I think posting them here would be a good thing; people without livejournal could read them.

I've done two. One's a non-specific, one (dayum!) my first Ringan and Penny that isn't between hard covers. And I've only just realised - thematically, they're opposites, sad'nglad.

Over

This is almost over.

She moves her coffee cup, imprecise little twists. It's nerves, nothing more. She knows it irritates him; once, a day or an hour or a century ago, she would have stopped, apologised. That time is long past.

He pushes his plate away. This is a travesty, a joke. He looks at the papers in the centre of the table. Just paper, and a pen. They might as well be a flaming sword.

She lifts her eyes. There's nothing in them to make him stay.

He takes up the pen, and signs the divorce papers.

Over, now.

---

Breakfast in Glastonbury

Penny sits across the breakfast table, her cloudy hair tousled, her feet bare.

“Tea?”

“Mmm.”

Ringan pours her a cup, adds sugar and cream. Her storm-coloured eyes are still misted with sleep. Her life in the theatre has made her a night owl; she’s never been quick to wake in the morning.

She sips the tea, and smiles at him. He regards her across plates and cups and sheet music, remembering other mornings like this one. Realising that, no matter how many there may be, there will never be enough of them, he leans across the table to kiss her.

Well, here's mine as well, then.

SNAFU

Sandra slammed her mobile onto the table, and glowered at it.

"Let me guess," Joanna said. "He doesn't want you back."

"The good for nothing layabout," Sandra agreed, her head nodding angrily with every word. "Son of a bitch."

Accustomed to seeing her friend in the dumps, Joanna stood and began to move around Sandra's kitchen. "Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," Sandra said. When she looked up, Joanna could see the tears glinted at the edges of her eyes, reflecting the yellows and chromes of the kitchen. The colours, cheerful in direct morning sunlight, seemed suitably harsh in Sandra's weeping eyes.

Even though it would seem thematically appropriate, I'm not sure if I'll post mine...not sure if I like it. next time, maybe.Nice description, Am.(My weakest link, btw)

Here's mine. I went for a basic working title.

GWW Challenge#1 4/14/04

"You gonna eat that pickle?"

She started at the sound of his voice. For a minute, she had forgotten where she was. Who she was with.

Why had she ordered that rueben to begin with? Greasy and sloppy-lunch as a metaphor for life-she felt her stomach turn at the prospect of either.

"No, you go ahead."

He didn't need more of an invitation but grabbed her pickle ate it as noisily as he'd disposed of the rest of his own lunch.

She'd always pictured professional killers as neat, tidy men.

Guess it took all kinds.

Love that. But then hit men are always a good time for me.

Okay, for those who don't know, this week's non-fanfic drabble challenge (the inaugural one!) is: "Two people are sitting at a table, opposite each other."

Rules, such as they are, are: 100-ish words, non-fanfic. That's it. Anything else is fair game. Any style, any genre, any anything. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, essay, dialogue only, 9 haikus -- you name it.

Here's mine:

Amor Vincit Omnia*

He carefully carved their initials, enclosed in a lopsided heart, into the heavy oak tabletop. This was "their" bar, where they met, where they went every weekend for the past 2 years. Graduation was 3 weeks away; before they left campus to venture into the real world, he wanted to leave behind proof that they had been there--proof as permanent as their love.

She leaned far over the table toward him, both to watch as their initials became an indelible part of the scarred tabletop, and to block the bartender’s view of their corner. After all, what was a little property damage compared with true love?

One month after graduation, the floor of the bar collapsed because of structural instability, and the city inspector condemned the building.

*(For those who don't know Latin, the title is that well-worn platitude: "Love Conquers All.")

No, Teppy, not dialogue only, not for Dialogue's Bitch...ok, I guess it's up to me to be the adult and not always eat the candy.

No such thing as Too. Much. Erika. Dialogue.

IJS. Or is that enabling?

It's kind of enabling, yeah. But thanks...I sometimes feel that my ear makes my characters (or Fontana's, damn him) into Futurama heads in a jar.

This hasn't been posted to LJ yet. In a minute.

No title

He leaned forward, just a bit tilted toward her, as he held up the next card. She slouched in the chair opposite his, shoulders slumped in the overlarge jacket, one jeans-clad knee bouncing to a fast syncopated beat. She met his eyes, didn't even glance at the back of the card.

"Cylinder."

His heart gave a little leap, beat a notch faster. The fourth one out of five right. He hoped his face didn't give his excitement away as he reached for the next card.