Tiptoeing into the thread, so as not to wake Annabel, I post a "Blue" drabble:

The walls were pale blue with the faintest hint of gray, between a conservative blue shirt and a blueberry smoothie. The room was one of 20 rooms: three laundry rooms, five baths, two kitchens. "That's just the color I need for my bedroom," she thought. She stared at the salvaged heart pine floors and the custom windows. "It's probably made from pigment ground from an endangered berry found only in the highest Andes."

She looked at the sunlight, the space, the fine woodwork. She didn't want the house. She didn't want the life it represented. She just wanted the blue.

Deb, guh... AmyLiz, that's intense... I'm gonna have to think...and stop abusing ellipses.

Second. Memory. Very porny memory. My Dane was fun.

Memory of Peder, Cote d'Azur

The plage in Nice is small rocks, rather than sand. Curve west up the coast and you're in Cannes, where the professionally fabulous splay out on lounges. But this is a hard surface, and it's after midnight. There's almost no one else around.

Sky, water, indigo and sapphire. The Mediterranean runs into the horizon, stretching out over Africa in the distance.

He has his hand on your ass, tugging the bikini bottom down hard and fast. You can't keep your balance; you fight for breath.

As he takes you, one eye meets sky meets water and the universe is blue.

I abuse ellipses all the time. Poor things.

KristinT, I love this. The embarrassment over something you can't control anyway, the shock of red when you "see" blue veins. Lovely.

And Ginger, this is beautiful, with a nice little zing of wry thrown in, in her thought about the Andes berries. But "She just wanted the blue" -- perfect ending.

Deb, I love yours, and I commented on it in LJ. Yours are making me all squirmy lately, in a good way. Edited to say: Oooh! More porn! Mmmm.

Fun tale of poverty,#117(You are all going to wish you hadn't praised me for honesty, one day, I think.)

The stones in my ring are blue. Sapphires, my birthstone. That and the fact I say “whom” once makes the food stamp lady keep an extra eye on me. Even though my mama said good grammar doesn’t cost anything, around here it must spell m-o-n-e-y.She sees my ring and gives me this “bitch!” look. It’s a reminder of happier days, I want to say, I was a person once, who graduated. And I’ve not taken it off since I was fourteen...the pawnshop would have to take my finger too, an as- is item if ever there was one, especially from my left hand.

Wow. erika, that throws javelins.

Is that good? Just a scene from our non-existent class system...it was years ago, but... And after that, I got fingerprinted...entitlements my ass. But I'm not bitter.(/Diane Ford)

Yes, indeed. Very good.

I think I have another blue drabble in there...

Another blue drabble, for a different man, a different memory, an earlier time.

It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

The day Joni's new album came out was the day you found out he was leaving.

"Blue…here is a song for you…"

His sister-in-law told you, casual, unthinking. Had there been malice behind the cruelty? Her English voice, clipped, light: didn't he tell you, they're off to Europe together, several months, we were awfully surprised…

"I wish I had a river…I could skate away on…"

Obsessive, based on sexuality and mutual need, a relationship not worth the vinyl of someone else's album. But it still hurt.

"You're a mean old daddy, but I like you…"

Blue, and it was over.

Hey! The blue challenge actually roused my slumbering urge to write!

At first, in the deep blue gloaming, there is only the white of skin; hands defined by rings, a dark sparkle of gems set against a pale throat, the glint of eyes, a rosebud mouth.

As the last of the light slouches away over the horizon, the indigo velvet of her dress becomes separate from the night; no longer cut from the fabric of twilight, but something crafted by human hands.