The medical ones make me shiver. Atavistic fear, powerful.

Okay, here's mine. No title.

Challenge #7 [one person lying down, one standing]

He wasn’t supposed to be here. The priests were certain to scold if he was seen. But he couldn’t help himself—watching the man on the curious scaffold was his temptation. Coveting was his only sin.

Silently, he skirted the far wall, moving closer. The enormous chapel breathed like a sleeping beast around him, the artist’s brush stroking its skin as it crouched above them both, dreaming, the late afternoon light spilling through the windows, pure gold.

This was what he craved—this holy transmutation, his own soul spread out in such color, such grace, guided by his own hand.

I feel like I'm intruding on such great writing with, well, my less than great, but feel the need to delurk in this thread anyway for this challenge...

He paced back and forth before the old green couch.

She knew he was talking mile a minute, running on about the dishes in the sink and the cat hair in the carpet, but it was all just noise. The worn pillow against the arm of the couch cradled her aching head as he told her all the important things that really needed to be done "around this place."

"I know you're tired, but maybe you're sleeping too much. This is the one thing you need to do, all day, is keep things in order around here. I just don't understand how-"

The monitor crackled to life with two sniffles and a wail, and she was upright immediately. She paused only a moment, wishing she had time to remind him exactly what she did all day, but then without a word was bounding up the stairs two at a time.

edited to remove double post - oops!

I love your drabble, Jill. It's wonderful, especially, "running on about the dishes in the sink and the cat hair in the carpet, but it was all just noise. The worn pillow against the arm of the couch cradled her aching head as he told her all the important things that really needed to be done".

AmyLiz, I love the fact that you took it in such a completely different direction. This: "The enormous chapel breathed like a sleeping beast around him, the artist’s brush stroking its skin as it crouched above them both" is a beautiful metaphor.

AmyLiz, that's beautiful. I know that feeling, so nice to see it so well expressed.

Jill, huh, that one brings back a twinge. Very well done.

I want a wife. One of those mystic creatures whose main concern is a clean house etc. 'Cause god knows I'm not that creature.

Darn computer/internet just ate my post.

Thanks, Kristin and Deena. Glowy with the nice words.

Jill, that drabble is just so true. I do it to myself, though -- Why haven't I written that cover copy / copyedited more pages / called about more assignments when Sara's sleeping? But collapsing on the couch is so often what happens instead.

Nice, all of them.

The no filters thing is an interesting bit. I suppose it just gets me past my "I can't write! What, with all these terrific authors here?" feeling. I must figure, how wrong can I go with 100 words. And the quickness adds to it, too. I can only sit and edit over those words for so long. Which means that I tend to post before I hit the second-guessing stage.

All of which is to say, I'm enjoying it. I think it's good for me.

I'm still wondering about the fictional/autobiographical thing. Do I think that I can only be powerfully honest in autobiography? Am I unable to be honest and impactful in fiction? Wonder why.

Am I unable to be honest and impactful in fiction?

Perhaps it feels more honest in autobiography because it's you? In fiction, you may be being honest for your characters, but I don't think it's the same emotional investment.