More Near-death Experience
Several Molotov cocktails too many, and their cell is blown. "Take her and run!" her brother says, and Dad does. Straight into Hitler's Germany, four years in a Displaced Persons Camp, and a son born.
They sift horse droppings for grain seeds to grind into flour, beg an empty ham can to make into an oven to bake the loaf. Trade their wedding rings for food.
The toddler stretches to peek out the window. She calls him away, and he comes, seconds before the unexploded bomb in the street outside goes off, destroying the window wall.
They leave for America with one suitcase, a box of tools, and a four year old. The crossing is rough, and she can't find him. She emerges on deck as the ship lurches and he slides toward the gap in the rail. She catches him. He is fearless. He will need to be.
Bev, those are three remarkable drabbles. Only one thing read off-kilter to me, and it was where you chose the paragraph break on the final drabble. My mind kept taking
He ran, dove, rolled, got up, and ran to me, "I'm all right." He really wasn't.
But eventually, he was, again.
and seeing
He ran, dove, rolled, got up, and ran to me, "I'm all right."
He really wasn't. But eventually, he was, again.
Now, um, URGENT. Can any of my beta readers read some new Matty stuff? A very scary little scene, split into two parts, and forming the new basis of Chapter Ten - and give me feedback?
Please?
edit: oooh, you posted that fourth one as I was commenting on the third one. This one's gorgeously vivid.
Thanks, Deb. I played with that, back and forth, and wasn't satisfied but decided to turn it loose anyway. I'll fix.
And I'd love to read your new scene.
I'm trying to convince my yahoo to attach. May take a second...
Deb, I posted in Bitches to this effect already, but I'd love to take a look at the new scene.
Sent to all from gmail account, since yahoo is being a cow and not letting me attach anything.
Can you let me know if the attachment is, well, attached?
so, hi.
anyone mind if I play too? If there's a handy reference to the rules, feel free to send me to it. I get the topic, and that it's supposed to be short - I think this may be a tad long, I'll try and work on that.
Flight to Fort Good Hope
The pilot seemed too young. The plane seemed too old. The wind bellowed across the airstrip. She tugged up the hood of her parka and followed the pilot across the tarmac.
The plane rose up, and her stomach with it. She pressed her forehead against the window. The Mackenzie River meandered below, choked with ice in chunks, spring break-up only days earlier. If the plane went down, there would be no time to recover, only cold water, icy death.
And then the plane tilted down, ice cubes growing bigger. She stared, imagining her bright red parka adrift among the ice.
And then back up. The pilot looked back and grinned, shrugging an apology.
She reached for the barf bag.
backflung to the same address, Deb.
