hee, hee, hee.

Little freak manages to clamp down and drag my hand off the keys. She's nuts.

wrod.

Hah. Usually he sleeps contentedly behind my office chair unless I accidentally back over his tail, but when the Biscuit feels I've been atk too long, he'll come bump my hand off the mouse just so that it lands fortuitously on his head, ready for petting.

Dude. So deep into working on London Calling and starting the short story (called "Restless") that I never glanced up. It's frellin' Tuesday already.

TEPPPPPYYYYYYYYYYY!

Topic?

Yikes! Thanks for the reminder!

Challenge #88 (the last thing you touched) is now closed.

Challenge #89 is ice. Taken however you like. (Which means, yes, I'm half-expecting a crime drabble from erika....)

True story. Scared the crap out of me at the time.

Falling

This time of year, night comes too early.

London's in full darkness by five. It's cold, and getting colder; Radio One weather keeps saying this is going to be the coldest winter Europe's seen since WWII. I believe it. I wish I didn't. I'm three months pregnant, dizzy and sick, working crosstown from home.

Hurrying for the tube, my foot finds a slick patch of pavement. I fall, landing hard on my stomach. Everything seems to freeze inside: breath, bone, future.

I lay there whimpering, listening to my body. Inside, untouched by ice or early darkness, her heartbeat stays steady.

ice storm in the country

The sun rises on a world in crystal under a flawless, pure blue sky.

Light sparks off the pine tree outside the window. Daddy goes out and brings back a small bough. We pass it around carefully.

Each branch and needle is encased in ice an eighth of an inch thick. The needles tinkle faintly as they click against each other.

It would be courting death to go into the woods behind the house. We can hear the explosive cracks as trees give way under the weight of ice. We check the phone and lights regularly to see if the wires have come down. Only fools drive before the ice melts.

We keep the crystallized branch in the freezer for a year.

I thought I posted this earlier today before I had to bolt and run, but apparently I didn't hit "post" before I closed the window. Here 'tis, such as it is. We've all seen the commercial:

She doesn't remember her dream when a rumble of heavy equipment brings her awake. There's a hiss of air brakes, and from outside an emergency light revolves, strobing on the wall. She gets to the door, flings it wide, and sees a snowplow idling at the curb. He's halfway up the walk, he sees her and his smile is equal parts triumph and wonder. Then he's in her arms, fresh flakes dusting wool cold and scratchy, with body warmth beneath. He puts a small box in her hand. Inside, brilliant and cold, lies a token of their heat.

(PS, I think she's stupid for A. going out without a coat, B. leaving the door wide open. and Also? I dislike diamonds. But, you know...ice.)

Every time I see that commercial--and the one before it, when he calls to tell her that the storm's so heavy no one can travel, then he dashes off into the night--I say to Hubby, "Don't ever do that, OK?" And he says, "I know, you'd yell at me for risking myself in that bad of weather."