I've got oodles of drabbles in my head and a bus to catch. Later.

HEY! "Mere" rant?

As has been pointed out already, your rants are ANYTHING but mere. They demand new literary classification. (:

Hee. That story is true-ish.

A Kiss is Still a Kiss (futuristic romance)

He crawled under the covers with me, already dressed for the day. I loved these stolen moments the most. While I liked our nights together making a world of skin and sex in the bed that was ours alone, the mornings were even better. Then, for a few minutes, I could take him away from his world that left me behind and bring him into the finite of lip on lip, cell on cell.

Our lips parted; he stepped onto the silver disc that held the gate. His form shimmered away and the world was too small to hold him anymore.

Genre: fairy tale

They had vowed to stay together, for always and forever. They never imagined it would be like this, forced into closeness within this hot, iron box. Instead of walking out of the woods hand in hand, brother and sister blend together in ash and smoke.

This is the ending that no one likes to talk about.

We prefer the happy endings. We take the heroine's survival as object proof that virtue, perseverance, and faith are always rewarded.

We don't want to hear that sometimes, despite breadcrumbs, pebbles, virtue, and faith, that Hansel and Gretel don't always escape the witch's oven.

Oh, lovely drabbles!

I'm dry. I saw the category, went "oh, hellthefuckYES!" and then saw the genre tag.

Damn it. I don't write straight genre, even in the three soi disant genres - mystery, horror, litfic - that I'm paid for and published in.

This may be another dry week. Ah well. I'll finish R&RNF that much sooner.

Deb, mine wasn't straight genre. I kinda sorta cobbled together something sorta romantic and kinda futuristic. I sat and stared at it for quite a while before I even tried to label it. I could have called it erotic sci-fi. It started out as straight romance, but then kinda went...thataway.

Deb, screw the genre part of the challenge -- just drabble 2 people in a small space. These drabbles have never been about fulfilling the challenge down to the letter; they're about writing, about good writing. So if the 2 people part speaks to you, then write away, madam!

This week's challenge cracked me up, because the scene I took in to writers group this week features Anna and Jack having to take refuge in a cave barely big enough to hold them--maybe three feet high, four wide, and seven deep--wherein we discover that our heroine is claustrophobic. But it's not the kind of thing I could distill to 100 words.

Done. If anyone wants to try to label this one, I'd love it. I can't. It's just a memory, a real one, funny now.

Sheraton Hotel, Basement Garage, early September, 1975

"...the fuck?"

I'm on top, and I don't mean porn. I'm holding him down. I have my face against the back of his neck; he's in full rock and roll regalia, satin silver coat, all his rings. Right now, he's tasting the floor of the limo, and I'm tasting him.

"Firefight. Any moment. Stay there."

The band's driver is screaming at the limo driver for the President of the U.S. Any minute, bullets.

"I said, let me up!" He's going to throttle me.

"No."

I'm scared shitless. Outside, Gerald Ford tells the Secret Service not to shoot, because we're aliens.