another challenge from @catinabaglady, this one somewhat smuttier than the last.
it still makes me blush to post something like this, but i'm sure i'll get over it... i hope...
Phone
When her mobile sang out from the bedside table, it dragged her out of a deep, exhausted slumber that she had not been in for very long. Squinting her eyes against the bright morning light, she just about managed to find it and slide it open. Falling back against the rucked pillows, she croaked, "Hello?"
The mildly amused voice on the other end sent a little flare of joy through her belly, and went a long way towards dragging her further from sleep.
"Good morning, my pet."
Smiling sleepily, "Good morning, Sir."
"Still in bed?"
"Not been sleeping well, Sir. I miss you."
She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "Poor thing - it's hard for you when I'm away, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. But I know you have to go."
"I miss you too, my pet."
She felt a smug satisfaction at that. Guilt, though, and sympathy, came hot on its heels. Poor thing - he must be aching.
"I'm so sorry to hear that, Sir." She snuggled a little deeper into the quilt and pillows, imagining his arms around her, stroking her, soothing away her loneliness, and his.
"Have you been a good girl?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Not been touching yourself while I've been away, have you?"
Pride crept into her voice. It had been hard work, while missing him so much this past week, to keep her hands off herself, as instructed. But she had done it. Sometimes, she'd found herself doing extra housework, despite her keeping herself and the apartment flawless and spotless, just to try and distract herself from that burgeoning itch that had got stronger and stronger as the days had gone on. But somehow, she had managed. "No, sir - I haven't."
She heard the smile widen, slightly. "That's my good girl. I bet it's been difficult, hasn't it? I bet your pussy's been nasty with your juices for days, hasn't it?"
She shivered with desire. "Yes, sir - it has."
"Is it now? Are you a dirty girl - all slippery from wanting?"
Her breathing and heartbeat began to speed up, a little. "Yes, sir."
"Are you sure? Put your fingers down there and feel, my pet - tell me how wet you are."
Slowly, she did as she was told, sliding her slightly trembling hand down her belly, through her neatly trimmed bush and finally reaching her naked pussy lips which were, indeed, slippery with her juices. She gasped when her fingertips brushed over her engorged clit.
"Tell me."
"I'm wet for you, sir. My pussy's dripping. My clit's budded hard and aching to feel your tongue lapping it." She slid a finger inside herself, then out again, with great difficulty. "My cunt's tight and hot - it's twitching to the sound of your voice, Sir."
His breathing was getting a little heavier. "Do you want to put your fingers in there, you dirty little slut?"
She gasped as she felt her cunt spasm harder. "Yes, sir... oh, yes please, sir..."
"Very well - you may have three."
"Oh, thank you, sir!" she moaned, back arching as she slid three fingers into her pussy and began to slide them in and out of herself, juices flooding around and between her fingers.
"Fuck yourself then, my pet. Dig your fingers deep. Squeeze them as hard as you can with that tight little pussy I love so much. Let me hear how much a dirty little slut like you enjoys playing with herself."
And she did. Slamming her hand into herself repeatedly and wetly, she moaned and gasped and arched and trembled. Soon, he heard a change in her breathing, even as his became hoarse and ragged at the sound of his pet pleasuring herself so very, very far away.
"P... Please, Sir..." she could barely control her voice enough to ask, "Please m... may I come, Sir?"
A deep breath, then: "Yes - come for me, my pet - let me hear how much you miss me."
She let go. Her back arched until only her shoulders, buttocks and heels were touching the bed, and she wailed loud and long, an answering groan coming from the phone still clamped to her ear.
Collapsing on the bed, she lolled and panted, trying to get her breath back, her heart thundering.
From the phone came a hoarse whisper. "I love you, darling. I'll see you tonight."
"I love you, too. And I can't wait. Take care."
"You too, my pet."
As she closed the phone, the bright morning sun caught the gold ring on her left hand. She was still aching for him - there was no other feeling in the world like his cock slamming inside her. But she only had to wait a few more hours to see her husband again.
.
Showing posts with label flashfic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flashfic. Show all posts
Sunday, 9 January 2011
Thursday, 6 January 2011
30 day blog challenge - day 06 - whatever tickles your fancy
well, that's a very useful coincidence.
you see, today is my wedding anniversary. also, my first-day-of-being-together anniversary. the former is 6 years, the latter 15, and tonight, we go out to eat lovely foods. so i won't really have time to do any blogging tonight - therefore i blog at work. but what to blog?
it just so happens that i was inspired (and challenged, by the by, by @catinabaglady - hi, princess! :) *waves*), to write a little something inspired by the ubiquitous ladder in my tights. so i shall post it for today's 30 day challenge offering.
