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- Mood:
anticipatory
My breath caught in my chest, and my skin turned to ice. Except for my face. My face felt as if it were on fire.
I stared at the computer screen, hoping for, I don’t know what. The rest of the joke?
“…an anonymous email…”, he’d said.
I replayed what my husband had read to me. I knew it was English; I recognized all of the words. They just didn’t fit right in my ears.
Your wife has been cheating on you for some time now…
The rest was lost as the last piece finally clicked in my brain.
Caught.
Ooooooow! Stupid bitey rope.
The dog lay on the carpet, moving as little as possible after his run-in with the rattlesnake. He was a big, strong dog, but this bite had really taken it out of him.
Oh, tummy rub. I wish I could wag my tail… Ow, nope – no tail-wagging today. Maybe tomorrow.
The man moved from the dog’s tummy to rub behind long, floppy ears. Gently, he placed the dog’s head in his lap and continued to rub.
This is nice, but I hurt so much. I’ll just happy bounce my man extra hard when I feel better.
A first (and hopefully rare thing for this journal...
| What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Drama Nerd You sure do love the spotlight and probably have a very out-going and loud personality. Or not. That's just a stereotype, of course. Participation in the theatre is something to be very proud of. Whether you have a great voice for musicals, or astounding skills for dramas/comedies; keep up the good work. We need more entertainment these days that isn't television and video games (not that these things are bad, necessarily.) | |
| Literature Nerd | |
| Science/Math Nerd | |
| Social Nerd | |
| Musician | |
| Artistic Nerd | |
| Gamer/Computer Nerd | |
| Anime Nerd | |
| What Be Your Nerd Type? Quizzes for MySpace | |
It was an ugly little thing, but the shopkeeper had convinced her that it would stir her creativity. Or, perhaps her stomach, she thought, looking at its misshapen red eyes, its gravestone teeth, and its tiny little limbs jutting from an over-sized and torso-less head.
Regardless, Jean couldn't part with it. Attractive or not, effective or not, she'd grown… attached. It had become a part of her workspace, and she couldn't imagine sitting at her computer without its gruesomely cheery smile.
She stared for a few minutes more, coming up empty. She turned off her monitor and left her study.
He had, after all this time, finally hit his limit. This was the last straw, and he just wasn't going to take anymore.
What the hell had she been thinking? The first thing out of her mouth when she got home was questions. How many kids are here? Where are they? Is so-and-so's mom still acting crazy?
Yeah, okay, he'd been home the whole time, but how the fuck was he supposed to know any of that stuff? Not a bit of it affected him, did it?
He took another drink. It was about time he taught her some priorities.
"What are you staring at?"
"Him. Isn't he something?"
"Oh yeah, he's something, alright."
She ruffled her leaves in agitation, causing white blossoms to powder the ground like snow. "You're just jealous. I mean, look at him – standing all alone over there, branches reaching almost to the sky…"
"Yeah. Alone and unkempt. I can barely contain my jealousy." He paused, tried to stand a bit taller. "We have it pretty good here, you know – regular prunings, plenty of water, and humans to take the fruit off our limbs before it gets too heav—"
"Oh, you're such an orchard brat!"
It had been a pretty rough night, but at least he didn't throw anything or hit anyone. Just on-going profanity, occasional insults and the constant threat of real ugliness. Everyone did what they always did when he drank – the kids stayed quiet; she stayed small – but it was real touch and go for a while there. Finally, finally, he declared his intention to go to bed. After a few more barely comprehensible tirades, he actually did as he said he was going to.
With a sigh, she let the blessed silence wash over her. God, but she needed a drink.
*sigh*
I succumbed...here's the result.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character: Ethan Raynes
Word Count: 100
Damn my better angels!
I’d just departed the loving arms of the Initiative, and had nothing more in mind than a spot of good old-fashioned revenge. Surely, it was my due – after all, Rupert had sent me away without a second thought to my well-being. Shame on him.
Arriving in Springfield, I had so many plans, I was having trouble choosing. Payback in kind? No, too gauche. Something more… elegant.
Before I’d settled on anything, though, I caught wind of recent events. I left town without a peep.
What more could I do to a Watcher who’s lost his Slayer?
With a jaunty salute, Craig grabbed his briefcase and bid his assistant farewell. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Lynne gave the obligatory chuckle. He’d been using that line since she’d started working for him, and she was hard-pressed to point to anything he wouldn’t do.
Porn sites at his desk? Check. Theft of company property? Check. Sex in the copy room? Double-check. All of that and more was on good-old Craig’s dance card.
But Lynne wasn’t raised that way. She could never do those things. She smiled as she opened a new email. Blackmail, though? That she could do.
