That's a good one, erika! We'll go with that.
Challenge #87 (two people, running) is now closed.
Challenge #88 is the last thing you touched.
Don't get overly literal and write about your keyboard, por favor.
A ghost? What's the deal? Is every frat on this campus haunted? And if so, why do people keep coming to these parties, cause it's not the snacks.
Xander ,'Dirty Girls'
The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Steph L. - Dec 13, 2005 1:53:50 pm PST #5082 of 10001
I look more rad than Lutheranism
Connie Neil - Dec 13, 2005 2:25:59 pm PST #5083 of 10001
brillig
Hmph. I just went to the bathroom. I think I'm going to have to think this one over.
Aims - Dec 13, 2005 2:28:00 pm PST #5084 of 10001
Shit's all sorts of different now.
The Last Thing I Touched
Paper angels attached to toys and clothing. A dump truck, a winter coat. A doll, a stuffed animal. Toys for babies and bikes for kids. Some gifts extravagant, some very simple.
I move the ever growing pile from an empty cubicle to an empty storeroom. The sheer volume of them astounds me.
Gifts for unknown children from unknown adults. Feelings and tears well up inside my chest. What is this I feel? What are these things I have touched? Toys and clothing only?
No. It is hope.
I have touched hope.
Generosity.
Love.
Charity.
And the true meaning of Christmas.
Steph L. - Dec 13, 2005 2:28:52 pm PST #5085 of 10001
I look more rad than Lutheranism
Awwww, Aimee. That's so sweet.
(And I want to read about Connie's butt....)
Connie Neil - Dec 13, 2005 2:29:51 pm PST #5086 of 10001
brillig
No, you don't. Especially after Aimee gets all heart-felt and everything.
sj - Dec 13, 2005 3:48:28 pm PST #5087 of 10001
"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."
Awww. Aimee, that's fabulous.
Liese S. - Dec 14, 2005 11:47:04 am PST #5088 of 10001
"Faded like the lilac, he thought."
Aww. Very nice.
Liese S. - Dec 15, 2005 4:52:48 am PST #5089 of 10001
"Faded like the lilac, he thought."
touched
Soft blankets, the dog's fuzzy head, the door handle. The moon is resplendent in her pale blue sky. I shiver, and make a cup of tea.
Bowl of rice? Burlap sack? I don't even know. Are there ropes at the wrists of the four hostages?
Meals Ready to Eat? Military issue canvas? I know even less. Detainees wait to be questioned. Should they, like the Japanese Americans, answer, "Yes, yes?"
Cedar rough in my hands, I build a fire for comfort. But in Iraq, they build a fire to survive—electricity the price of their liberation.
My tea tastes bitter.
deborah grabien - Dec 15, 2005 10:17:48 am PST #5090 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
maybe...
I don't know what it was, so don't bother asking, okay? Lord knows, I have no clarity to spare.
I can tell you it kept contradicting itself - that much is definite. One moment it was sharp, hard edges, a voice coming out of it, taunting me: no he didn't, dream on, bitch. But a second movement of my heart against it and the edges went soft, silken, the stuff of perfection, the voice saying yes oh yes he did, he loved you.
Maybe it was memory; maybe it was certainty, or truth. You'll know as soon as I do.
Ailleann - Dec 15, 2005 11:32:04 am PST #5091 of 10001
vanguard of the socialist Hollywood liberal homosexualist agenda
...aaaand once again deb broke me.