On my seventh birthday, I wanted a toy fire truck, and I didn't get it, and you were real nice about it, and then the house next door burnt down, and then real firetrucks came, and for years I thought you set the fire for me. And if you did, you can tell me!

Xander ,'Same Time, Same Place'


The Great Write Way, Act Three: Where's the gun?

A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.


SailAweigh - Jun 01, 2008 5:23:47 pm PDT #198 of 6681
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb

Me, too. Not that I had one. Which is probably why I forgot.


Wolfram - Jun 02, 2008 6:30:14 am PDT #199 of 6681
Visilurking

Me too. Crazy, busy week.


Wolfram - Jun 02, 2008 10:13:49 am PDT #200 of 6681
Visilurking

Okay, so I don't miss it again, here's photo five:

Fate

"...beam snaps, the wheel buckles and collapses. Those people get trapped and crushed."

I listened with macabre amusement, while wondering how many goddamn cycles were left. That should teach me to ride with a stranger.

"This side will bend closer to the ground.” She turned to look at me, wide-eyed. Her tone was now pleading. Urgent. “That’s when you must jump. You'll fracture your ankle, but roll to safety."

"And you?" I couldn't resist.

Her voice resumed its eerie calmness. "I die."

You know the rest. I’ll still never understand one thing. Why did she get on the ride?


Lee - Jun 02, 2008 10:17:09 am PDT #201 of 6681
The feeling you get when your brain finally lets your heart get in its pants.

Nice one!

Never mind the rest. Wolfram beat me to it.


Laga - Jun 02, 2008 10:27:17 am PDT #202 of 6681
You should know I'm a big deal in the Resistance.

here's one for #6. Other than being 100 words I don't think it's a true drabble since I think you can see the twist ending coming.

We tried not to hang around Dad at the summer place. We were embarrassed of his little swim trunks and the board he never learned how to ride. Mom spent most of her time chatting with the other moms. Dad tended to hang around with Uncle Henry. He never married; he was such the gentleman, and a gentle man. Back from the beach he’d help Mom in the kitchen or take me out on the porch to trim my unruly bangs. Looking back now, I can’t believe it never occurred to me he and Dad were more than just friends.


Laga - Jun 02, 2008 10:28:56 am PDT #203 of 6681
You should know I'm a big deal in the Resistance.

good one Wolfram. Thanks for the goosebumps.


SailAweigh - Jun 02, 2008 10:32:35 am PDT #204 of 6681
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb

Excellent, Wolfram. That gave me the creeps quite nicely.

Laga, I like yours, too. I'm always looking for a reason to bring the hoyay to photos like that.


Wolfram - Jun 02, 2008 10:34:33 am PDT #205 of 6681
Visilurking

Thanks. I liked yours too, Laga, and laughed right into the second sentence.

Of course, I dare anyone to say "Dad's little swim trunks" without smiling. Comedy gold.


Laga - Jun 02, 2008 10:37:31 am PDT #206 of 6681
You should know I'm a big deal in the Resistance.

thanks, Sail. I decided to click on picture #6 sight unseen and write the first thing that popped in my head. If you knew me, you wouldn't be surprised it was hoyay... actually now that I think about it my first thought was of kids who are embarassed by their Dad. The hoyay crept in after I started typing.


Wolfram - Jun 02, 2008 11:17:44 am PDT #207 of 6681
Visilurking

Last one for today. Photo Ten.

Return

I was downright terrified. And Emily - well obviously this was when she was still talking to me, a million years before the Milwaukee incident but that's another story - so Emily clutched my hand and told me not to be scared, and that she was gonna look after me forever.

Funny how I remember little details. It was damn sunny, and behind me that weird girl Polly was singing made-up stuff like always - Polly died in a fire the following year, poor girl - and suddenly, he was there. And he was crying.

Emily, always the braver one, spoke first. “Dad?”