Ladder.
It’s dark, and cold, and I’m bleary. Slumping into my usual seat, I scrub my face with a gloved hand and yawn. The rumbling of the bus’s engine is soporific, and I resist the urge to close my sore eyes. Damn winter mornings.
Yawning again, I glance around at the other passengers, and my eyes widen a little in surprise. The bus fairy is here.
Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Indeed, I feel stupid thinking it. But that’s the name she’s earned for herself in my head. In her early twenties, her hair a permanent and artful birds nest, her make up subtly fantastical, and her clothes the ultimate in hippy chic.
I mostly see her in the summer, haven’t seen her for months now. I was beginning to get the weird notion that she was a creature of the warm weather, and that she was hibernating in a den of soft furs somewhere north of the Arctic Circle, the lights of the aurora singing pleasant dreams to her as she slept.
But no – here she is. I steal surreptitious glances at her as the bus begins to move, and she crosses one leg over the other, left over right, settling deeper into her seat. Looks tired, no make up, and her torso is bundled up in many scarves and an old army jacket against the biting chill. My eyes travel down her body to where her legs poke out of the bottom of the swaddled mass of her clothing. Feet and calves tucked up warm and snug in the most enormously shaggy furry boots I’ve ever seen. She wears them in summer, too, but they’re far more suited to this bitter cold, and I envy her undoubtedly warm feet.
Incongruous to the rest of her attire, though, her legs are encased only in mustard coloured tights. Sort of a soft, yellowy brown colour which, on anyone else, would look awful. Somehow, though, her fey charm carries them off with aplomb and certainty. I’ve seen them before, of course, and they must be favourites, because they are a little the worse for wear. I notice a snag, here and there, and a ladder. On the inside of her right knee, it starts just below the top of her calf and travels up, only a quarter of an inch wide, and disappears underneath her crossed leg and the hem of her skirt. I find myself staring, and quickly flick my eyes away as she moves, settling her body a little, burrowing a little further down into her protective cocoon.
I know it’s rude to stare, but gradually, my eyes make their way back to that tiny, exposed strip of soft, creamy flesh at her knee, and I marvel. I wonder what it would feel like to run the tip of my index finger slowly along that gap. To feel the yield and warmth of that beautiful, pale skin. My eyes half-close as the reverie overtakes me. Half-dreaming, I watch her shift uncomfortably, and re-cross her legs; right over left this time. Those tights must be near the end of their useful life, as the movement causes the ladder to grow. As her right leg settles in place, the ladder widens slightly, and a pinstripe run bursts from the top. I can almost hear the faint zipping noise, as it races along her soft inner thigh, and into the darkness under the hem of her skirt, ridden up now to mid-thigh. Now I have a perfect view of the ladder. It’s a cliché’, I know – or a bad chat-up line – but just at that point, my ethereal finger is replaced my the tip of my tongue as I gently trace the path of the ladder along that soft, sensitive flesh. Would she be ticklish, I wonder? Would she giggle as my tongue’s tip traced its way around the bend of her knee, along her inner thigh? Would she sigh and open her legs a little, to allow my tongue to continue its journey? All the way to the end of that ladder? How far up does it run, I wonder? All the way…?
The bus jerks and hisses as we reach a stop, shaking me out of my head and back into the real world. Even as I feel a blush heating my face, my traitor eyes follow her body as she stands and prepares to leave the bus. Just before I force my eyes to the floor, though, I swear I catch a glint in her eyes.
A half-smile quirking the corner of her mouth…
.
you see, today is my wedding anniversary. also, my first-day-of-being-together anniversary. the former is 6 years, the latter 15, and tonight, we go out to eat lovely foods. so i won't really have time to do any blogging tonight - therefore i blog at work. but what to blog?
it just so happens that i was inspired (and challenged, by the by, by @catinabaglady - hi, princess! :) *waves*), to write a little something inspired by the ubiquitous ladder in my tights. so i shall post it for today's 30 day challenge offering.
Ladder.
It’s dark, and cold, and I’m bleary. Slumping into my usual seat, I scrub my face with a gloved hand and yawn. The rumbling of the bus’s engine is soporific, and I resist the urge to close my sore eyes. Damn winter mornings.
Yawning again, I glance around at the other passengers, and my eyes widen a little in surprise. The bus fairy is here.
Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Indeed, I feel stupid thinking it. But that’s the name she’s earned for herself in my head. In her early twenties, her hair a permanent and artful birds nest, her make up subtly fantastical, and her clothes the ultimate in hippy chic.
I mostly see her in the summer, haven’t seen her for months now. I was beginning to get the weird notion that she was a creature of the warm weather, and that she was hibernating in a den of soft furs somewhere north of the Arctic Circle, the lights of the aurora singing pleasant dreams to her as she slept.
But no – here she is. I steal surreptitious glances at her as the bus begins to move, and she crosses one leg over the other, left over right, settling deeper into her seat. Looks tired, no make up, and her torso is bundled up in many scarves and an old army jacket against the biting chill. My eyes travel down her body to where her legs poke out of the bottom of the swaddled mass of her clothing. Feet and calves tucked up warm and snug in the most enormously shaggy furry boots I’ve ever seen. She wears them in summer, too, but they’re far more suited to this bitter cold, and I envy her undoubtedly warm feet.
Incongruous to the rest of her attire, though, her legs are encased only in mustard coloured tights. Sort of a soft, yellowy brown colour which, on anyone else, would look awful. Somehow, though, her fey charm carries them off with aplomb and certainty. I’ve seen them before, of course, and they must be favourites, because they are a little the worse for wear. I notice a snag, here and there, and a ladder. On the inside of her right knee, it starts just below the top of her calf and travels up, only a quarter of an inch wide, and disappears underneath her crossed leg and the hem of her skirt. I find myself staring, and quickly flick my eyes away as she moves, settling her body a little, burrowing a little further down into her protective cocoon.
I know it’s rude to stare, but gradually, my eyes make their way back to that tiny, exposed strip of soft, creamy flesh at her knee, and I marvel. I wonder what it would feel like to run the tip of my index finger slowly along that gap. To feel the yield and warmth of that beautiful, pale skin. My eyes half-close as the reverie overtakes me. Half-dreaming, I watch her shift uncomfortably, and re-cross her legs; right over left this time. Those tights must be near the end of their useful life, as the movement causes the ladder to grow. As her right leg settles in place, the ladder widens slightly, and a pinstripe run bursts from the top. I can almost hear the faint zipping noise, as it races along her soft inner thigh, and into the darkness under the hem of her skirt, ridden up now to mid-thigh. Now I have a perfect view of the ladder. It’s a cliché’, I know – or a bad chat-up line – but just at that point, my ethereal finger is replaced my the tip of my tongue as I gently trace the path of the ladder along that soft, sensitive flesh. Would she be ticklish, I wonder? Would she giggle as my tongue’s tip traced its way around the bend of her knee, along her inner thigh? Would she sigh and open her legs a little, to allow my tongue to continue its journey? All the way to the end of that ladder? How far up does it run, I wonder? All the way…?
The bus jerks and hisses as we reach a stop, shaking me out of my head and back into the real world. Even as I feel a blush heating my face, my traitor eyes follow her body as she stands and prepares to leave the bus. Just before I force my eyes to the floor, though, I swear I catch a glint in her eyes.
A half-smile quirking the corner of her mouth…
.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
christmas and flash and drabbles.
well... it seems quite some time since i last blogged... i suppose it is, since the last time i did, it was to crow about being a NaNoWriMo winner again... nothing much has happened, since, anyway.
Max The Literary Kitteh continues to be utterly, utterly gorgeous and adorable (apart from his breath... eugh! :oP he needs his teeth cleaning, i think...) and to sit all over me and purr thunderously whenever i'm on the pooter. or even just sat down, actually. i'm better padded than hubby, you see... also, i have a fondness for hot water bottles which he, being a cat, shares completely. as we do the hot water bottles.
so... like i said, not a lot's been going on. apart from Christmas preperations, of course. i have been unbelievably crap this year. so many people are getting money or amazon vouchers, i'm just anticipating how many times i'll be repeating:
"No, we* weren't sure what to get you and we thought rather than get you something you might not need or like here's and essentially boring and unimagintive christmas present that just shows how utterly crap i am at this sort of thing apart from the odd genius flash of inspiration that happens about once every two ears and unfortunately that didn't happen for anyone this year...."
