That image makes me chortle with evil glee. Every. Time.

Those are handy to have around. I keep one myself. Very gentle, in general, but Rosalinda the Officious Bitch doesn't have to know that when he comes round.

"I vill nail you to the chapel door! I will pillage! I vill burn your village, er, your Toyota, and ravish your vimmin!"

I love him when he puts it on. So very funny.

(Still loving the Viking). Odd, that DH and I were having this very same talk about the general US populace having this odd sense of entitlement, that most child development people tell us we are supposed to work through and get past when we are four or five years old. News flash, the world does not revolve around mememe! The self-entitlement plus the refusal to take personal responsibility makes for a scary bunch of people. And that's what I seem to be running into more and more these days, and less of the service-to-others, my freedom ends where yours begins, do-for-others because it's right, not to put more stars in your crown in heaven.

Mmmsorry. Wrong place for a rant.

Liese, the poem is beyond lovely. It's achingly real, amazingly true, and quite beautiful.

Beautiful poem, Liese. Both language and imagery are exquisite.

So, Mme. Maitresse, do we have a new topic?

No! I haven't done my parade one yet.

Oh, go ahead. I'll post the parade one on LJ just for fun after the topic is closed. Sorry for being so uninspired.

Ooops! I had the topic at 9 a.m., and then work intervened. Ahem. My bad.

(Once again, people, feel free to suggest future drabble topics at any time. I am a benevolet despot and may glance down from my lofty throne to consider them....)

This is, I'm pretty sure, week 18. This week's challenge is: near-death experience(s)! And, for the record, they don't have to be serious -- they can be a swoony high-school sophomore who is sure his heart will stop because his new math teacher gives new meaning to the phrase "sweater girl."

Or it can be serious. All y'all know what to do by now.

A different kind of near-death experience. Gods, am I feeling sentimental these days.

--

First Great Love

Pure lust, uncommitted, is painless; caring solely for the result means no chance of loss. She's gone a different route. She favours commitment, the elusive - and perhaps illusory - texture of love in her mating. She expects loveliness.

But, young as she is, she is unprepared for the power of it. He seems so frail; she's been more his nurse than his lover. Yet, when they finally come together, the orgasm has the power of passion, nurture, and Eve's apple, darkness and light in his arms.

She stares up into his face, her body laughing, wondering if this is the edge of death.

I took the near-death experience idea a tad more literally, but lightly all the same.

Death of a Pre-Teen Obsession

In one instant, two facts impress themselves on your mind with horrible clarity:

One: That gag in old Westerns where horses remove their riders with the assistance of a handy tree branch? Actually happens.

Two: You really don't like horses all that much.

Years later, you are retaken by the romance of the horse and contemplate signing up for riding lessons again. This fit of madness lasts only until the next rainstorm, when the nagging ache in your shoulder reminds you that horses are evil sons of bitches who know a thousand and one inventive ways to kill a person.