyGirl15 was stupid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“We don’t produce the content,” Lauren shouted back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“No—you just make sure the crap goes viral.” Brent paced to the doorway, paused at the
closed door to turn back to Lauren, as if to say something, then turned back
and opened the door again. “I’ll text
you when we’re back in the States.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Lauren jumped at the second slamming of the door. She sat in the silence of the hotel room,
deaf to the rolling waves mere steps from their private terrace, ignoring the
lazy turning of the ceiling fan overhead.
Eventually, she looked at her computer again and woke it from a light
doze to find Facebook still waiting for her.
No little red numbers greeted her, even after she’d refreshed the page
twice. She deleted Brent’s Farmville
request. Then, she changed her
relationship status from “married” to “single” and waited for the notifications
to pour in.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-90422716596323814642012-03-15T15:50:00.000-07:002012-03-30T12:35:22.855-07:00End of Days<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Flash fiction about what happens between the gods of old when the world appears to be ending...again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">- - - - - - - - - -</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">End of Days</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">They had one of these Apocalypse scares once every few
decades. It was usually a false alarm—no
mortal was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>intuitive—but when
the rumor mill started churning out Doomsday scenarios, the deities across all
realms had to meet to discuss the possibility of The End. They’d started renting out a boardroom at the
United Nations Headquarters in Geneva a few years back and, despite the work to
be done, it was usually a rather pleasant reunion. No one was ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>worried about the Apocalypse. And those that were found themselves
breathing easier in the Alps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Zeus was chosen to moderate the latest meeting. “We all know why we’re here,” he said,
unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking his seat at the head of the table. “The world is in peril. Again.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Supposedly,” Thoth put in, sitting at Zeus’ right hand as
secretary and scribbling down the meeting’s minutes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Yes. As always.” Zeus cleared his throat and continued, “We
haven’t seen such a loss of logic amongst the mortals since the Y2K scare,
which is why I thought it pertinent for us to come together today.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Loki raised a hand and was acknowledged. “How about we just wipe them out this time
and be done with it?” he suggested with mock sincerity. “We’ll throw the humans a bone—fire and
brimstone, zombies, they won’t care.
They eat that End of Days shit up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I’ve asked you numerous times to leave your wit at the door,” Zeus
replied with a sneer. “Back to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">serious </i>business. First off, we need to determine if there is a
real threat to humanity out there, somewhere.
The cosmic scales appear to be in balance, but the Mayan calendar <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does </i>cease at the end of this year. Does the delegation from Central America have
anything to say on the matter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">A man so thin that you could see every bone through his skin
rose. “It’s not us,” Ah Puch, Mayan god
of death, announced. “Our people lost
interest in keeping track of time—can you really blame them? If this is the true End, it won’t be brought
on by us.” He sat down to nods of
approval from around the table, only to hurriedly hop back to his feet. “If you’ll allow another digression on my
part, I’d simply like to add that anyone still concerned with the matter take a
closer look at a few of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God’s </i>followers. If any mortal sect poses a serious threat to
the fate of the universe, it’s them.
Quite a few of them appear to be rather…bonkers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Don’t bring good Christians into this,” God said, punctuating his
words with a fist on the tabletop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Many of them aren’t very ‘good,’ strictly speaking,” Loki noted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You do have the Horsemen on speed dial,” Zeus reminded God gently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I’m at my peak!” God argued back, his face flushed. “People are murdering each other for me,
picketing funerals, making neon signs and quoting me wrong in the streets. Why would I destroy all that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Loki grinned. “To avoid
admitting how badly you screwed up.
Remember, you let your first woman get seduced by a piece of fruit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I won’t sit here and take this abuse.” God stood, to make good on his threat. He gave a curt nod to the assembled deities
and then leveled an angry gaze at Loki.
“When I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do </i>start the
Apocalypse, your ass is first on my to-smite list.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Try it, Grandpa,” Loki called out, as the door slammed shut behind
God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">In the following stunned silence, Zeus cleared his throat and
indicated for Thoth to strike the last exchange from the official record. Slowly, the Greek rose and buttoned up his
jacket. “Well, at least we know it’s
just another entropy scare,” he said wearily.
He clapped his hands together, twice.
“We’re adjourned. Who knows a
good place for fondue?”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-48051932663867298532012-03-15T15:34:00.003-07:002012-03-15T15:35:31.082-07:00Conviction<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“I’m
just wondering why no one likes me.” The
man in orange shifted in his seat, settling back into his preferred
pose—straight back, feet flat on the floor, hands clasped before him. Like an idol awaiting worship, like an award
on a mantle. He coughed daintily into
his clasped fist, then placed his hand back on the table with its partner. “Excuse me.
I’m a good guy. I read. I like cats.
I want to see the world. I was
always good with girls – no stuttering phase, no fumbling for words. Everyone always loved me.”</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">- - - - - - - - - -</span></b></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">...like what you've read? Then head on over to <a href="http://thecatharsis.net/?p=1078">the catharsis</a> and finish it! While you're there, read over all the other great work we have to offer. I'm so thankful to be a part of such an awesome publication and a wonderful staff, and we could use all the support we can get! </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">So, please! Read a few stories, poems, or essays, and pass them along! Pieces change every month, and every month has a new theme, so be sure to check back in April for a brand new batch of entertainment.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-31629013777556820722012-02-08T17:11:00.000-08:002012-02-08T17:11:48.011-08:00Snowstorm<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Built off a writing exercise in my fiction class, possibly to be submitted in this revised form as my first piece of the semester for workshop! I feel a little Stephen King-ish with this one, ha. Enjoy the snow!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Snowstorm<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">It had been snowing for weeks.
Night and day were distinguished only by the shifting shades of gray in
the sky, the timed on and off of the orange streetlights overhead. Schools were closed indefinitely and children
celebrated in the streets for the first three days of the onslaught. On the fourth day, the skies grew darker and
the storm dumped an extra two feet of snow on top of the solid four-foot
base. That was when the parents started
keeping the kids inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> At the beginning of the second week of the storm, the roads were
impassable and the governor declared a state of emergency. Not that many people heard this news – the
power had been out since the fourth night and even the best-prepared had not
planned on being locked in their homes for this long. Water froze in the pipes of the inexperienced
and burst in shards of ice and metal.
Oil burners were dangerously close to empty in too many homes, after a
long winter of battling tundra-like temperatures, trying to keep the wind from
exploiting every window pane, every vent, every crack under the door. Old sweatshirts and beach towels were stuffed
around each entrance and exit to keep the same from happening again. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Bonfires were common in living rooms and on back decks, resulting
in at least one destroyed home on Greene Street. The snow disappeared around the property for
a good six hours, only to be replaced by fresh flurries on the bones of the
mother, father, and three sons that had tried to burn the eldest boy’s lacrosse
equipment with too much accelerant and no regard for fire safety. No one left their homes to fight the flames
or bury the dead. The snow took care of
both duties for the shivering residents, locked in their icy prisons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Icicles began to form in attics, the result of wet snow dripping
through roofs in desperate need of a replacing, a task that would have,
otherwise, waited until spring. Walls
collapsed and entire roofs vanished.
Left camping out under an unforgiving sky, entire families woke up
buried alive, or with fingers and toes so blue, they would never work
again. Holes appeared in the growing
snow drifts in every backyard, a place to keep the milk cold and the coldcuts
ready for whenever school would begin again.
Everyone started to pray for school to start again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">By the first full month of snow, even the bravest of the families
stopped trying to fight the assault and retreated inside, for good. No man or woman set foot aside, their shovels
forgotten in the ruined garages and rising banks, their gas-powered snowblowers
empty and idle. The children cried for
hot meals, for cartoons, for the chance to run around with their neighborhood
friends and build snowmen to tempt the gods.
Every time, their parents said no.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">But the children, as the parents of the community had so often been
warned, were ingenious. They found ways
to slip out of their homes, sometimes after their bedtimes and sometimes in the
middle of a white-washed day, hardly leaving a disturbed dishrag to guard the
door or little footprints to be spotted by the adults who peeked from behind
their heavy curtains. Seemingly
impervious to cold, the children would engage in snowball fights and make snow
angels until they were sure they’d get caught.
And then, not long after their parents stopped going out, the kids
stopped coming in – not when they were told to do so, anyway. Canned goods for dinner and sleep in their
own beds could only happen at home, but the rest of the day was dedicated to
defeating the cold in the only way they knew how: play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Without much more than a few whispered plans, all the kids on
Greene Street clambered out of their homes in town at dawn. They made the trek out into the forest that
their parents were far too cowardly to undertake, climbing mountains of snow at
least a dozen feet high, passing tree branches that had once been far out of
reach to even the best climbers on the block.
A few of the kids sneezed and stumbled on their way, suffering from the
colds that plagued the newly snow-bound area.
Little hands helped friends back to their feet and rescued the fallen
from the soft snow drifts that tried to swallow them whole. The kids moved farther from town and deeper
into the woods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">At the head of the pack strode ten-year-old Juggler, nicknamed thus
because of his penchant for keeping almost anything flying expertly through the
air in a perfect arc, the oldest of the children who gathered in the forest
clearing. He wasn’t teased for his
talent, per se, but there were always going to be whispers about kids with even
the most useless adult abilities. It didn’t
help that Juggler was also the new kid in school – his family had only just
settled down that fall, at the beginning of his fifth grade year. Before coming to town, they had traveled the
country with a small circus. His father
was an acrobat. No one knew what his
mother could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">There were about two dozen children puttering around in the
untouched snow in the forest, tumbling around as they weren’t allowed to on
Greene Street, and they fell into a loose assembly before Juggler. Keeping five packed snowballs passing from
hands to sky, Juggler merely gave a nod, and the children went to work. It had been snowing for weeks, and the only
logical activity was to build an igloo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">It took a good amount of debate before construction could
begin. Some kids began crafting perfect
cubes for the base, while others called for rectangles. As the day wore on, still others simply
disappeared into the snow drifts, ten feet down and drowning. The work pressed on, after Juggler had
pointed to the rectangular blocks and gestured for the construction of the
base. The igloo, it was clear, was meant
to be something special – an icy home, about twenty feet in diameter, crafted
of a hodge-podge of shapes and snow and snapped tree branches from the
evergreens all around. None of the kids
knew, exactly, why they kept building, climbing higher and higher as they
approached the summit, careful to lay each snow brick where it would hold their
weight this high in the air. But they
kept at it, as dawn became time for cartoons, then the clouds began to darken
towards lunch time, then snack time. No
one missed the cans of soup, all nasty adult flavors with names like sirloin
burger and chicken dumping. Not one of
the parents had thought to stock up on mac and cheese or chicken with
stars. The children kept building, if
only to escape the Vick’s and rough tissues awaiting their colds at home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The hero of the day was Juggler, which became clear from the very
first moment he retreated into the trees and returned with his favorite sled
full of expertly sculpted and leveled snow blocks. Balanced on half-complete rows of bricks, he
would juggle his handiwork high into the air, laughing when the others gasped
at his might. Already, it seemed, his
skill was legend, even in a culture with such a short history with snow. Armed with his father’s prized croquet
mallet, Juggler thwacked ice and snow into place, filling holes and
reprimanding the others for gaps in the construction. The igloo rose higher, cresting the tops of
the trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">As the skies grew dimmer, streaks of night creeping into the
shadows, a few of the braver parents began to congregate at the edge of the
wood. One mother held her breath at the
snowy monster looming above the backlit trees; a father cursed under his breath. “What are they doing?” “What’s going on?” “What in hell is that thing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">At a loss, the parents froze amongst the thin trees near the start
of the forest. They could still see the
top of the igloo, some of their children scurrying busily to and fro. “Dinner!” they called out, trying to keep the
panic out of their raised voices.
“Dinnertime, kids! Come on back
now!” There was nothing else to do but
try and lure them back home with promises of Spaghetti-O’s and cookies for
dessert. Juggler didn’t even have to
shake his head. The children kept
working, intent on defeating the snowy winter world they were now forced to
inhabit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The igloo mocked the rising snow drifts as the steady flurry of
precipitation grew thicker, more constant, once again on the offensive. The sky darkened, deep purple, black, and the
children met in the very middle of the igloo’s dome, staring at each other for
a moment before grinning at their ingenuity.
