I kinda guessed what was coming; I love ghost stories and have used that trope from both sides. It's very Sixth Sense (and I didn't get that one until the very end, it's easy to sucker a person in when they get invested in the inner life of the protagonist-ghost.)
Harmony: Somebody remembered to pick me up the sweetest unicorn. Guess someone was feeling guilty for standing me up in tenth grade. Brad: What? Had to get her something. She sired me. Peaches: Sire-whipped.
'Beneath You'
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 - May 12, 2015 1:25:19 pm PDT #6273 of 6687
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Amy - May 12, 2015 3:43:31 pm PDT #6274 of 6687
Because books.
Wolfram, that's great. You're on a tear with these.
Wolfram - May 13, 2015 7:34:57 am PDT #6275 of 6687
Visilurking
I thought I'd try doing one of these a day this week, like a writer's boot camp. Not sure I can keep it up.
Maybe I'll try one that's more upbeat.
erikaj - May 14, 2015 2:40:27 pm PDT #6276 of 6687
Always Anti-fascist!
This entry for Burn is not personal.
Even now, many years and thousands of drinks later, she can still remember both her gap-toothed, eager eighth-grade self and the way that first sip burned when she drank that first glass of whatever brown liquor someone scavenged from their parents’ liquor cabinet. At first, it burned so much, she didn’t understand why adults drank, but not wanting to be a wimp, she boldly drained the glass until the burn felt like love and friendship. Sometimes, as she gets ready to face how that became her longest relationship, she wishes she’d had the courage to be a wimp.
-t - May 14, 2015 2:43:56 pm PDT #6277 of 6687
I am a woman of various inclinations and only some of the time are they to burn everything down in frustration
Oh, very nice.
erikaj - May 14, 2015 2:52:30 pm PDT #6278 of 6687
Always Anti-fascist!
Thanks.
Wolfram - May 14, 2015 2:53:55 pm PDT #6279 of 6687
Visilurking
Good one, Erika.
Connie Neil - May 14, 2015 2:59:00 pm PDT #6280 of 6687
brillig
A tale from Hubby
They called it Going Baked Potato.
As the wildfire surrounded them, cackling and roaring, cutting them off, they'd pull out the emergency blankets, bundle themselves up, bury themselves in the dirt, and pray. An invisible hole would kill them, ignite the air in their lungs, leaving time for a scream.
The fire strolled over them, speaking as it went. Slowly they emerged, counted the living, the maimed, the dead, and followed.
The voice at the heart of the wildfire drew them, there was glory in the cathedral of the flames.
Wolfram - May 14, 2015 3:48:22 pm PDT #6281 of 6687
Visilurking
Now I'm hungry.
Amy - May 14, 2015 3:58:10 pm PDT #6282 of 6687
Because books.
I did one, too!
~
She was the kind of bored that wriggled and squirmed and itched. The sun-struck piece of broken glass looked like something to scratch it with, even if she wasn’t sure how yet.
Poking hurt. It was too early to smash it, even if the sound would be satisfying. She held it low to the dead grass, to watch the sun flare inside it. The flame was just a curled finger of heat until the breeze blew it higher. Tearing through the dry brush like a hot snake. Merciless, irrevocable, beautiful.
Eight years old, and she had chosen fire over blood.