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.

Someone's always dying somewhere, aren't they? We can only pray we don't know their name and wouldn't know their faces. But everyone will die, and it is selfish to wish they all wait until we're done, until we've shuffled off the coil, leaving them to deal with the space left in their lives.

Beyond selfish, perhaps, but diminishingly accurate.

Every obituary is, at best, of someone who knew people. Every obituary should have mourners. Should have people who read, nod, and have been close.

To have died last, to have no one that will cry for you, is sadder still.

He doesn't know how close he comes each time he shuts his eyes. Her fingers float over fluttering pulse and dance on warm exhale.

She totals his day...the snapping, the smiling, the hurting and the healing. She totals hers...the stresses and releases, all her frustrations and accomplishments.

Her hand closes just a little on his neck, and in his trust he doesn't stir. The power is electric in her spine, tingling through her limbs.

He laughs in sleep and mumbles her name.

"Mmmph." Her grunt propels her onto her side, shutting him out with her back. Tomorrow is another day.

Can't think of a title. Anyway, unlike the one about executing soldiers, this one actually applies to me. And is 101 words. ---

I am walking down the street. An SUV, black with black windows, the back one on the driver's side lowered for the quivering nose of a golden retriever. It nods forward, head and shoulders out into the breeze. The car is traveling quickly past me.

Coming opposite, another SUV, also black. They seem too close. Every time, I see the cars swooping past each other, the dog heedless, tongue waggling -- and that sickening crush.

The cars move on, each in its own direction. I keep walking, head down. The dog has never yet been killed. I see it every time.

(short break away from everyone's amazing drabbles to crow)

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I have galleys! A dozen bound galleys of "Famous Flower"! They've got Marina Drukman's original idea for the cover (since modified) and "Jacket in Progress" in a banner across the front, but I. have. achieved. galleys!

(bounce)

For some reason, it always nails me at this point. I feel like Victor Frankenstein, only with my new book: "It's ALIIIIIIVE!"

(sorry. needed to bounce. as you were.)

Life, as a rule, provides us with so few genuine opportunities to bounce. So please, bounce all you like, and give us a chance to bask in your reflected joy.

(Bouncing with Deb)

Squuuuueeeeeeee!!!!!!!!

I can't wait for this one to come out. I'll be pimping it to everybody. It's such a great read.

Bev, juliana and Betsy are actually mentioned in full in the acknowledgments for this one; Matty's acknowledgments list is likely to be waaaaaaaaay longer.

Astarte, you know what? I'm asking anyone who's planning on buying it to ask at least one chain bookstore near them to order it. Make that barnes and Noble or Borders or Dalton get off its ass and stock me up, damnit.

What do we want? BEST SELLER!

When do want it? BY CHRISTMAS!

Why do we want it? BUFFISTA TUSCAN COMPOUND!