The snow had not yet risen above the solid base. Maybe they could win yet. Maybe that was the music of an angelic harp
on the breeze. They climbed so high,
they thought themselves very near Heaven, and they knew that what they had done
was good. There could be no time-out for
this craft project, no reprimand for staying out too long or too late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Juggler climbed to the top and hopped up and down on the roof
twice, to test the hold. Seemingly
satisfied, he glanced over the curved edge of the igloo, then glanced up at the
sky. Snow collected in his eyelashes and
eyebrows. He looked both very wise and
very frightening when, as he looked back at the other children, he pronounced,
“We’re not high enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Who knew when the snows would end?
Who knew if spring would ever come again? Juggler’s desire for triumph led the children
towards the night sky. They would touch
the clouds. They would see the stars
again. Tomorrow morning, maybe, they
could play in the sun. What better place
had they to live, but the igloo to Heaven in a world of eternal winter?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-48777679599060593812012-02-07T13:25:00.001-08:002012-02-07T13:31:03.359-08:00Devil's Trap<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">A little bit of self-mockery in this one - a love letter, if you will, to the teeming masses of <i>Supernatural </i>fans, who take things too far and leave no stone unturned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b>--------</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Devil’s Trap</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">There was no one in the devil’s trap when Mike first began to
recite the incantation. Halfway through,
Kat knew she’d chosen the right man for the job – Mike was top of the class in
each of the foreign languages their joke of a public school had to offer, so
his Latin was surprisingly good. By the
end, Kat had glanced away from the empty scribbles for just a moment to scratch
her nose, and when she turned back, there was a woman standing in the middle of
the circle, trapped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The demon crossed her arms over her ample chest and leveled her
gaze at Mike, first, since he was the one holding the notebook. “Can I help you?” she said coolly. “I was in the middle of a business
transaction, if you don’t mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Mike could only stare back at the woman in reply. The pharmacy store notebook began to quiver
violently in his hands, the paper rattling in a most becoming way for setting
the proper scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Holy – holy shit!” Kat exclaimed.
She clapped a hand over her mouth and held the demon’s eye when she
looked at her. “You’re a demon!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The demon tilted her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “Come again, darling? You’re a little muffled, there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Kat removed the hand from her mouth and pointed weakly at the woman
in the center of their inexpertly drawn (but, thankfully, effective) devil’s
trap. “Demon!” she squeaked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The woman smiled, lips drawn into a taut line, and blinked. Her eyes clouded over from enticing mahogany
to a matte black, pupil, iris, and all.
“Very observant,” she noted with false enthusiasm. “Well done.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” Kat chanted, dancing giddily
over to Mike’s side and clasping his arm.
He dropped the notebook full of what he’d thought was half-assed Latin
in fright. “Look at her!” Kat continued,
giving his arm a shake. “No, forget the
book, we don’t need it. Look! Crap, Mike, look, we summoned a demon!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Any particular reason you brought me here?” the demon continued,
her eyes flickering back to a human color.
“Or did you just plan on charging a fee to parade your little friends
past while I made scary faces in the dark?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“We just wanted to meet you,” Kat said, her voice high and
airy. “Well, one of you. This is just incredible!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Mike stooped to retrieve the notebook and began flipping through
the pages of Kat’s scribbling. “Can we
send her back now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The demon raised her hands, pleading her innocence. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not get too hasty here,”
she said with a forced chuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“How rude!” Kat punched Mike
in the shoulder. “She’s our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guest</i>, dude! We can’t just gawk at her for a couple
minutes and then send her to Hell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“I’d rather you didn’t,” the demon chimed in. Kat was too excited to notice that her sweet
tone was as fake as the breasts on her chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Mike faded into the background to fall into a rickety rolling
chair, as Kat crept closer to the devil’s trap.
“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice hushed by awe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You can call me Julie,” the demon replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Kat’s eyes went wide, then she glanced at Mike over her
shoulder. He was nodding slowly with a
bemused look on his face. A moment
later, and they were both on the floor, laughing their all too mortal asses off
as the demon looked on with distaste.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Julie, the Devil’s Handmaiden,” Mike managed to gasp. He was only able to speak because laughter
made him incapable to remembering that there was a powerful and potentially
hazardous creature trapped mere feet away from him with only neon blue spray
paint and some dwindling candles. His
eyes were shut tight as he clasped the book to his chest, howling with
laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“The terror of God-fearing men everywhere,” Kat answered. “Julie, Lucifer’s apprentice!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Yes, well.” The demon
cleared her throat and stuck out a hip, striking a rather intimidating pose of
utter boredom. “We don’t always get to
choose the meat suit. Sometimes, the
meat suit chooses you. Along with all
its emotional baggage and shitty nicknames.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Kat wasn’t listening. She
was looking at Mike again. “Hey,
remember that episode of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paranormal</i>? It was just like this. They called up this demon to get information
about their missing mother.” She glanced
at the demon as she climbed back to her feet and shook away the last of her laughter. “But that demon was named Moloch.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Favorite episode of all time, for real. Dude, he was such a badass,” Mike agreed
wholeheartedly. Then he caught the eye
of Julie the demon and immediately fell silent, quaking in fear once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Julie rolled her eyes. “Dear
God, not more of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">us </i>people?” Kat
echoed, hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You…you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fan</i> people,” the
demon replied. She gave a weary
sigh. “All the time, all of a sudden,
one of us is getting called up, forced to listen to you people babble <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">incessantly </i>about some television
program no one even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">watches</i>.” She narrowed her eyes at her captors, daring
them to argue. “Just because some idiots
in Hollywood happened to stumble upon just the right incantations, we’re all at
the mercy of nerdy fangirls the world over.”
She snorted, most unbecoming.
“And we all thought we were already in Hell.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Kat clenched her fists to hold back her rage. “Hey! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paranormal </i>is a cult favorite with a
very evenly-distributed viewership!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“They hit number one in their time slot last season, a good number
of times,” Mike offered, only to cower behind the notebook once more when
Julie’s eyes went black once more and the full force of her hellish gaze fell
on him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Well, if I’ve offended you in some way, feel free to send me
back.” Julie sounded all too excited at
the prospect of the sweltering depths of the Underworld.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Mike stood and raised the notebook, preparing to deliver the death
blow, as it was. But Kat crossed to him
and put a hand on the page, subtly shaking her head. She turned back to the demon in the devil’s
trap with a hellish smile of her own playing on her lips. “I think we have something better in mind,”
she said politely, grabbing the chair Mike had occupied and sliding it towards
Julie. “Have a seat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">If they had learned nothing else from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paranormal</i>, Kat liked to think that she, Mike, and the thousands of
other loyal viewers had discovered how to properly torture and dispose of a
demon. She had knicked holy water from
the Catholic church down the block in preparation for the night, along with
anything silver she could find, a few knives, some rope, and whatever else she
could lay hands on that might come in handy to defend herself. Mike had arrived similarly armed, but he’d
done her one better – all six seasons of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paranormal</i>,
already loaded onto his laptop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“You’ll love the pilot,” Kat cooed to the captive demon as Mike set
up the computer and turned up the sound.
“It’s probably one of the best episodes they ever shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“How many seasons did you say there were?” Julie asked, trying to
discreetly scratch at the paint surrounding her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">“Not enough,” Mike replied, setting the player to full screen. “Here we go!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The credits rolled. Kat
leaned forward and Mike settled back, both a safe distance from the devil’s
trap, though they were close enough to ask questions about the netherworld
whenever the fancy struck them. Not that
they didn’t doubt their beloved showrunner, but they just wanted to make sure
he’d gotten everything right. They
wanted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">authenticity</i>. And what better way to find out about Hell
and the supernatural beings of the world than from the mouth of a living,
breathing, human-covered demon?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">In her spray paint prison, the demon sprawled across the stone
floor to wait out the end of her torment.
“When I get out of here,” she said, just loud enough for the pair to
hear over the roar of a mythological monster on the screen, “I’m going to
throttle you both and then rip your eyeballs out through your anuses.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Because <i>this </i>was
Hell. And, in Hell, you did what you had
to do in order to survive. Wasn’t that
what the entire third season of <i>Paranormal
</i>had been about?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-86477675618242720752012-01-12T13:04:00.000-08:002012-01-12T13:05:26.623-08:00Censure<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The group "Censure" is not-so-loosely based on the hacktivist group Anonymous. This is how I imagined my meeting with one of the members would go. I wasn't sure about the story at first, but it's no as bad as I thought, upon second reading. Enjoy :]</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"></span></b></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Censure</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">For once, AOL had been good for something. I skimmed the banalities of the entertainment
and political news snippets, ignored the thirty-seven messages of spam awaiting
me in my inbox, and clicked hurriedly though the top stories. Some actress was caught out in a hemline ten
years too young for her. Some Hollywood
nobody was spotted on a beach, frolicking with someone who definitely wasn’t
his new wife. A family got lose in a corn
maze and called the police for help. I
didn’t want to live on the planet anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">When you’ve given up all hope in humanity (not honestly – maybe
enough to blog about it), the only logical next step in life is to find the one
thing that hands you back your faith on a silver platter. And that’s just when I found them, the way
you’re supposed to. A hacker group had
uncovered some dark Internet secrets; it sounded promising. I clicked the link and waited for the wi-fi
to allow the page to load in its entirety.
I pictured Lisbeth Salander, Penelope Garcia, Neo – computer hackers
were ninjas, keystrokes their weapon of choice, breaking into corrupt corporate
mainframes and breaking down stereotypes in every walk of life. The page loaded and I ignored the video at
the top to begin reading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I was introduced to Censure.
The group had uncovered a child porn ring and infiltrated it, leaving
their apparently signature calling cards across the site – videos from “To
Catch a Predator,” mock posts that turned out to be tirades against the sick
fucks who frequented the site. And then
they ripped the site to shreds, stole the member list, found all their personal
information, and turned the dark net site and the list of names over to the
feds. “Be ye not deceived. Quis custodiet ipsos custodies?” I fell in love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">That very night, tucked away in my apartment against the Boston
December raging outside, I started doing my homework on the group. They regularly posted videos on various
YouTube accounts, supposedly run by various members of the anonymous
organization, to announce their movements.
They wrote about their exploits for websites, for national newspapers,
for their own pleasure. They snuck notes
onto popular humor sites and terrified message boarders with their aggressive
attacks on right-wing politics and the web companies they called “gaudy” and
“corrupt.” They protected free speech,
the rights of the everyday citizen, the lonely, the forgotten, the downtrodden,
the depressed. People called them
terrorists; I called them superheroes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I alternated reading about Censure with watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Criminal Minds </i>reruns on A&E,
emailing my parents about heading home for the holidays the following week, and
pretending I was a hacker. After too
long slapping the keyboard to prove my skills on Hacker Typer, I set down to do
what I do best about the things I fall in love with – blog about it. I had seen enough to know that my glowing
review of Censure was neither entirely accurate nor unbiased, but I didn’t
care. People hated them, the way I hated
black licorice. And if any of my
thirty-nine followers felt the need to hate on my new favorite individuals, I
was fully prepared to defend my masterful ode to online heroes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">No comments came, as it were.
I talked over the story with one of my roommates in passing the next day,
and we agreed on the activist group’s champion status. Even cross-posting to Twitter, I wasn’t
expecting much of a response, anyway, so I went about my life as if Censure
didn’t exist. That’s probably how they
would have wanted it, anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I went home for a few weeks to celebrate the holidays in New York
with my parents and, when I got back to Boston, there were a few inches of
fresh powder on top of the dirty snow in the streets and the sidewalks were
treacherous. With my bag over my
shoulder, I took the stairs up and out of the T stop carefully. The ten minute walk to my apartment took half
an hour, shivering in a down parka and treating lightly over city slush.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I would be returning to an empty home, the first of the three of us
who shared the apartment to return to Boston.
I could see the front door and our second-floor windows ahead, all dark
and frosted over. I hadn’t passed many
people on the walk and only one older woman strolled past like she was wearing
cleats instead of those fancy heeled boots.
And there was a man in a black sweatshirt coming down the stairs outside
the building next to mine, the hood pulled up and tightened to protect him from
the wind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">The man slowed as we passed each other in opposite directions. I offered a shaky smile. In response, I could just hear a man’s voice
saying from within the sweatshirt, “Alexandra Taylor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I went numb, my frozen nose and fingers forgotten in favor of the
internal organs suddenly in a frenzy. “Yes?”