*(n.b for "we" in this contex, read "me" - hubby doesn't really do the getting of presents in our house - no pressure at all... :-/)
would anyone care to open a sweepstake on it...?
hmph. bah bloody humbug. oh, well - at least we'll get to see friends we don't see nearly often enough.
although, to be fair to myself, i *did* in fact manage to aquire, wrap and post presents for my brother, sister-in-law and niece in astonishingly good time this year. was actually quite proud of this achievement (despite the fact that the parcel also contained sis-in-law's birthday present which should have reached her by the 5th of november... *facepalm*) and continuing the theme of being fair to myself, there were, in fact, lot of things that we (I) thought of that would make perfect presents. but not being a Rothschild heiress or willing to go deeply into debt, i set a £20 limit on each person's gift. i do not wish to start 2011 in hock, TVM...
in other (though related) news, last thursday evening, i was home alone for the one night a year that hubby sleeps elsewhere. it was his christmas do at work and the tradition is that the boss takes everyone out for a meal, and then gets them all rat-arsed. he hires rooms for those who do not live within walking distance, and they all get about four hours sleep and raging hangovers to go to work on the following day. since he works about 20 miles away, hubby is one of those put up in a B&B for the night. so it was just me and teh kitteh. having watched BBC4's adaptation of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams (excellent, by the way - genius casting of Stephen Mangan as Dirk), at about 10:30, i got the urge to write a bit of flash fiction. but having absolutely no idea of what to write, i turned to Twitter for a bit of inspiration. asking for some random words, @eroticnotebook and @cha0tic obliged me very nicely (thanks, chaps!! :o) here are the results, with the words that inspired them:
Stripes gloss tangle (via @eroticnotebook)
Is it the gloss of her oh-so-kissable lips? The sun-born stripes in her artful tangle of hair? Or is it the sparkle in her eyes behind those cute black-framed glasses? Haven't a clue. Nor do I know when it was I first looked at her and knew I had a crush. But I do.
Every day, I see her. She walks the halls looking so fey, as if she'd just stepped out of Tir-Na-Nog for a delighted wander through the heaviness of the mortal world The clothes she wears are of the fashion, but on her they somehow become... other. Nothing really floats, nothing is really rich, or diaphanous, or... or... well, anything, really. But - and yes, I know it's a cliché - somehow, the way she wears them... it makes me sigh. She inhabits the space around her as if the world was perfectly formed to fit her, and she moves through it on the lightest of feet encased in the most damnably sensible and masculine shoes I ever saw on such a creature of faerie. She sits in a throne and lights the people around her to a soft, golden glow. We've barely ever spoken but, even from a distance, she makes the day a somehow softer and more artistic space in time.
~ fin ~
Brick, Bandage, Pins, Backstage Pass, Pipe, Lighter fuel, Charger, Strobe, Watch (via @cha0tic)
The brick walls seep moisture. It's dank in here. It smells of clothes that have been left in the washing machine for a week, at the height of summer. A lone, miserable backstage pass lies in a corner, abandoned; still tangled in the lanyard that, in more energetic times, proudly displayed it around some young and fiery guitarist's neck. No energy left, now. Only lethargic inertia and decay. Congealed dust decorates every surface, clumping into weird shapes that tell the future more surely than any entrailed augury. They spell out the message, "The end is nigh." Rusted pins hold fragments of rotted paper to the oozing baize surface of a once-busy noticeboard. Random objects lie forgotten on odd surfaces. A smashed watch. A strobe that stopped working on the same long-distant night the club closed for the last time. An upended and useless tin of lighter fuel. A small plastic soldier, mounted on a white charger with only three legs. A length of bandage displaying brown smears on its wrinkled and greying surface.
The dripping of a cracked pipe on the sodden and sucking carpet is silenced forever as the wrecking ball obliterates the ghosts of glory days long gone.
~ fin ~
i was quite pleased that the results were at least readable. i tweeted them (with apologies for how depressing the second one was), and got some generous replies from some very nice people (if you're reading this, thank you all!). also an injunction never to apologise for having created something. which was lovely, and made me smile.