Jim touched the paper in his pocket and smiled, thinking back to when he got it. She was a stunning woman – nothing like the women, no - girls - back home. Flowing, brown hair, piercing blue eyes and pouty lips. The dress she wore may or may not have been designer, he didn’t know. Either way, it looked perfect on her. With a soft laugh and an easy confidence, she’d slid a piece of paper with her number to the man next to her. Jim didn’t think she’d mind the switch, and he’d made sure that other guy couldn’t complain.
- Mood:accomplished
“You’re kidding… But can’t Nancy… Yeah, I know, but… Yes, sir. I’ll be right in.”
Rita hung up the phone and sighed. She’d been planning this day all week. She was going to start with a nice breakfast down the street. Then she was going to take a book and hang out in the park before the weather got too hot. After that, a bit of shopping, then a pedicure and a ridiculously expensive lunch at that new restaurant.
Instead, she was changing into her uniform to go into work. This was the third time this month she’d had to cover Nancy’s shift. As she grabbed her bag and headed out the door, she began thinking of ways to get even. Nancy was going to regret cheating her out of a pedicure.
He’d never talked much. He never bitched about his wife and her binges. Not a word to explain the occasional split lip or black eye. He quietly declined invitations to parties, just shrugging his shoulders and saying it was a bad time. Not a syllable about the incoherent calls from the missus after an early bourbon bout. He’d never really talked much at all.
I took a long pull on my cigarette before folding the newspaper back up concealing the headline: “Man Brutally Slays Wife Then Turns Self In”
He’d never talked much, but dude, his actions said a mouthful!
Sweat dried, raising gooseflesh between his shoulder blades in spite of the blazing desert sun. Moments ago, he’d been a dead man – or at least he was scheduled to be so. He’d been sentenced to die for slaying another. He couldn’t argue with that, but this sudden freedom was welcome indeed. His plan? Beyond the next drink and the next whore, he had none. Just to put as much distance between himself and this land as he could. Barabas didn’t know why everyone wanted this Yeshua guy dead, but it gave him his freedom, so he really didn’t much care.
They were playing cowboys and Indians, and her brothers always made her the Indian. With a whoop, they caught and bound her. Soon, she was standing on a milk crate with a rope around her neck. Indians got hanged, and she was the Indian.
Someone kicked the crate, and everything grew hazy. She heard a yell. Daddy! He pulled her down and set to whipping her three brothers. Then he reached for her. “Your turn, missy.”
Huh? “But Daddy, what’d I do?”
His voice shook as he answered between swats. “You were dumb enough to get on the damned box!”
Happy Birthday, Mom.
3/16/1940-9/30/2006
He sat nearly motionless, only moving his eyes to track the passers-by. Twenty minutes had passed since he'd first stationed himself on this bench. Twenty long minutes. He took a deep breath, hoping to slow his heart rate. No good. Still going to beat all hell. He felt silly getting this worked up, but what else could he do? Finally. She came out of her building. She walked right by him, but that's what she did every day. How could she know that this was the day they'd finally meet? Smiling, he grabbed the case at his feet and followed.
It was an old table. Helen examined it, noting the marks of time. There was a small rough patch where Dylan’s first chemistry experiment went awry. The table’s corners were crudely rounded – Helen had done that with a saw and sandpaper after Dylan had split his head open on it. Other marks weren’t so obvious. She remembered evenings spent with Dylan at this table, eating, helping him with schoolwork, playing rummy… But there was a new table on the way. A gift from Dylan. Her son thought it was time to get rid of that “old, beaten-up piece of junk.”
“Okay, open your eyes!” Carla stepped back, beaming while Matt’s eyes took in the pair of shiny new bicycles on the front lawn. When he still hadn’t said anything after a few seconds, Carla’s smile faded. “Um, honey? Is something wrong?”
Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Noooooooo, not ‘wrong’…exactly.”
“Then what is it? You said you’d like to go bicycling sometime, so I thought this would be a good anniversary gift.” She struggled to keep her voice steady.
“It’s wonderful, hon, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
Matt pointed toward the garage. “It’s just that I had the same idea.”
The sky was still dark, but Nathanial was awake. He’d heard that men were needed to defend the northern states. He didn’t understand the politics, but he was honor-bound. Packing provisions for the two-day trip, he left. The going was difficult – rocky here, marshy there, and steep all around. Even if he’d owned a horse, he wouldn’t have subjected the beast to this. He stopped only for a few hours at night before resuming his travels. Finally, dirty and exhausted, he arrived. The man inside looked up from a plate of stew. “Sorry, son. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
Grace rubbed at her hands. She hadn’t decorated a cake in years – arthritis had struck early. But she couldn’t not do this cake.
Erin had left home a month earlier. Sixteen and angry, she’d blamed everyone in her home for the troubles in her heart. But she’d agreed to come back for her birthday. Seventeen. Grace wondered if anything had changed save the number. She wasn’t hopeful.
Wincing, she opened the aspirin bottle. At least she could make her hands feel better. With a sigh, Grace put the cake in the refrigerator. It was time to go get her daughter.