I whispered. The plan hadn’t been to
sound quite so wimpy, but I went with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “We’re glad to have you as a
fan,” the sweatshirt continued. “Any
press is good press, sure, but it’s nice to have some support for once.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “I’m sorry?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “With a little more
research, we’d invite you to write a few more pieces about us.” The man shook his head, light snow falling
off his hood. “Damn, it’s cold.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “I really don’t understand,”
I said, as if it weren’t obvious. I felt
my hands shaking and hoped it wasn’t my whole body swaying in fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “It’s better that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “Have we met?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “Not officially, no. But you know us. And we know you.” I imagined the sweatshirt smiling, because
his tone seemed to imply it. “Sorry to
sound so cryptic. It’s a little
silly. But I just wanted to let you know
that we don’t screw around – we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are </i>watching. And we don’t mind if you want to make a few
more posts about us, if you find out anything that interests you. But we do like to keep up a certain level of
mystique, so, maybe…just not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">too </i>much
blogging.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I widened my eyes and could only nod. This was surreal enough; I didn’t need a
generous helping of melodramatic unveiling to make this evening worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “I read the rest of your
blog.” The man raised a gloved hand to
his hood and coughed into it. The cloud
of his breath rose into the winter air.
“I liked it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “I didn’t think anyone knew
it existed,” I replied, for lack of better conversational skills. “I figured all my followers were spam or just
waiting for more <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dawson’s Creek </i>edits.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “Mostly. But there are a few good eggs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “So, I should stick to the
Creek?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “I think that’s where your
wit lies, yes.” He was smiling again, I
was sure. But the man made no move to shake
my hand or pat me on the shoulder as he gave a curt nod and turned to walk off
down the deserted sidewalk. “Take care
of yourself, Alexandra Taylor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"> “Seems a little rude that
you know all about me and I don’t know anything about you,” I called after him,
before I could remember it was eleven at night on a Sunday or keep myself from
yelling at a stranger who had waited for me to come home to talk to me about my
Tumblr.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He turned back towards me, walking backwards without fear of
slipping on the ice. He had to have been
a Bostonian native. “Of course you
know,” he replied. “Who else would we
be?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">He turned back around and the wind picked up, tossing unsecure snow
from the tree branches and whirling snow drifts against parked cars and
building facades. The man in the black
sweatshirt vanished into the night and I sat heavily on the steps for a long
time, before the world made sense again and I could go inside to pretend a gang
of cyber activists wasn’t interested in my blog.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-40826980566891311612012-01-09T19:09:00.000-08:002012-01-09T19:09:07.810-08:00A DrabbleIt's 4:30AM on New Year's Day and I'm still a little tipsy off of vodka shots and good conversation. But the cold woke me up and your words keep me warm and I don't know what to say anymore. That awkward moment when it's a new year and I'm the same old me. I'm still drunk. I'm in love with you. It's the holidays and the memories and I probably shouldn't tell you that right now. There are others, have been and will be, and I'll try. But you're you and I can't ignore that any longer. Break my heart; it means you care.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-48199143701833143382012-01-01T21:11:00.000-08:002012-01-01T21:14:45.596-08:00CP<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">In the alcove of the smoke-infested Medusa, over the din of mid-90s rock and pole-dancing Swedes, I had to let the prince down easy. His hand on my chest, both of mine on his shoulders, I pulled away and let him kiss my cheek, my neck, my hair. "I can't do this," I yelled in his ear, competing with Hoobastank for the prince's attention. "I know this usually works out for you - I mean, I figure - but I don't do this." He didn't stop, weakening my resolve. I hardly heard myself mumble a pitiful, "I'm sorry," around his lips on my own.</span></span><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Slowly, he worked his way back to my ear, over my hair again. "You leave tomorrow," he shouted.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I do," I agreed, and I pushed him gently away to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"Stop apologizing," he chastised. So he had heard me. He brought his lips back to mine, lightly, then backed away without reproach. With a sad smile, he added, "I get it. Just let me get as much of you as I can now, before you go."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I have a free weekend," I replied, mostly to stop him from reminding me of our imminent doom. "In two weeks. Just two weeks. I can come back."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"You always have a place to stay in Stockholm," the prince said, then took a deep draught of our shared Norlander Guld. He exhaled, deeply pleased. The song changed - Guns N Roses. "Do you want to dance?"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I want to go home with you."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"No, you don't. Not really."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"Not really." He knew me so well. It was three in the morning and I wasn't even buzzed and I was making out with a stranger in a Swedish rock club and I was in love. What had my half-assed backpacking through Europe done to me? "I'm not like that."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I know."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I'm not a bikini model."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"That's not what I want."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"You do."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">did</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. Now, I just want to see you again." He put his lips near my ear, brushed my hair aside and politely ignored the sheen of sweat on my neck. "Say you'll come back."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I'll come back."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"Say you'll stay with me."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"I'll stay with you."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"Promise me it's not just because I'm...me."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"It's only because you're you." I kissed his cheek. "But I promise it's because you sat and talked to me and saved me from your drunken countrymen. It's not because you're..." I couldn't say it, either. It sounded so ridiculous, coming from either of us, even he, who had been who he was all his life. "I'm sorry I'm awkwardly obsessed with your family. I'm sorry I can't just come home with you. But I can't."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">"Stop apologizing," he repeated. And he kissed me until the club closed and I knew I wouldn't be just another notch on the prince's belt.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">HAPPY NEW YEAR!</span></span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-25761273337188193742011-12-11T03:01:00.001-08:002011-12-11T03:02:44.531-08:00Oh, Nancy<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I don't entirely know what this is. But I like it. 228 words.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She folded her arms over her chest and one hand twitched,
missing something. She put all her
weight on her bad hip before she could remember the years of falling down
followed by surgery, winced, and immediately hid the pain. No weakness – no mercy. The picture would have been complete with a
magnifying glass, a little more titan sheen to her graying hair.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“So,” she said.
“That’s it then.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I shifted from foot to foot, like I was twenty again and
being told off by my girlfriend. Old
habits die hard. “That’s it,” I agreed,
unsure what else she wanted to hear. I
wouldn’t look at her.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Seventy years, Ned? </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Seventy?
</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And you don’t have a word to say about any of it?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I guess we’re just…”
I took a breath, let it out. “I
guess we’re just going our separate ways.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Her hand clenched around the imaginary handle and she raised
the fist, as if about to strike me down with her wrath. I left in a hurry, unable to say another word
to assuage her. There were no
words. There was nothing I could say or
do to sum up our years together, nor to explain why it was time we part ways.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I could only thank my good Nickerson family fortune that I
hadn’t had the guts to tangle with Nancy Drew in her prime.</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-55511818498102258392011-11-23T13:27:00.001-08:002011-11-23T13:29:00.869-08:00These Feet<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">To be published in the Castle's literary magazine, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The Black Swan</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>--------</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">These feet have been blistered, burned, frozen, and beaten, but
they have </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">never </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">let me down. These feet are calloused and scared, cracked
and worn, and I wear them as a badge for my bravery. These feet have scraped the bottom of too
many pools to count and been thrown into the air by the angry surge of the
Atlantic Ocean. These feet have been
bullied and bloodied, but they have endured enough and they know that they
deserve a real pedicure every now and again.
These feet have climbed to the tops of towers and belfries, pressed the
gas pedal to the floor, and stood in Lac Léman in Geneva. These feet itch and stink – itch for
movement, stink of victorious sweat in sensible shoes. These feet have irregularly cut toenails and
bumps and scars and aches and pains that tell the story of my travels and
survivals. These feet have braved hot
sand and rain puddles. These feet
stretch and bend, kneaded under tired fingers, before the throbbing in the
darkness of another dreamless night.
These feet carry me on walking tours and through museums; they’ve
touched marble and stone and grass the world over. These feet have carried me to my dreams,
screaming in agony but never backing down.
These feet are ugly and tough and ruined, and they have never
faltered. These feet luxuriate in damp
boots and wool blankets alike. These
feet will never let me stop moving.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-80209209937516120092011-07-29T19:04:00.000-07:002011-07-30T07:57:23.330-07:00For You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">If I can just be social for the next three years, I can get my degree and then go live in my cabin in the middle of the woods. And I'll never make another social faux pas or ruin another friendship again. I'll write, and I'll run into the city (in disguise) to get my fill of the hustle and bustle and midsummer humidity I once so loved. I'll answer my fan mail and sometimes see the people who matter, the ones that still care, the few I managed not to alienate. There aren't many. There will be no more arguments, no more pressure, no more personal conversations, in your face, when I make everything worse or let someone down. I'll answer only to myself (and a publisher). And I won't ever have to hear that tone in your voice again, the one that says I've failed, tells me how I've hurt you, recounts every one of my missteps. The phone will never ring and you, you will never be on the other end of the line, waiting for me to redeem myself. I'll live alone - perhaps a possum and some mix tapes - and I'll live without fear. I won't suffer lose or pain, because I love to lose myself and I'll never again be near the people I hurt, unable to hurt myself be reliving their pain. I'll remove myself to save them, to save you, mostly to save myself, because I'm selfish and cold and what have I done? I won't ever see your face again, which should count as punishment enough for me, for all I've done. I'll spend a lifetime in nothing, which is better than despair. Better than the look on your face when I said, "I'm sorry," and all you heard was goodbye.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-21121662807696070342011-07-15T19:55:00.000-07:002011-07-15T19:55:49.966-07:00A Long, Lonely Time<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Still trying to decide if this should be expanded to include some of the other little glimpses into a doomed relationship, or if there's enough here to let it stand on its own. Read and debate for yourself, then fill me in. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The title is also tentative; it's a line from the song "Unchained Melody" :]</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>A Long, Lonely Time</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">When they separate in 1966, she won’t be able to cry. She won’t allow her self-pity to swallow her whole, nor will she allow the open stares of her friends and neighbors to anger or shame her. She won’t look at their baby boy, the one she’d brought into the world just three months before the inevitable end of their relationship. She won’t think back on the good times, the romance, the months and months and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">months </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">of bliss that should have really warned her of the incomparable heartache to come.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Geneva Wren will only be able to think of the rain.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">It was raining the day they met, which made the day much like all the others that soggy fall of 1963. It was an Indian summer, with heat that clung to the countryside even as the rain sought to beat it into submission, and thunderstorms soaked most of the United Kingdom on nearly a daily basis. Geneva couldn’t remember the last time she’d been lucky enough to spot the sun, which was a little disheartening, and she came to realize she didn’t much care whether or not the lazy bastard decided to show his face again, which was worse. It wasn’t the attitude with which to enter into a new phase in her rather promising career.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The rain fell differently here in the country than it had up in London, where, until recently, she’d lived with a very serious man named Geoffrey, her fiancé, in a rather dreary flat on the south bank of the Thames. Geoffrey was still her betrothed and the flat he now occupied alone was still dreary – these were inescapable facts. But Geneva was getting used to the idea of a life away from the Capital, away from public schools, and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">certainly </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">away from Geoffrey. That wasn’t the attitude with which to enter into a new phase in her romantic life, which was probably the reason why she’d refused to set a date and had not yet actually married Geoffrey.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">But, the rain. It was certainly part of the same storm that had been dumping buckets upon London when she’d left the flat early this morning, yet it seemed to have a different personality. The raindrops were huge, heavy, and made for drenching travelers caught out in the storm. But it fell with a gentle splosh upon the windshield of her car as she traveled suburban back roads, the weather somehow comforting, rather than the assault the rain seemed to launch whenever the heavens opened up over London. Dusty Springfield was on the radio out of Southampton, her distinctive voice carrying the melody of love over the airwaves and making Geneva uncomfortable, alone in her Aston Martin. She spent too much time listening to Dusty Springfield and thinking about the rain; it was one of the reasons Geoffrey hadn’t yet pushed for a wedding date.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The song changed (the Rolling Stones) and Geneva relaxed. There was a young man walking along the side of the road, kicking at the mud puddles and draped head to toe in various rubbers and plastics to keep dry. She couldn’t be sure, what with the rain and his hood, but she was almost sure he’d looked up and made sure to meet her eyes. She blinked and looked away first, tightening her grip on the steering wheel and pretending to be a very cautious driver in a very tense situation. If she were him, she’d be laughing at her. Geneva was a terrible actress.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She was maybe a mile away from the walking boy when the car suddenly shuddered and came to a stubborn halt in the very middle of the deserted back road. The radio died and the lights went out, leaving Geneva surrounded by trees, mud, rain, and silence. “No,” she said firmly, the same voice she used to scold her students or an ill-behaved kitten. She even raised a finger to point accusingly at the dashboard, as if it were all the car’s fault the battery had chosen this moment to give out. “This is unacceptable.