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psalm_onethirtyoneStolen from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reincineir.
Write something for me. Just for me. Post it in your journal so everyone else can see it, too. A sentence, a paragraph. Nanofiction. Short story. A scene, dialogue, a picture described, a moment, anything. Long or short. But it's got to be just for me. Tell the world you wrote it for me, even. Mine.
Then feel free to put this up in your own journal, and I'll reciprocate.
I am going to go to bed sometime to-night. Demmit.
reincineir.Write something for me. Just for me. Post it in your journal so everyone else can see it, too. A sentence, a paragraph. Nanofiction. Short story. A scene, dialogue, a picture described, a moment, anything. Long or short. But it's got to be just for me. Tell the world you wrote it for me, even. Mine.
Then feel free to put this up in your own journal, and I'll reciprocate.
I am going to go to bed sometime to-night. Demmit.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-21 09:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-21 09:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-21 09:54 pm (UTC)They kissed when they greeted. It wasn't truly even a kiss, just touching their cheeks together, first right, then left, and making the smacking noises to the air. The one dared, on the second time, to let his lips brush the other's cheek. He didn't seem to notice.
The one was small, with ever-slipping spectacles and a world in shades of gray. The other was tall, and perhaps that was why he could see the sky and the ideals beyond it so well. They would walk together and talk of nothing, for they had nothing in common except each other.
When it started raining, once, during their walk, the other took the one by the hand and hurried him through the streets, to the little apartment that was his home. He saw home, and the warmth and coffee and sweet dreams associated with it. The one saw the gray of the flat, the way the other had to stoop to get through the doorway. The other saw the perfect alignment of the bed and window so one could greet the morning the moment it was born. The one wondered at the logic of having everything dirty but the window.
The one sat Indian-style on the bed, for the one chair lacked a seat. He peered through the spotless glass at the gray of the city, the black, hunched silhouettes of the people fighting against the wind with their umbrellas and losing. The other sat beside him, and they let the mugs warm their hands and watched the rain. At last, it lightened, the clouds parted a little, and for a moment only one shaft of sunlight could break through. It seemed meant for them, it went right to the little gray window box and to the only flower within that had managed not to flatten under the pounding of the rain. Its little bell head was bowed and droplets gathered in its cupped leaves and the sun seemed to shine only for it.
"Is it not beautiful?" the other whispered.
"It only lasts for a second," the one said. "Tomorrow, we will not even remember."
"That is the beauty," the other said, and the one nodded, but looked away from the gray flower. He disliked things he didn't understand.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 07:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 10:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-23 12:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 02:10 am (UTC)And so, tonight, for you there is no moon. There are clouds, crusted over the sky, and rain sliding slowly from them. Just last night you nearly tripped over the curb and fell into the street because you were watching Cassiopeia and wondering if she would ever get fed up and step off her chair and wander away somewhere into some other story entirely. But now, now there are no stars. No stars at all. For you.
The streetlights feel dimmer than usual, and you have to strain to see in the darkness. You're not shivering - you rarely shiver - but you are cold, cold deeper than just the top layer of your skin. Your grandpa's raincoat keeps you dry, but it's only a layer of vinyl over thin cloth, and it doesn't keep you warm.
You're tired, and hungry, and you keep stumbling, or maybe staggering is a better word. It's hard to walk straight, and you worry that maybe you look a little drunk, though you haven't had any alcohol for two months, and that was only half a wine glass of a nice, light white. You wouldn't like to be mistaken for a drunk. You're not. You've never been drunk in your life.
You look up, and there's the clouds, and they don't reflect anything, not like they usually do. There's a whole city out there with light to reflect, but these clouds aren't in the mood. That makes it darker.
Lamplight glitters off of a deep puddle by the curb, and you hop over it, only to trip into a deeper puddle a few feet on. The water soaks your feet, and it's cold, and you look up at nothing, and wonder if this is the night you're going to cry for her.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 07:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 12:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 07:10 pm (UTC)