i enjoyed the exercise so much that, last night, i decided i'd like to repeat it. i asked for more words, and was deluged by my Twitterfriends. here's what they gave me this time:
oblige /dedication / label /sliced /sticky / marmalade and orange jam / herring / candle snuffers / Aliona Vilani's arse / stationary / propensity /constipation / germination / soft / effortless / heartache / dissolve / revolution /epiphany / revelation / exile / flood / depression / inquisition / debut / doubt / reason / tamales / books
all of these from @skypethis_24601, @DangerousSweets, @EbonyHampl, @thextraman, @TehAntiBubble, @DylynnDeSaint and @monkeystreehous. an embarrassment of riches! i decided i'd write some drabbles (for those who don't know, a drabble is a sort fiction of exactly 100 words - no easy task, but a delightful if, at times, frustrting thing to write). i took all of the words and mixed them up as best i could, producing several groups of three (getting hubby to provide one more to make it all even - he gave me "honey"), and proceeded to drabble. i only managed two last night, viz:
Label / sticky / marmalade
She never watched the show as a kid but, somehow, one episode stuck in her memory. The end of the world was coming, and there were these funny little creatures on a quest to save it. There was no rushing around, no panic - just a quiet dignity, and determination to get things done that stuck in her head; along with the sinister orange glow of a sun too large, old and swollen to care. She looked down, to where her ravaged fingernails picked at the label on a jar of marmalade. Outside, the sky was the same heavy, sticky colour.
and
germination / depression / herring
A depression in the soil may cradle a seed. The rain may fall, and the sun may shine. These, and countless other factors may, in time, lead to the germination of that seed, along with thousands of its siblings.
Likewise, a depression in life may cradle a seed, an idea. Into this life, the rain may fall, the sun may shine, and myriad other circumstances may lead to sprouting, flowering, the bearing of fruit. The cliché of the suffering artist is not so very far from the nature of the physical world. Or it could all be a red herring...
i'm looking forward to sinking my teeth into the rest, though, the next time i fancy a delicious writerly snack. :o)
here are the other trios i made - why don't you have a go yourself and send me the results?
effortless / doubt / propensity
dissolve / books / revolution
epiphany / sliced / inquisition
exile / constipation / dedication
reason / debut / tamales
candle snuffers / stationary / heartache
oblige / revelation / flood
soft / arse / honey
.
added edit: this post did have a tag for the "general uselessness of me", but i was ordered to remove it by the delightful @TehAntiBubble - and you do not mess with Teh Bubbles. ma'am, yes ma'am! *salutes* XXX
.
Max The Literary Kitteh continues to be utterly, utterly gorgeous and adorable (apart from his breath... eugh! :oP he needs his teeth cleaning, i think...) and to sit all over me and purr thunderously whenever i'm on the pooter. or even just sat down, actually. i'm better padded than hubby, you see... also, i have a fondness for hot water bottles which he, being a cat, shares completely. as we do the hot water bottles.
so... like i said, not a lot's been going on. apart from Christmas preperations, of course. i have been unbelievably crap this year. so many people are getting money or amazon vouchers, i'm just anticipating how many times i'll be repeating:
"No, we* weren't sure what to get you and we thought rather than get you something you might not need or like here's and essentially boring and unimagintive christmas present that just shows how utterly crap i am at this sort of thing apart from the odd genius flash of inspiration that happens about once every two ears and unfortunately that didn't happen for anyone this year...."
*(n.b for "we" in this contex, read "me" - hubby doesn't really do the getting of presents in our house - no pressure at all... :-/)
would anyone care to open a sweepstake on it...?
hmph. bah bloody humbug. oh, well - at least we'll get to see friends we don't see nearly often enough.
although, to be fair to myself, i *did* in fact manage to aquire, wrap and post presents for my brother, sister-in-law and niece in astonishingly good time this year. was actually quite proud of this achievement (despite the fact that the parcel also contained sis-in-law's birthday present which should have reached her by the 5th of november... *facepalm*) and continuing the theme of being fair to myself, there were, in fact, lot of things that we (I) thought of that would make perfect presents. but not being a Rothschild heiress or willing to go deeply into debt, i set a £20 limit on each person's gift. i do not wish to start 2011 in hock, TVM...
in other (though related) news, last thursday evening, i was home alone for the one night a year that hubby sleeps elsewhere. it was his christmas do at work and the tradition is that the boss takes everyone out for a meal, and then gets them all rat-arsed. he hires rooms for those who do not live within walking distance, and they all get about four hours sleep and raging hangovers to go to work on the following day. since he works about 20 miles away, hubby is one of those put up in a B&B for the night. so it was just me and teh kitteh. having watched BBC4's adaptation of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams (excellent, by the way - genius casting of Stephen Mangan as Dirk), at about 10:30, i got the urge to write a bit of flash fiction. but having absolutely no idea of what to write, i turned to Twitter for a bit of inspiration. asking for some random words, @eroticnotebook and @cha0tic obliged me very nicely (thanks, chaps!! :o) here are the results, with the words that inspired them:
Stripes gloss tangle (via @eroticnotebook)
Is it the gloss of her oh-so-kissable lips? The sun-born stripes in her artful tangle of hair? Or is it the sparkle in her eyes behind those cute black-framed glasses? Haven't a clue. Nor do I know when it was I first looked at her and knew I had a crush. But I do.