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And it certainly was. In half an hour, Geneva was supposed to be presenting herself to the headmaster of the Miskin Academy for Inquiring Young Minds, filling the gaping wound left by the retirement of the school’s oldest and most beloved teacher of French and Italian. Geneva could do the old bird one better – she was fluent in </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">all </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">the romance languages and planned to offer them all to her new students, and she wouldn’t be adverse to tutoring those interested in any of the other languages she prided herself on knowing. Geneva was twenty-six years old and devoted to the spoken word. Again, she didn’t need to think for very long before realizing why she and Geoffrey had not yet married.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “I’ll give you one last chance,” Geneva said to her car, before turning the key in the ignition, first towards her, then away, and warily pressing down on the gas. No response, not even a guttural growl of pain. She sighed and hauled her overcoat from the backseat, taking the keys from the ignition and fighting her way into the coat awkwardly in the front seat. “Then you leave me no choice.” She pulled the coat up over her hair and counted to five, then threw the door open and ran around to the front of the car, squealing in fury as she went.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The rain was icy here, somehow colder than it had been up in London. Geneva was angry that her favorite pumps were certainly going to be useless after this little excursion, but, as she fought the hood open and peered helplessly down at the inner workings of her automobile, she almost found the rainfall exhilarating. It ran down the sleek sides of the Aston Martin and crawled into her hair and made her dress heavy and clingy. It was cold, but refreshing, falling thick, more like molasses than water. The rain was almost slow-moving, drenching everything it made contact with, including Geneva’s carefully prepared chignon. She would forgive the storm if it could only, somehow, make her car work and get her to work on time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “1958?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Geneva narrowly avoided knocking herself out on the hood of the car when she jumped in fright at the voice. It was a pleasant enough voice, with a politely inquiring tone, but she hadn’t expected company on the road. She’d been hoping for some, of course, preferably of the good Samaritan in a car going her way variety, but she didn’t want to give herself any false faith in humanity. She was mildly disappointed to see only the mass of synthetic materials that gave away nothing of the young man’s shape beneath. And why did men always insist on talking shop when there was work to be done?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She found herself nodding, noting that it was better not to bite the hand that fed you – or, rather, to annoy the local who may be able to give you a lift. “Graduation present,” she said, by way of explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “It’s beautiful,” he replied. Geneva felt outrage well in her throat when she noticed that he was genuinely admiring the car, rather than giving her a sly wink, like what was supposed to happen in this situation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Yes, well, the piece of rubbish also just died on me,” she said sourly. Her arms began to ache from holding her coat up over her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Oh, right. Of course.” The young man (she assumed) shook his head. “Why else would you be out in the rain?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Well done you,” Geneva replied, sneering at him behind the cover of her overcoat. “Any chance you live nearby? Perhaps you have a car, can give me a jump? I’m almost certain it’s the battery that’s done for, I still have half a tank of petrol.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">To assert his male superiority, the boy leaned over the engine and poked around for a moment, before straightening with a contemplative look on what she could see of his face. “Yes, yes, looks like the battery,” he mused. Geneva rolled her eyes, but he missed it through the rain. He turned to her with a bright smile and she got her first clear look at his face. He </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">was </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">young, much younger than she’d expected. He could only be in his late teens, if that old, though tall for his age. He stuck out a hand for her to shake, so they could be properly acquainted. “Bram Miskin.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Right. Geneva Wren.” She took his hand, then gave a violent shake of the head. “Miskin, you said?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Uh oh. You’ve heard of me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Not you – the school. The Miskin Academy? Any relation?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He grinned. “Every relation, miss. Place has been in the family for generations.” He seemed to forget the rain as he puffed out his chest proudly and his hood slipped back off his skull. “Dad’s headmaster.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Dear God,” Geneva murmured to herself, though unsure whether she was reacting to his youthful appearance or the good fortune she’d had to run into him. He was only in his late teens, for sure, but – dear God! He was attractive, solidly handsome. Dark brown hair cut short in a rather old-fashioned style, eyes bright blue, features cut and defined, as if asserting his pedigree. He came from fine, educational stock, and it showed, in the deep set of his eyes and the roguish curl of his mouth when he smiled. She gave herself a good, hard mental shake and added hurriedly, “Then you can be my witness.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “To what?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “To the fact that I’m cursed with rather bad luck, not just poor time management skills.” She grinned when he laughed, then shouldered the inappropriate thoughts away. Dear God, he was a </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">child</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. And she was getting rained on. “Is there any chance we’ll be able to flag down someone on their way to the school, then, Mr. Miskin?” she asked, eyes wide and hopeful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He replaced the hood on his head. “Sorry, no. Hardly anyone ever uses this road to get anywhere. How the hell did you find it, anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “A map, of course,” Geneva scoffed, her tone a little harsher than she’d meant it to be. She didn’t appreciate him teasing her and considered telling him so, chewing him out for using such language around an older woman, and especially one who would, very soon, be teaching you how to correctly conjugate French verbs. “How far are we from the Miskin Academy right now?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Bram seemed to consider the question carefully, looking one way down the road, then the other, before beckoning her closer. She shuffled in and he pointed to a now muddy, well-worn track through the trees about half a mile ahead. “See that dirt road, just there? Looks more like the Thames after a storm right now?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Geneva nodded. “What about it, then?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “That’s it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “That’s </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">what</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">, sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He smirked. “That’s the Misk. The sign fell down about a month ago and we haven’t gotten around to fixing it up yet. We could walk there, if you’re worried about getting in to see Dad on time. You just follow that path through the trees about a mile, then it widens and becomes a gravel driveway, leads right to the front doors.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Please tell me you’re joking.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “Don’t hate your car too much, love,” the boy replied easily. “You almost made it; this close, yeah?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She contemplated the state of the road, adding up his estimates on mileage and weighing the risks of walking against the dwindling moments she had left before her first impression became a bad one. Better to walk in soaking wet and fifteen minutes early than an hour late, full of excuses, she decided. The day was already more or less ruined; what else could she do to make it worse?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Geneva slammed the hood of her car, then kicked off her heels and bent down to pick them up, shielding them under the coat that was doing little to keep her official first-day outfit prim. The young man watched, bemused, and she caught his eye and shrugged. “Your father likes people who take the initiative?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> “He’s something of a…a modern traditionalist,” Bram decided. “He’ll appreciate the effort.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
“A mile and a half?”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
“Yeah. Just about.”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She nodded ahead, towards the track. “Lead the way, then.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Until leaving in 1966, he would be the one to take the initiative at every step of their relationship. At the end of her first year at school, he was the one to admit that he loved her. She rebuked him, gently, kindly. By the following term, they were debating literature, politics, poetry, science, mathematics. When he tried to kiss her, in the fall of 1964, she agreed, voraciously, for a full thirteen and three-quarter seconds, before rebuking him again, none-too-subtly. It then took a mere three minutes for her to regain her senses and take heed of his adolescent logic, making passionate love to him on school grounds, behind the greenhouse at the edge of the forest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She didn’t know, a year a half later, he would be walking away from her. She didn’t know she’d be sitting, alone, staring at herself in the mirror and asking herself, demanding of herself, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">why </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">she had thought they could last. He was a child; in 1966, she would have a child’s child. And she would expect him to be a man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">It was the rain, the soft and insistent and enveloping rain, the kind that made you stop and ponder and wonder what letting go would feel like. Strolling in it that afternoon, listening to it as she unpacked that night, noticing it whenever it visited them again in her years at the Miskin Academy. It was the rain. She could only ever think of the bloody rain.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-73770086429451376242011-06-02T21:18:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:18:02.930-07:00Driving in the Dark<div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have no idea what's going on here. Inspired by watching </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Matrix </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and then driving my dad to the train station on a foggy night.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">--------</span></span></b></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span></b></div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a name='more'></a></span></b><br />
<div style="line-height: 18px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Driving in the Dark</span></span></b></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I rolled to a pause at the parking lot exit and glanced both ways before heading out onto the side street. It was easier to see here than it was the rest of the drive home. The lights on the elevated platform, paired with the antique lamps on every corner, created pollution so strong, even Mother Nature couldn't overcome it. Billy Idol blared from the local classic rock station's broadcast, sounding otherworldly in the quiet of the night, the closed space of a car interior with windows rolled up to the outside world. I paused at the next stop sign, long enough to silently curse the stupidity of the businessman in a dark suit darting across the street in front of me, and then proceeded on my way home.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That was when I noticed the headlights, about a block behind me. The fog hung heavy over the pond, shrouding the incoming double-decker train on the tracks on my right and above, and I couldn't see the road ahead of me for more than ten feet. I relied on memory as I glanced in the rearview again. The lights were still there, fuzzy in the fog, giving off a yellow-white glow into the gloomy night. They seemed innocuous. I knew better. I could only hope he'd missed Dad and would only come for me.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I indicated my turn at the corner and stopped at the sign, just to let him crest the hill and spot me again. He would know I was making it easy for him; he'd known all along that I'd be on to him. And, more frustrating, he'd always know that I'd take the bait.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I turned and went just above the speed limit, down the block and past the sleepy suburban homes. He followed. I slid to a stop at the stop sign, one of the last to stand between me and the safety of home. Not that I minded - it was this game that made life more interesting. We both lived for it. That's why he stopped, nonchalantly, a full car length behind me and waited for my next move. That's why, no matter how I loathed him, no matter how I wanted to be rid of him, I </span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">always </span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">took the bait.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A car flew by on the main road. Another came from the other direction. The stoplight in the distance turned green and cars crossed in the intersection. I pulled forward and paused, looking to my left, my right, my left. Two cars to my left, far enough away to beat. I held my breath and leaned forward. The seatbelt caught; the other cars drew nearer. "</span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fuck</span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">," I whispered at the malfunction. I yanked at the seatbelt and checked my right again - all clear - then glanced to my left and sped across oncoming traffic with mere inches to spare.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">His car growled angrily at his insistence, then leapt forward after me. The light was red, but the five-way intersection was quiet. It was eleven on a Thursday; normal people didn't get into car chases for fun. I saw one car cross my line of sight and ignored the rest, hitting the gas for all I was worth and cutting the fog at seventy. A car horn blared behind me, then another, a chorus. I hit the bump on the other side of the intersection and let out a shriek of delight. I was airborne - </span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">had to be </span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- and losing control and in love with it all.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I slowed to forty-five but ignored another stop sign, a waiting car on a corner. I glanced in all three mirrors to make sure he was gone. He was. I smiled. But I wasn't hard to find. He'd be back.</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-75658981898702748782011-06-02T21:11:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.190-07:00Happily Ever After<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Happily Ever After</span></span></span></b><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lou dragged James out to the courtyard to shake some sense into him. He trailed along behind like a puppet on broken strings, stumbling almost drunkenly to keep up with her and seemingly unaware of the damage he’d done. Once in the shadows of her favorite poplar trees, far from the prying eyes of the other party guests, Lou paused to take hold of James’ shoulders and literally shook him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Are you insane?” she demanded to know, though she obviously had her own ideas on the subject. “You’re throwing your life away!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“So getting married ruins your life?” James shot back. He shrugged her off. “Then why the hell are you doing it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Your brother and I – ”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You and my brother are bloody idiots, same as everyone else here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lou reached out to him again, only to be rebuked, none too gently. “You don’t mean that. You’re not thinking clearly, Jamsey.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Don’t </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">call </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">me that!” he barked, shoving her so roughly she stumbled in her fancy ball gown. He felt sorry the minute he did it – God, she looked beautiful – but there was no turning back after this night. He fought to reach some semblance of calm, then exhaled slowly. “Adi’s good enough for me. We work well enough. Why shouldn’t she be my wife?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I…I just…” Lou pursed her lips, willing him to look at her. He wouldn’t. There was a laundry list of reasons, the same reasons his father would be throwing at him soon enough. Adrienne was tawdry. Adrienne was loose. Adrienne was a bad influence. But Lou could almost overlook all that, if she thought James actually loved her enough to make that kind of commitment. She sat heavily on a nearby stone bench, the cold seeping through the taffeta princess gown, and decided upon, “Adi was just never the kind of girl I pictured you marrying.