ha...I should really break out. write something without corpses, lips or breasts.

Believe it or not, it looks like my last drabble is going to turn into a short fic. Someone linked to that "Downtown Girl" contest a while ago and I've taken that first paragraph and written another 400 words, so far. I only need 7500 and I think I've got more than enough in mind to pull it off.

Unfortunately, my computer is acting up and won't open Word for me right now. I've been writing this at work. Also, I've been haunting the tech thread trying to get ideas on how to fix the problem. I suspect I may have to invest in either a bonifide repair person or a new computer. Damn.

Good for you. Sorry about the tech thing...btdt.

Actually, I tried again just now and Word let me open up a blank document! Yay! I defragged the hard drive last night (it took 6 HOURS) and I didn't reboot afterward, so of course it still locked up when I tried to get into Word this morning. So, I may actually get to do some more writing tonight while the words are hot in my brain.

I'm grumpy. My computer is still acting up. I can't get into Word, so I've been using WordPad to type up my drabbles. It doesn't have a word count function, so I'm having to count and recount my drabbles as I write them. Very annoying. Still, never let it be said I'm lacking for words!

No skin off my nose. That's exactly what I'd said when Terri told me she wanted to go for some botox treatments. Maybe if she hadn't spent so many years on the front lawn, slathering herself with a mixture of iodine and baby oil, she wouldn't have so many wrinkles on her face. Really, with all the advertisements by plastic surgeons on the TV these days, you figure she would have realized what she was doing to her face years ago!

The scab on my nose? A few months, I think. It was originally a bluish color.

Are you...melanoma?

Sail, that's creepy. A friend of ours' sister had a mole removed and it was diagnosed as cancerous. And my daughter has a very cavalier attitude toward sunscreen.

Brrrrrrrrr.

The older three fled long ago. Any sleep the youngest two find is fleeting—all their dreams disturbed.

He stumbles in. She's quiet; the dead always are. She tells herself she’s keeping the peace, but knows the truth. There’s no right way. A wrong word, an extra word, an unspoken word—glance—or lack thereof, and it begins.

Two little boys squeeze their eyes shut. The first lesson they ever learned from the older ones was to breathe slow and deep. They’re sure he can hear their hearts pounding. He cannot hear their silent prayers: There’s no place like home.

(wc 100)

OMG Cindy, what a stomach punch. So good.

Thanks, Ailleann.

Cindy, that's gorgeous. I do have a question about one line:

She is quiet—telling herself she’s keeping the peace, but knows the truth—the dead always are.

The dead always are....? Is there a reference I'm missing, or a word missing, possibly? (Which, entre nous, is entirely possible, since no coffee yet.)