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Oh, yeah? Me neither,” he replied, snide. “I always thought – always hoped – I’d find someone…” He shook his head and turned back towards the party lights, letting the meaning linger between them. He’d made it clear enough over the last few years, after he’d broken free of his awkward teen years, after he’d come to realize what a jerk his brother had been and how wonderful Louisa always was and certainly always would be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“James,” she sighed, and she could say no more. They both shivered at the sound of his name on her lips.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">For years, they’d been like siblings. Lou and Al were in love; James was the third wheel, good for a laugh. He and Lou had shared a similar taste in music, some favorite movies, jokes that went over other peoples’ heads. He’d loved her like a sister, the way she’d always been fiercely protective of her almost-little-brother-in-law, and their bond had been something far above romance and attraction.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Until it wasn’t. Until Al had let her go for about a year, and James had been happy to step into his place – not that Lou would have him. Nothing came of his flirtations, his blunt honesty, his obvious declarations of affection. And when nothing came of any of it, James went out and found Adrienne, who was everything Louisa wasn’t, and Lou managed to reconcile with Al.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here they were, one week to Lou’s wedding, and James </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">still </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">couldn’t shake how he’d always felt. A part of him never wanted to let this feeling go – the blind faith in Lou’s ability to see the good in him, this pure love borne of friendship, the giddiness that washed over him whenever Al announced that she would be spending the weekend with the family. It was heartbreaking, anguishing, yet, all at the same time, absolutely wonderful. Just like her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Don’t do it,” Lou said quietly, at long last, as the song changed inside. Some of the revelers laughed together near a window, the tinkling of their joy mingling with the clink of liberally distributed champagne flutes. “Please, James. Don’t marry her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You’re just upset that my engagement overshadows your wedding,” he snapped, feeling childish.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lou squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off exasperation. “No, James.” She stood and gripped his arm, unable to draw his gaze from the twirling gowns inside. “I’m worried about you, darling. You know…” She ran her hand up to his shoulder and ran gentle fingers over his tuxedo jacket. “You know I love you,” she whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">James turned, catching her hands in both of his, an unbecoming mix of glee and desperation in his eyes. “Then marry me, Lou,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We’ll go somewhere, somewhere nearby! Tonight! No one has to know until we’re happy, far and away from all this nonsense.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I love your brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You just said you loved me. You admitted it, at last.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She looked at him sadly. “Not in the same way.” She freed one of her hands to pat his cheek. “You know that. It’s Al. It’s always </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">been </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Al.” Even she couldn’t ignore the note of wheedling reassurance in her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I know,” he said quietly. He laced his fingers with hers and leaned into the palm on his cheek, closing his eyes to savor the private moment together. “I know I’m acting like a child.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“No,” Lou said surely, a small smile on her lips. “Like a young man who knows what he wants. Like a man who’s a little lost, granted, but who knows where he’s going.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He opened his eyes. “I’m going away from you. I’ll have to. Directly after the wedding.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Don’t, James.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I have to. I’ll take Adi and we’ll run away, somewhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“But I need you,” she said. “I need you here, to help me with your family, your friends. No one else understands as much about me as you do. You’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He tried not to wince. “Thanks, Lou. I know. As always, you’re right about everything.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Good boy.” She offered him some semblance of a genuine smile and took his face in both her hands, until he gave a fleeting smile in return. He would do what he wanted, she knew. And she had a bad feeling about whatever that meant. But he was as she’d said – a grown man – and she couldn’t keep him under her thumb, no matter how badly she wanted to. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On tiptoe, Lou leaned over and kissed James’ forehead, lingering there far longer than was proper. She didn’t argue when, as she tried to move away, he wrapped his hands around her wrists to keep her in place and rested his forehead against hers, his shaky breathing mingling with the steady rhythm of her beating heart. A light breeze rattled through the tree branches, sending the leaves quivering in anxiety overhead and shadows skittering across the pair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lou didn’t think; she acted. She moved her hand to the back of his head and brought his lips to hers, throwing her other arm around his beck and kissing him for all she was worth. She pressed her body against his and urged him to embrace her in return, satisfied by the feel of one arm around her waist, the other across her back and gripping her shoulder, holding on like his life depended on it. His lips, moving against hers, were so alien, so foreign. He tasted differently than Al, like excitement, and whiskey and water, and something sweet and fresh. Lou hadn’t kissed another man in over a decade. Feeling another cling to her, mind, body, and soul, was exhilarating.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m sorry</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. She realized too late, as she pushed away and let her eyes flicker to his before running for the security of the crowd, that she hadn’t said it aloud. Instead, she wiped hastily at the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks and turned her back on him, only giving one slight shake of the head to communicate everything she felt. She didn’t know </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">what </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">she felt. She could offer him no more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And James, left standing under the poplars after the ambush, could only watch her go, back to the dazzling lights of that glittering world of his, while he turned his eyes heavenward to admire the stars.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-31354675186469672422011-05-28T18:02:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.191-07:00You May Kiss the Bride?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">For fun and laughs. Inspired by a real conversation (unfortunately). This one's for you, Roomie!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>--------</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">You May Kiss the Bride?</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">There came a time in my life when I found myself married to my roommate. He wasn’t an immigrant trying to keep his green card. He wasn’t running from the law. He wasn’t the love of my life. In all truth, he wasn’t a “he” at all. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Her </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">name was Kelsey, and we’d been friends since ninth grade AP Biology.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I wasn’t in love with her and, as far as I know, she hid no secret passions for me. We had gotten close over panicked phone calls about chemistry homework, over food runs and the school musical and shared friends. When the time came for all of us to go our separate ways, Kelsey and I didn’t. We both went to a small liberal arts college in the middle of Boston, pursuing our dreams and pledging to keep each other motivated along the way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">It was just at the end of the spring semester of our freshmen year when, unceremoniously, Kelsey and I decided we would wed. Our school only allowed seniors to move into off-campus housing, but we were both already fed up with dorm life. Underclassmen could move into their own apartments if they fit one of only a few exceptions. One was to join the military. Another was to have a psychiatrist declare you unfit to live in the dorms anymore. Another was to be married.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a name='more'></a></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">We started joking about the idea as we wandered around the city on a Friday night, without direction, without plans, without a care in the world. I started spinning yarns about our wedded bliss, laughing. Kelsey almost shouted in her excitement, “And we could do it, too! Because it’s allowed here!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I think that’s the moment it really became a possibility. The stupid idea suddenly seemed inviting, just because it could easily become a reality. We </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">could </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">get married. Men and women got married for convenience all the time – why couldn’t two young women make the same kind of arrangement? We could easily pervert the sanctity of matrimony in order to get the apartment of our dreams. No more screaming neighbors, no more singing roommates. We could be </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">free</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. And, once we graduated, we’d get divorced. No one had to know, and no one would.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">That night, back in our room, Kelsey surfed the web for affordable housing in and around Boston. I familiarized myself with the Massachusetts state marriage laws. We avoided each others’ eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Even armed with our knowledge, Kelsey and I clearly didn’t know how to act like a lesbian couple in love. I did all the talking when we got to Boston’s City Hall and we filled out the paperwork in a near silence that should have tipped off the clerk that we were just doing this for shits and giggles (and that beautiful, furnished, two-bedroom in Brookline). When we’d handed everything over and paid our fees, we went back to school as if it were any other day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And then, we sat back to wait. The three days we were required, by law, to sit on our hands and await our marriage license were tense. We finished off our weekend with a lot of nervous laughter and too much time on our laptops, and after classes on Monday, we went back to City Hall to get our license. We had sixty days to plan our wedding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">We both agreed that it would be a simple affair. It was getting nice out, so we could both wear sundresses. No princess gowns, no veils – no white. We would save that for later, when the marriage actually mattered. We didn’t bother inviting anyone, because no one wants to be present at a sham. We didn’t order flowers or rent a room for our reception. We thought about finding a Justice of the Peace, something quick and simple, but we didn’t want to be seen wandering in and out of City Hall too much.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Kelsey and I found ourselves, a week and a half later, standing at the altar at the Baptist church on Tremont Street, both of us just trying not to laugh. We didn’t have any official guests, but a few of the regular parishioners appeared early for a late day service and cried for us, anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Then by the power vested in me by God and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,” the preacher announced, “I know pronounce you married.” Someone at the back of the church gave a rejoicing wail, as another blew her nose mightily into her husband’s handkerchief. The preacher grinned down at us, expecting us to be jumping up and down in wonder and joy at the journey to come. “You may kiss the bride.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I stared at Kelsey. She stared back. We hadn’t thought this far ahead. But did you really have to seal the deal with a kiss? Honestly. So old fashioned. I stuck out a hand and she sighed in relief. Kelsey took my hand and we shook on it. She was my wife. And now we could live wherever the hell we wanted next semester.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-32372097289678528352011-05-23T20:02:00.000-07:002011-05-23T20:02:26.411-07:00Smack<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Rated mature for drug use, language, and adult situations. If "adult situations" means arguing with your on-again, off-again significant other about who's the worse drug user.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Marleybone is my tiny, fictional, New Mexico town that will probably be the center of either a series of short stories and vignettes or a novel (I'm leaning towards the latter at the moment, but we'll see). Shauna's the same that shows up in the flash fiction piece "Fantasies"; you can get the gist of her relationship with Beau from "Love Songs."</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I love constructive criticism - so do your worst!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Smack</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Beau pushed himself up on his elbows and watched, in silent judgment, as Shauna tugged the sheets up around herself and dug a hypodermic needle out of her bedside drawer. She next drew out her stash, hidden in an unused makeup bag, and a length of the rubber they used to tie up your arm to draw blood at the doctor’s office. Either she’d filched it, or Duke had simply given it to her. Druggies and miscreants helped each other out in Marleybone – it was the only way they could all survive, undetected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">His eyes followed the skillful way she looped the rubber around her upper arm, pulling it taught with her teeth as she looped it through two more times to make sure it stayed put. She was an old hand at this. If he weren’t quietly repulsed by it, he’d have told Shauna how he admired her talent. Deft fingers went about seeking a lighter from Beau’s jeans, slung across the lampshade in all the ruckus of their reunion the night before, then unfolding the tinfoil that held the prize. Shauna laid out enough heroin on a real silver spoon (stolen from her parents’ set, that much he was sure of) to kill a horse, then went about warming it and filling the needle. She held the needle in her mouth as she unfolded her arm and made a fist to find a vein that wasn’t completely ruined, her fingers lightly probing her tender skin for something feasible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Beau couldn’t keep silent anymore. “You’re still doing that,” he said, voice flat, as if simply calling attention to the fact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Shauna looked over at him and held his eyes, her expression lost somewhere between exasperation and anger. She wouldn’t let him look away and mumbled around the hypodermic, “No shit, Sherlock.” She took the needle out of her mouth. “What the hell did you think I did all day? Dream up a way to make Wagner’s more productive? Fuck that.” She turned back to her arm, the track marks making pretty patterns up and down and under her ruined flesh, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth and dug the needle in under her skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“It’s just bad for you, is all.” Beau rolled out of bed and wandered, stark naked, into her bathroom. He felt her eyes on him and tried to ignore the excitement crawling through his spine at the thought of her. He examined his face in the mirror. “The drugs, I mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Shauna tossed aside the needle and lay back in the bed with a waiting sigh, untying the rubber from around her arm and rubbing at the dented skin. “You’re one to talk,” she called in reply, over the rush of water in the bathroom sink. “You and your pills, your pot. You’re killing brain cells, asshole.” Something began to fuzz to life in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes to let the beginning of a high wash over her and hoped he’d just come back to bed and let the subject drop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I don’t do that much,” he replied, and shut off the water. “Not anymore.” He met his own eyes in the mirror again and blinked. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">How did we get here? </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">To avoid answering, he rubbed his face and neck dry with a damp towel, and then crossed back to the bed and tucked himself in. Shauna didn’t bother looking at him, holding her left arm bent and elevated, willing the smack to grab hold of her synapses and never let go. “Don’t the needles make you nervous?” Beau tried, quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Shauna opened her eyes, slow and lazy. “Hell, no. Never have, not even when I was a kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I mean, AIDS, you know. You could be putting us both at risk, babe,” he replied. He nodded in the direction of her arm. “It’s not just your life you could be ruining with that shit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She sat up with a look on her face that spelled trouble, her narrowed eyes and sharp inhale signaling a coming storm. The honeymoon period was over, as abruptly as it had begun. “I’m not an idiot, Beauchamp,” she drawled. “I don’t share needles. Who the fuck do you think I am, a common fucking junkie? Fuck you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She pushed herself out of bed, taking the sheet with her, and Beau reached to catch her impromptu toga before she could leave the room. “Shaun, c’mon, I’m just worried about you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“No, you know what? </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Fuck. You</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. You’re worried because you don’t know a goddamn thing about me anymore. Dipshit.” She shook her head, her thoughts fuzzy from a hangover, a daze of happiness, a coming wave of euphoria. She turned sharply to point an accusing finger at her sometime boyfriend, the love of her life, even as she pushed him away. “I’m easy, so I must be a whore, trailing crabs wherever I go, right? I shoot, so I’m addicted. Fuck you and your fucking holier-than-thou attitude. If you really want to talk about who’s ruining lives around here, step back and take a look at yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Beau stood and grabbed his boxers from under the bed, then took his jeans from the lampshade and tugged them on. “What is this shit you’re spouting now?” he replied, losing his former reasonability. He was angry, sure, but also shaken – because he’d been taking a look at himself just before, and it was as if Shauna could see his doubt as clearly as she could his athletic form and his bloodshot eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She closed the space between them, jabbing a finger into the muscle of his chest. “You got me hooked, asshole,” she reminded him in a growl. “You never questioned where your extra painkillers were going, did you, even when you </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">knew</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> I was worried sick about you and strung out to keep myself sane? And then you left me. You gave up on me. You grabbed your fucking Oxys and you got the hell out of Dodge. And you left me here to become whatever you imagined I’d be.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He took her wrist, her fragile skin and bones, in one hand and pushed her accusations aside like leaves kicked out of the way in fall. Easy, so easy, to ignore her, especially when he knew she was right. “Come back to bed,” he said without a trace of tenderness. He could smell defeat on the wind and hoped to still come away feeling like a winner, somehow, at any cost.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She wrenched her hand free of his grasp and brought it back around, hard, against his cheek. “Fuck you,” she spat, pulling the sheets tighter around herself. The plain white fell around her tanned, emaciated frame in folds, a perverse wedding dress for a girl left at the altar, with nothing but a little blow to keep her company. She needed the uppers to get going in the morning, and her old pals, barbiturates, to get to sleep at night. She was an addict; she’d never denied it until this morning, when Beau finally made her feel like one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Beau poked his cheek, not feeling much but knowing the telltale red outline of Shauna’s fury would pop up there, soon enough. To avoid further trauma, he turned on the charm, oozing sexuality as he smirked easily in reply. “I like it better when you do that, baby.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Fuck you,” she repeated, a little less forceful, as he inched closer and she felt herself simultaneously flying high and falling back into his arms, like she belonged there. She added as an afterthought, “You dick.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I ruined our lives,” he said softly, his breath like the lightest kiss on her lips.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Royally,” Shauna agreed. And she knew that was the closest she’d ever get to getting a confession, a truth, an apology, out of Beau Delancey. She liked everything else too much to stay mad for long. She had spoken the truth and, instead of being able to argue back, he’d turned back to their old standby. That was enough of an admission of guilt for her. She lunged for him, pressing her lips to his and working to get those jeans off of him again. Dwelling on the ugly parts wouldn’t do – she’d have to keep on enjoying the present and painting that rosy future for herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Beau kissed her for all he was worth and knew he’d gotten off easy. This would end when one (or both) of them was in the ground, six feet under, which could be sooner rather than later. Apologizing was a waste of breath. Running away and kissing her were much better ways to spend his time. He sat heavily on the creaky mattress and pulled the sheet off of her, reveling in her beauty – the parts that were still beautiful, anyway, around her taut skin and rib bones. He winced when she pressed her hand to his cheek. Absently, as she kissed him again, Beau groped for the needle and pushed it back into the drawer. If he couldn’t keep her away from it for good, he could only hope to make her forget about it for a little while. That’s all he ever hoped for when it came to his pills and her smack.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-90975513977847654042011-05-15T11:24:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.191-07:00Mama<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I've been neglecting you, Sparks + Splinters Fly! Forgive me! And please accept this tiny vignette as a token of my affections :]</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">More stories to come, as I quit being lazy and start being a writer again.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Mama</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b></b></span></span><br />
<b></b><br />
<b></b><br />
<b><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Mama hadn’t risen from her spot in the wingback chair in the living room in – dear God, had it been </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">days</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">? She sat in the darkness, the curtains drawn on the front window to block out any of the cheery afternoon light, the same Edith Piaf record playing to its end over and over again. Sometimes, she’d listen to the same song over and over, always the same song, if she so chose to repeat it – “</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Non, je ne regrette rien</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">.” Did she have something she had thought was worth regretting? What had Mama been keeping from them, all these long years?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Did Papa know?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span></span></div><a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She was inconsolable. Since the telegram, since Papa’s frenzied telephone call to signal his children home, since the return of her son and her daughter, she hadn’t spoken, hadn’t eaten. She must have gotten up to go to the bathroom once or twice, at least, today, and perhaps she’d gotten herself that glass of water on the side table? Or had that been Papa, too? The war had taken her oldest son, as it had taken others’ sons. What made this hole in this one woman’s heart so special?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Matt couldn’t help but pass the room on his way in and out of the house, running the errands his parents had shared throughout his childhood. Grocery shopping, picking up forgotten laundry from the cleaners, getting gas for the family station wagon, looking after his father, his mother, his little sister – he’d never known they’d done so much. He knew their twisted history, the risks they’d taken to forge these lives for themselves, everything they’d overcome to make sure their children grew up as free Americans, rather than oppressed by a struggling, war-torn Europe. But he didn’t know the battle they faced day to day, always together, always united, always for the betterment of their family. With Mama out of the equation – hopefully, only temporarily – Matt couldn’t fathom how his father had expected to take this all on by himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He’d wander past the sitting room, either on his way upstairs to bed or out to borrow the car to pick up another carton of milk, another loaf of bread. Sometimes, Mama would be alone. Sometimes, she’d have company. Sometimes, when he passed the sitting room entrance, Papa would be kneeling beside Mama, speaking softly to her, brushing her hair off her face; nothing new, nothing special. His mother and father had been in love – always had been and always would be. They were in love in that kind of way that had made their three children retch, the kind of way that had mortified each of them, at some point or other in their lives. Sometimes, his little sister would be at Mama’s side, brushing her hair, forcing a smile, speaking to her in her native and beloved French. Sometimes, Georgie would just be sitting on the floor, nodding her head in time to the music, reading a textbook or, on the worst days, crying and hoping, in vain, for Mama to notice and to comfort her. In all the times he passed by, Matt had never seen her respond to any of this; Mama hadn’t spoken since the day they’d learned that their pride and joy, the hope of the Hoffmann clan, was dead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Papa had lost a son, too. Matt and Georgie had lost a brother. What made Mama’s pain so much more important than all of theirs?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Matt couldn’t help but pass the room on his way in and out of the house, glancing in at his mother and wondering, had the telegram been about him, would she mourn her second son as she now mourned her firstborn? Would she sob out his name at odd hours of the day and night? Would she fall into this coma of sorrow and grief? Would she clasp her hands in her lap and forget the world and lose everything that had made her the strong woman he had been proud to call his mama?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">If it had been him, instead of Ben, would she be in such a state of mourning – or would she be relieved it had been Matt, and not her prodigal son?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He couldn’t help but wonder, but he was driving himself mad with the thought. Because, no matter how many times he looked at the family photo albums, no matter how many memories he replayed in his mind, no matter how many birthday presents and quiet moments he remembered with his mama, he just couldn’t decide what her reaction would be.</span></span></span><o:p></o:p></div></span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-57691760565878728372011-04-21T15:32:00.001-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.192-07:00Thieves<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“The human body is capable of taking a lot more than the mind will let it attempt.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a name='more'></a></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">I looked at Johanna, so self-assured, and then back to the stovetop in her downtown apartment. I let my palm linger over the gas burner. The flames licked the metal rings; the heat caressed my skin. Like empty promises. Like worthless hope.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“How old were you when you did this, again?” I asked her softly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Johanna’s face hardened. “Seventeen.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“That’s young.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“It was a necessity.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Her tone was always the most terrifying part of her character. I had seen her swipe money from men’s pockets, sneak food from starving women, take down would-be muggers in alleyways with an assassin’s precision. But nothing was ever as unnerving as the way she talked (or, rather, didn’t) about her past. I looked away from her and lowered my palm, centimeters closer, to the flame. I could almost feel the metal under my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“You can’t be leaving evidence behind you,” Johanna reminded me firmly. Something in her voice told me she was this close to grabbing my wrist and forcing my fingers into the flames.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I hesitated, lifting my hand away from the burner, then lowering it again. “Does it…hurt?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Her voice was soft when she laid a hand on my shoulder and replied, “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “But only for a moment. Then the worst is over.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I swallowed hard and brought my hand away from the flames, cradling it against my chest. Like a long goodbye. “Turn it up higher.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I felt her eyes on my face, appraising even as she approved, and then she leaned into my line of sight to turn the ancient knob to ten. She took a small step away and settled into her stance. And waited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">There could be no more thinking. I swallowed a deep breath into my lungs and strangled a sob. My hand came crashing down on the stovetop, the delicate skin of my unique fingertips pressed into the scalding metal and licked by the delicate tendrils of flame. Like Hell, like the Devil. I howled, the indescribable pain of the burn running through my blood and down my spine, coursing towards my brain and signaling more bells and alarms than I had ever felt possible. My skin was both on fire and numb, hot as the burner and icy cold. I stumbled backwards, away from the stove, flailing my hand in the air and tripping over my own feet in the process. I found myself on the cold tiled floor of Johanna’s downtown kitchen, whimpering and pressed against the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I tried to scurry further backwards using my feet and good hand, but there was nowhere else to go. I felt the pale blue flowers that made up the peeling wallpaper pattern through my thin shirt. There were tears on my cheeks, continuing to flow, and something running down my chin. I held my ruined fingertips up to my face, watching the raw red skin stretch and bubble, shiny and glorious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Johanna watched with her usual calm, then strolled across the room and knelt at my side. She took my hand gently in both of her own, turning it palm up to examine my handiwork. Goodbye, fingerprints. I was better off without them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She blinked. Johanna ran a thin finger soothingly up my wrist, careful to avoid my ravaged palm as a shiver shoot down my spine. “Good,” she pronounced. Like an antiques dealer. Like a jeweler bent over an engagement ring. She was quiet for a time afterward, admiring my fingers until the pain began to recede and all that was left was the heat rising off my skin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Good,” Johanna said again, at last. I was still crying. She raised her head to meet my eyes and I saw her beautiful smile through my tears. She reached out a hand towards me and gently patted my cheek, running her fingers over my cheekbone. I felt nothing from her, her smooth skin unique in what it had lost, as her unmarked fingertips brushed over my imperfect flesh. I offered a tiny smile and she grinned in reply. “Ready to do the other hand?”</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-43487031359005880202011-04-18T19:28:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.192-07:00All the World's a Stage<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Inspired by an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for probably two years now. Finally written out for class, then revised (this is the revised version) to be presented as my final in my Intro to Fiction class on Wednesday (esh). I'm also thinking of submitting it to a contest, if I find the time to edit again, print it, and send it off in between all the send of semester nonsense. Enjoy it ;]</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">All the World’s a Stage<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet sat up on the prop couch and pulled her shirt on over her head. She tugged the hem down and smoothed her hair, looking around for signs of life. She was almost sure they were alone – it was way past quitting time, after all – but the silent theater could be filled with peeping toms and eavesdropping gossips, for all she knew. It didn’t help that she was jittery, after spending part of the evening pinned to sagging cushions by one of the best known Broadway-turned-film stars in America. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">In the flickering glow of the ghost light, the stage looked shadowed and forbidding. “This shouldn’t have happened,” she said, leaning over and groping on the floor for her jeans and socks. She wouldn’t look at Cal.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><a name='more'></a></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“A lot shouldn’t happen in the world,” her co-star replied. He felt dumb, still riding the high of good sex in a dangerous place, and the creeping sensation of fear and doubt didn’t compute. “But not everything that shouldn’t happen is terrible. This wasn’t a war, or terrorism, or genocide. It was just two people, giving into something greater than themselves. People restrain themselves every day, keep all their emotions pent up inside themselves. That’s wrong.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">There was a faint smirk on Juliet’s face – a little sadness, a little understanding. They’d only been rehearsing together for three months, but she’d been a rabid fan for years. She felt like she knew him. “You’re in actor mode.”</span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“This isn’t an act,” Cal said firmly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Not all of it, no,” she said, as she carefully re-laced her sneakers to avoid looking at him. “None of…</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">before </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">was an act. But that little speech of yours…” She glanced at him over her shoulder, playing it coy to hide the beating heart betrayed by her wide eyes and shaking hands, the heart that raced at the sight of the uncovered athletic build and boyish good looks that had made him a star in the first place. She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure you stole that from one of your dad’s movies.” She turned back to her shoes. “Or one of Roxanne’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Don’t bring her into this.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“She’s always been a part of it. Graham, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet waited. She had to sneak another look at Cal when he didn’t immediately speak up to defend himself. Quietly, she watched as Cal stood and went about seeking his underwear and T-shirt from the scuffed stage floor. He cursed under his breath, though Juliet didn’t know if he’d run into something or if the whole situation just made him passive-aggressive. Only when he had ducked behind the couch for a shoe did he say, “I never wanted it to be like this. We – you – this just isn’t right.” He paused, frustrated. “I didn’t think it was really like this. This isn’t what reality is like, the sneaking around and the guilt. This is like some damn melodrama.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet peeked over the back of the couch. “You’re not an adulterer, you just play one in the movies?” she quipped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He looked at her – just met her eyes and wouldn’t look away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Right. Sorry.” She sunk back into the sagging cushions. She ran a hand over the fabric and wondered who else had sat here, sang here. Had anyone else ever engaged in an illicit affair with her older co-star before? Juliet liked to think she was the first, but she wasn’t as naïve as she’d been when she’d first set foot on this stage. Cal stood up and tugged on his jeans, then dropped onto the couch beside her to pull on his socks and shoes. Juliet gnawed on the inside of her lower lip. “Will you tell her?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Cal stopped, sighed. He looked at her. He wasn’t playing for an audience anymore. “Will you tell him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Break the news to the tabloid darling? Tell the lovesick pianist? Never. Juliet could see it now, her entire career spent persuading the public that she hadn’t broken up the number one Hollywood It Couple. Cal came from Broadway stock; Roxanne had a lucky break on some medical drama that landed her in the hearts of fans the world over. They were the couple everyone wanted to see together, the star quarterback and the head cheerleader falling in love and riding off into the sunset, before things like that came off sounding trite.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Cal pulled on his shirt, then socks. Juliet pretended to search her bag for her phone, while actually torturing herself with images of Roxanne on the cover of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Modern Bride. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The actress was fifteen years older. She had fifteen years longer to prepare for the spotlight and sink her talons into this generation’s hottest leading man. What did Juliet have? A little thing called talent, sure – and nothing else. Unless twenty minutes of fun on a prop couch with Cal Purser would help her career. Juliet felt woozy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Without even so much as a romantic, fleeting embrace, they stood and parted ways and went out into the night alone. They wouldn’t tell a soul. The silence had merely been the absence of having to admit that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet made her way down the street, headed towards Eighth Avenue. She wanted to walk around with all those other sleepless sinners. She had to wonder at what her life had become, since getting herself into this mess known as a Broadway musical. She’d never known that the drama playing out behind the curtain could be worse than what happened on stage. Rather, she had never let herself believe that was the truth. And look where her naiveté had gotten her – a college dropout in her senior year, pursuing the career of her dreams while both living the life she’d always wanted and working towards her own ruin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She couldn’t have had a cheerier namesake? She couldn’t have been a veterinarian, or a farmer, or a housewife? No. She’d always wanted drama. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">You got it now, honey</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She took her cell phone from her bag to check the time. Juliet saw that she had seven waiting text messages, three missed calls, and one panicked voicemail. From Graham – all from Graham. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Of course</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. She counted to five and then dialed his number. It was nearly midnight, but he would be awake and waiting for her. He picked up on the first ring, sounding like he was working hard at keeping his frenzied concern at bay.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I’ll come to you,” Juliet said into the phone. It was easier to act when you couldn’t see the audience. She liked to think that was why the spotlights were always so bright. “Yeah, I just got out. I’m heading for the subway now. No, it’s fine, I’m already out and about. See you soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">When she arrived at his building, Graham was waiting outside on the sidewalk for her. He greeted her warmly and apparently didn’t notice her lackluster kiss, her distracted eyes, her perfume mingling with the scent of Cal Purser. They rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and Juliet was comforted at the sight of her boyfriend’s familiar studio apartment. The windows were huge, letting in all the synthetic light of Manhattan. It was impossible to see the stars through the pollution.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I’m sorry about earlier,” Graham said, as he directed Juliet to the couch. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into leaving after Noelle ripped into you like that. But, maybe, this will make you feel better?” He brought a pizza box in from the kitchen and set it on the coffee table, then offered her an array of sci-fi classics on remastered DVDs. “Half meatball, half broccoli,” he told her, grinning. “And the movie’s your choice tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet looked at the pizza, at Jeff Bridges on the cover of the original </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Tron</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">, at the adoring boyfriend she’d betrayed not half an hour earlier. She’d had sex with her co-star before she’d even had sex with Graham, for Christ’s sake! She looked up into Graham’s grinning face and knew that she was the lowest of the low, the scum of the Earth. “I have to go.” She stood abruptly and hurried away from a perfect Friday night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Wait, Juliet!” Graham stood and jogged after her, catching up with her at the door. “What’s up? Talk to me. Is this about Noelle?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">If only.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> Missing a few steps in the big dance number at the end of act one during rehearsal today hadn’t gone over well with Noelle, their manic perfectionist of a choreographer. It was their third time running through the act and Juliet had been hit with physical and mental exhaustion in the middle of the second verse. After getting reamed for almost an hour about her shoddy work on the show, rehearsal had finally ended and everyone had gone home. Juliet had stayed behind to practice, running the number again and again, shooing Graham away and begging with the custodial staff not to shut off the house lights on her yet. It was around that time that Cal had been wandering out of the theater after a late meeting with the director, stopping by the stage to offer some friendly advice and getting caught up in what he had so brilliantly called “something greater than himself.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet could only shake her head. “I can’t do this,” she told Graham, the closest she could come to an explanation. Before he could convince her to stay, she hurried to the elevator and left the building, alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She wanted to tell herself she had no idea where she was going. But when she got on the subway and headed back to Times Square under the guise of walking around and clearing her head, Juliet wasn’t even a good enough actress to fool herself. She didn’t need time to think things over – she needed to build the confidence to admit what she had been planning since leaving the theater earlier. And it had never been to return to Graham’s apartment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Her heart started pounding again, in the flashing lights of stifling tourism. Juliet dodged an oncoming crowd wandering Bloomberg’s promenade on Broadway by ducking into the nearest door. She found herself in the Hard Rock Café, the Mecca of sell-outs and Bohemian wannabes, and groaned. She’d been here just once before, on her twelfth birthday, when Mom had gotten her tickets to see a revival of something by No</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">ë</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">l Coward – the name of the play escaped her now, shockingly – because she’d begged to see her favorite actor onstage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet had also demanded coming here for dinner. She remembered her mother muttering the entire time about the false décor, the chipper waitress, the souvenir hurricane glasses you could keep, for just an extra seven dollars. Juliet, however, had done her best to tune her mother out and enjoy her fifteen dollar cheeseburger. Her mind had been on only one thing, and it wasn’t the past – she’d been thinking about Cal Purser’s stellar performance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet felt like she was going to vomit. She hurried to the cashier and was directed to the bathrooms downstairs, where she ran into the first open stall and locked the door after her. She crouched and dry-heaved over the porcelain bowl, but nothing came up but rancid breath tinged with an unbecoming mixture of guilt and giddiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">I slept with Cal Purser</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. It was an intoxicating thought, one Juliet never wanted to let go. That one statement changed everything. She had known from the very first day of rehearsal, when she was fawning over an all-star cast and feeling that, maybe, being a fan was all she was good for. She had idolized Roxanne Beck, until she got to see her full-on dragon lady persona unleashed. She had taken Graham’s sweet smile as a sign of something good, until she’d realized he was too far from the spotlight than she was comfortable with being. And she had been in love with Cal, until she’d had sex with him on a dirty old sofa and realized she had never really meant that, until tonight<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">This time, as she choked on months of rehearsals and song lyrics stolen from pop songs, Juliet was, at the very least, rewarded with the satisfying upheaval of her last meal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">After about half an hour, there came a knock at the door. Juliet could see a pair of squeaky sneakers and a broom under the door, as a disembodied voice informed her that the Hard Rock Café was closing down for the night, but they would be glad to welcome her back tomorrow at eleven for lunch. Juliet picked up her bag from the floor, unlocked the door, and eased it open, an apologetic smile on her lips as she slipped out of the room and back up the stairs without a word. In the mess of T-shirts and music videos, no one noticed her leave.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">It was now one-fifteen on a New York Saturday morning and Juliet knew exactly where she shouldn’t be going. But she got on the subway and then marched along Central Park West, until she reached the swanky apartment building. She paused on the sidewalk, just outside the cover of the awning and the warm glow of the lobby lights, and raised her head to stare at the building. Which window was Cal’s? Which apartment did he share with Roxanne? Was he as confused as she was about all of this?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">A taxi pulled up to the curb and Juliet turned in time to see Roxanne Beck climbing out, clearly intoxicated and belligerent. The older actress tossed money at the driver and slammed the door shut, then started walking towards her front door. Juliet considered leaping into the bushes to avoid her, but just a moment too late. Roxanne caught sight of her standing there and narrowed her eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded to know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet knew she had about fifteen seconds to come up with a plausible reason to be standing outside Cal and Roxanne’s building at this hour, before Roxanne pounced. The older woman was incredibly territorial and plagued with paranoid jealousy to the point of insanity. It was maddening, trying to build a working relationship with Cal without finding your way onto Roxanne’s hit list. The older actress had been sure of an affair between Cal and Juliet from day one, and she’d made it clear to anyone who would listen. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Cal. It was because Roxanne </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">only </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">trusted Cal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I was here to drop something off.” Juliet winced. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">You call yourself an actress?<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Roxanne took a small step closer, one hand raised menacingly. “You’re here looking for Cal,” she said, swaying a little on unsteady feet. Her face was flushed, a healthy shade of red that went nicely with the dark shade of her hair. “I knew it from the start. You’ve wanted to screw him since auditions. Do you want him to jumpstart your career, you slut? You want to use him to fulfill your sad little fantasies? You whore – !”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Ms. Beck, please, you’re wrong,” Juliet said, trying to subdue the coming wrath. She noted the disheveled appearance of a woman she had once called her idol, the dress that was about five years too short and ten too tight and the messy hair, knotted tendrils twirling in the light breeze. “You’re jumping to conclusions, here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Roxanne gave a bitter laugh, teetering drunkenly on three-inch heels. “Honey, I see things perfectly.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The fist was surprisingly fast, connecting painfully with Juliet’s left cheek. Juliet had time for the single rational thought that she was glad Roxie was mildly intoxicated before raising her arms to defend herself. Otherwise, Juliet would be dead by now. She’d never been in a fight before, while Roxanne could make Naomi Campbell look downright cuddly. Juliet watched Roxanne stumble forward and hoped the woman would tire herself out soon enough, or maybe burst into theatrical sobs. When neither option presented itself, the young actress knew she had no choice but to retaliate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">The first hit was lame and squishy, landing somewhere on Roxanne’s upper arm. In the confusion of limbs that ensued, with clenched hands raising bruises and open palms leaving welts across cheeks, the two women ended up on the cold New York pavement. Roxanne had gone primal, snapping at Juliet with fearsome teeth and trying to dig her French manicure as far into Juliet’s skin as she could get it. Juliet fought for her life, tugging Roxanne’s hair and relying on her shockingly good left jab to keep the other woman occupied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">There was blood and hair everywhere. Juliet suspected that she’d broken Roxanne’s nose; she exploited this by hitting Roxanne in the face repeatedly. She was a little distracted by the stinging pain on the left side of her own face, where Roxanne’s claws had left four nasty, perfectly parallel scratches. It occurred to Juliet, as she gained the upper hand and began to unceremoniously pound America’s favorite TV actress’ face into a disfigured mess, that she might carry that scar for the rest of her life. It was worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Roxanne managed to roll over and pin Juliet to the sidewalk, laying into her with shaking hands. Spit and blood flew from her mouth. Someone called out Juliet’s name in concern, a voice she would never be able to forget.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And then, two guardian angels in navy blue were lifting Roxanne off her victim. A third police officer helped Juliet to her feet. Cal appeared on the sidewalk, hesitating as he exited the building and looked between Roxanne and Juliet. Juliet watched, emotionless, as he crossed to Roxanne and let her collapse into his arms. That was love. That was putting up with temper tantrums and sharing space with a woman for seven years. That was seeing what no one else on the planet could see, fighting to ignore what the gossip rags said and pledging to love her anyway. That was turning your back on one night on a prop couch. Love was a learned habit and he’d learned all he knew from Roxanne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">A wailing ambulance came to a screeching halt at the curb and the two paramedics within rushed onto the scene and descended upon Roxanne. As they lifted her onto a stretcher and loaded her into the ambulance, the last thing Juliet heard Roxanne wail into the night was, “It was her! She’s after me! She attacked me!” Cal turned his head and locked eyes with Juliet, a pained expression on his face. The paramedics slammed the doors on the image of Roxanne’s raised, trembling finger, pointing directly at Juliet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet, suffering only from superficial wounds, was taken to another area hospital to get her various scratches and bruises checked out. Sitting in the ER as a doctor applied a bandage to the clear outline of Roxanne’s expensive overbite on Juliet’s right forearm, a cop standing at her side, she probably shouldn’t have demanded a rabies shot to keep her from being contaminated by whatever bugs Roxie was carrying. It didn’t show enough remorse. Once he was given the okay, the police officer helped her into his car (none too gently) and delivered her to the local precinct’s holding cell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet slept on a flat board that night, barely large enough for her even when she curled into a tiny ball and tried to be invisible. She was still awake five hours later, when they dragged her to the courthouse for her bail hearing. Her public defender got bail set at ten thousand dollars. She winced when he asked if there was anyone she could call to get herself out of jail. There was only one answer to that question.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">And Graham appeared just after two in the afternoon. Juliet first saw him when the officer, a firm grip on her upper arm, guided her to the precinct’s lobby. Graham was shifting from one foot to the other, agitated, as he picked at the fuzz on Juliet’s favorite sweater. He grinned brightly when the officer handed over her stuff and released her without so much as a gruff farewell, and Juliet moved from one trap to the next as he enveloped her in his arms and tried to wrestle her into the ugly thing she never wore in public. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Are you okay? Did they treat you all right? Does that still hurt?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She swatted away his probing hand, as it moved closer to the covered scratch on her face, and shook her head. “They treated me like crap. It was jail, Graham, not the Ritz.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He stopped talking and adopted his preferred wounded kitten look. He draped the sweater carefully around Juliet’s shoulders and ignored her exasperated stare. “You should get home and get some rest,” he said softly. “You look awful.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet laughed, wry as she replied, “You should see the other guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Jules, this isn’t funny.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Really? I find the whole thing rather humorously ironic.” But maybe that was just because she had all the facts, and Graham didn’t. She had told him she’d gotten into a fight with Roxanne and alluded, vaguely, to the fact that she might have been standing outside the apartment building Cal and Roxie called home. She had asked for money, without really promising to pay it back, and she hadn’t breathed a word about anything else, just the way she and Cal had silently pledged not to. It had all been surprisingly easy. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">After all, darling</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">, she’d told herself as she stood at the payphone, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">you are an actress</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. She tried reminding herself of that now, but it wasn’t comforting. It was sickening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I’ll take the train with you,” Graham offered. Juliet allowed him to rest a hand on her shoulder, turning when his gentle hand guided her towards the precinct’s doors. She’d tell him to go home as soon as they got through the doors. He’d understand and he’d leave her in peace – he always did. And then he’d come back. And she’d have to let him into her apartment, let him buy her get well junk food, let him brush his lips over the bandage on her cheek and tell her everything was going to be okay. All the things she knew they both needed, but she didn’t want. Not now that she understood what it meant to touch infamy and come away alive, proudly displaying the scars to prove your brush with stardom and hiding the ones that showed what a lowlife it had made you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">She wasn’t proud.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Graham’s grip tightened on her shoulder and Juliet blinked to bring Cal standing in the doorway into sharper focus. “Hey, Mr. Purser,” Graham said, politely enough, the way a teenage boy would greet his prom date’s father.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Afternoon, Graham.” Cal stepped through the doors and paused before Juliet, reaching into his coat and pulling out his checkbook. “I was coming here to help you out,” he said, “but I guess you’re in good hands.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I’m fine,” Juliet replied, trying not to sound ungrateful. Instinctively, she took half a step away from both of them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Yeah. The police came to talk to Roxie. They said you were going to be okay.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Juliet, I also wanted to let you know that I’ll take care of the tabloids. And I’ll make sure Roxie drops the charges against you. I know she can be a little much to handle sometimes, but I think she’s sorry. You had to defend yourself; I get it.” He looked to Graham for confirmation, and the younger man nodded along.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“Juliet didn’t do anything wrong,” he agreed. He put an arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her, then turned back to Cal. “I was just going to get her home to rest. But thank you for your concern, Mr. Purser.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Juliet shook Graham off before Cal could respond to his pleasantries. She couldn’t take either of them right now: Graham speaking for her, as if they were an old married couple when, in reality, they’d been dating a grand total of three months, and Cal, making excuses for Roxanne and pretending he could fix everything with a grin and a good word. “I’m done,” she said, handing the sweater to Graham, whose face crumbled with anguish. Cal’s eyes sparkled with the same handsome concern his acting coach had helped him hone before he could drive a car. Juliet didn’t need any of this. She didn’t need an overprotective boyfriend or a delusional established actor breathing down her neck; she didn’t need to deal with show business politics and publicists hurrying to cover up every celebrity faux pas. Since she was five years old, Juliet had wanted to act for the thrill, for the craft, for the façade. She wanted a Broadway and a Hollywood that didn’t exist anywhere but in the minds of young hopefuls, places that didn’t threaten to end you before you’d really had a chance to experience them<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">“I have some rehearsing to do,” she said, instead of bothering to try and explain everything else to them. Juliet pulled her bag up higher on her shoulder, ignored Graham’s quivering lower lip, pushed past Cal, and walked, alone, out onto the sidewalk. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Maybe the places she wanted to be didn’t exist, but if she could focus on the things that mattered, maybe she could pretend they did. As she took long strides away from what she’d been swept up in, Juliet resolved to dance, to sing, and to act like she hadn’t been disillusioned, in hopes of finding the true essence she would forever be searching for upon the stage. She wanted to be famous, but she wanted to be an actress more. She smiled. Juliet had nothing to offer the world, if not her overly active imagination.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">That, and the left jab that had broken Roxanne Beck’s nose.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-50765795011733500802011-04-06T10:35:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.192-07:00Sense & Sensibility<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Laura glanced around the visiting area and pulled the nail file with the pink and white paisley pattern from her purse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She discreetly slid it across the metal table towards her incarcerated boyfriend, Jack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was doing one to five at the state penitentiary for armed robbery – but not for much longer, if she had any say in the matter.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Jack picked up the file, studied it, and raised an eyebrow at his girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the hell is this?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nail file.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She popped her gum and wiggled her eyebrows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You know</i>.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“So I can be someone’s bitch with great nails?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really complete the whole package?” Jack laughed, cruel rather than humorous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Great, Laur, just great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s really the gift that keeps on giving.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“Naw, not for your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nails</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She leaned in close, gnawing the fruity gum so Jack could be nauseated by both the sight and smell of it, and said in a stage whisper, “To escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Saw the bars, right?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She grinned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You know</i>.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">Jack looked from the flimsy cardboard nail file back to Laura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His girlfriend had seen one too many old prison movies since he’d gone into the clink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jack suddenly realized that without the privilege of conjugal visits, Laura just wasn’t worth his time anymore.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">“I think it’s time we started seeing other people.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jack flipped the nail file carelessly back at Laura as he rose from his seat, hitting her square in the nose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ignored her squealing and called for a guard to take him back to his cell.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>(Flash fiction for no particular reason - clocks in at 256 words.)</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5586329314066928588.post-70973302093752284502011-03-23T07:56:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:13:51.193-07:00How to Fall in Love<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Inspired by a writing exercise we did in class this morning. This wasn't the one I actually wrote </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">in </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">class, but it was a close runner-up in the idea category. I'm also going to try and type up and finish the other one later on, because it's funny. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Eh. Well. I think it's funny. I hope you'll agree.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">Onward!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">--------</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">How to Fall in Love</span></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Take an eight o’clock class, the kind that you always feel bleary-eyed and foggy, no matter how many hours of sleep you got the night before. Make sure it’s a something that actually interests you; it’ll be easier to meet your soul mate if you share the same interests. Especially that early in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: 92.95pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">It won’t be love at first sight. You’ll hardly notice him on the first day of the new semester, when the professor insists everyone go around and introduce themselves. You’ll file his name and face away for future reference, but note, also, that he isn’t your type. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Wait a week. Realize you don’t have a type. Start to notice his eyes, the fall of his hair, the way he reads his writing aloud for the class. Wrap yourself up in the sound of his voice. Don’t you dare throw away that note he wrote you on your short story, the one that tells you how ballsy you were to write it and how much he enjoyed it. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">He enjoyed it</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. Don’t let that thought go for the rest of the semester. Remember that as the moment you felt your stomach drop and your heart beat fast – remember that as the moment you fell in love with the guy who wasn’t your type. He’s your only type now; deal with it.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></span></o:p></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a name='more'></a></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Dress to impress, because that’s seems to be the unspoken rule at your college of choice. You won’t feel truly pretty until you look at yourself in the mirror around three in the afternoon, when you’re riding high on caffeine and the end of classes for the day, but you'll appreciate the effort. You’ll hope he does, too. One day, he’ll sit across from you. You’ll feel like a stalker, but keep your eyes on him as often as possible. Try to speak up during workshop, to catch his attention with your glittering wit and charm. No regrets.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Don’t decide wearing a baggy sweatshirt and no makeup to class one morning is okay, just because it’s a little too chilly and gray outside. It’s early, but you should still try. Don’t think everything will be okay – it won’t be. Because this is the day he’ll sit next to you. You’ll quietly celebrate and berate yourself the entire class period. Don’t expect to learn anything that day. Look back at your notes later and wonder how you managed to get anything down at all. Write an angst-ridden poem about your appearance and true love. Edit for a more humorous tone. When you post it on your blog, you don’t want one of your fourteen followers to think you were being serious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Fantasize all you want. You’ll try not to in the beginning, to avoid the heartache, because you’ve been through this – how many times has it been now? – before and it’s never ended well. You make too much of your love life; you build mountains from mole hills. Well, fuck old adages and daydream away. You don’t want anyone else. You want </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">him</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. He’s stolen your heart with his eloquence. Picture the scene in class when he writes a story and makes it clear that he wants you to be his one and only. Let your heart race whenever he raises his hand to share. Any moment could be </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">the </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture your first kiss, your first date, doing something stupid together and leaning against each other in class. You’ll be inseparable. This is all you’ve ever wanted, this perfection. You’ll wonder why life can’t really be this way for you. Then you’ll demand your answers. “Why can’t anything ever work out?” It’s not because of your looks, or your height, or your weight, or your clothes, or your writing. It’s nothing you can control. You’re making all the right moves – </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">for you</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">. Once you accept that, you can allow yourself to fall in love and just wait until he loves you right back. Just don’t mention any of this to him if and when you start dating. Also, remember to </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">never </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">let him near your blog. It’ll just be embarrassing for everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">You’ll wake up one morning near the end of the semester and head to class, same as any other day. Be one of the first there to get your favorite seat, two from the head of the conference table on the left. There will be a few seats empty when he arrives. One will be next to you. He’ll sit there. Analyze away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Don’t breath for the rest of class. Breathing is a sign of weakness; it will betray your infatuation. Laugh at his jokes (he really is clever – you like a guy with a sense of humor). Hang on his every word (he has a way of making you listen). At the end of class, when he turns to you curiously, don’t naturally assume that he’s about to profess his undying love to you. Try not to look too let down when he just asks what the homework was on Monday, when he missed class and you tried not to cry when you picture him getting hit by a bus, or something as equally unrealistic and tragic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Notice his height. He’s taller than you. You’re six-foot-one; that’s quite a feat. Quietly rejoice. Offer him the short story you wrote, for him to read and critique for next class. Try to think of a reason to linger, to smile, to laugh, to make a clever quip. Keep thinking of ways to stay behind and talk to the professor – <i>he</i> always seems to do that. Maybe he’ll notice if you ask something particularly insightful. Think of nothing and run away. Write a how-to guide to make it easier on your fellow lovelorn souls in this world.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14683363661775383474noreply@blogger.com3