Every day, I see her. She walks the halls looking so fey, as if she'd just stepped out of Tir-Na-Nog for a delighted wander through the heaviness of the mortal world The clothes she wears are of the fashion, but on her they somehow become... other. Nothing really floats, nothing is really rich, or diaphanous, or... or... well, anything, really. But - and yes, I know it's a cliché - somehow, the way she wears them... it makes me sigh. She inhabits the space around her as if the world was perfectly formed to fit her, and she moves through it on the lightest of feet encased in the most damnably sensible and masculine shoes I ever saw on such a creature of faerie. She sits in a throne and lights the people around her to a soft, golden glow. We've barely ever spoken but, even from a distance, she makes the day a somehow softer and more artistic space in time.
~ fin ~
Brick, Bandage, Pins, Backstage Pass, Pipe, Lighter fuel, Charger, Strobe, Watch (via @cha0tic)
The brick walls seep moisture. It's dank in here. It smells of clothes that have been left in the washing machine for a week, at the height of summer. A lone, miserable backstage pass lies in a corner, abandoned; still tangled in the lanyard that, in more energetic times, proudly displayed it around some young and fiery guitarist's neck. No energy left, now. Only lethargic inertia and decay. Congealed dust decorates every surface, clumping into weird shapes that tell the future more surely than any entrailed augury. They spell out the message, "The end is nigh." Rusted pins hold fragments of rotted paper to the oozing baize surface of a once-busy noticeboard. Random objects lie forgotten on odd surfaces. A smashed watch. A strobe that stopped working on the same long-distant night the club closed for the last time. An upended and useless tin of lighter fuel. A small plastic soldier, mounted on a white charger with only three legs. A length of bandage displaying brown smears on its wrinkled and greying surface.
The dripping of a cracked pipe on the sodden and sucking carpet is silenced forever as the wrecking ball obliterates the ghosts of glory days long gone.
~ fin ~
i was quite pleased that the results were at least readable. i tweeted them (with apologies for how depressing the second one was), and got some generous replies from some very nice people (if you're reading this, thank you all!). also an injunction never to apologise for having created something. which was lovely, and made me smile.
i enjoyed the exercise so much that, last night, i decided i'd like to repeat it. i asked for more words, and was deluged by my Twitterfriends. here's what they gave me this time:
oblige /dedication / label /sliced /sticky / marmalade and orange jam / herring / candle snuffers / Aliona Vilani's arse / stationary / propensity /constipation / germination / soft / effortless / heartache / dissolve / revolution /epiphany / revelation / exile / flood / depression / inquisition / debut / doubt / reason / tamales / books
all of these from @skypethis_24601, @DangerousSweets, @EbonyHampl, @thextraman, @TehAntiBubble, @DylynnDeSaint and @monkeystreehous. an embarrassment of riches! i decided i'd write some drabbles (for those who don't know, a drabble is a sort fiction of exactly 100 words - no easy task, but a delightful if, at times, frustrting thing to write). i took all of the words and mixed them up as best i could, producing several groups of three (getting hubby to provide one more to make it all even - he gave me "honey"), and proceeded to drabble. i only managed two last night, viz:
Label / sticky / marmalade
She never watched the show as a kid but, somehow, one episode stuck in her memory. The end of the world was coming, and there were these funny little creatures on a quest to save it. There was no rushing around, no panic - just a quiet dignity, and determination to get things done that stuck in her head; along with the sinister orange glow of a sun too large, old and swollen to care. She looked down, to where her ravaged fingernails picked at the label on a jar of marmalade. Outside, the sky was the same heavy, sticky colour.
and
germination / depression / herring
A depression in the soil may cradle a seed. The rain may fall, and the sun may shine. These, and countless other factors may, in time, lead to the germination of that seed, along with thousands of its siblings.
Likewise, a depression in life may cradle a seed, an idea. Into this life, the rain may fall, the sun may shine, and myriad other circumstances may lead to sprouting, flowering, the bearing of fruit. The cliché of the suffering artist is not so very far from the nature of the physical world. Or it could all be a red herring...
i'm looking forward to sinking my teeth into the rest, though, the next time i fancy a delicious writerly snack. :o)
here are the other trios i made - why don't you have a go yourself and send me the results?
effortless / doubt / propensity
dissolve / books / revolution
epiphany / sliced / inquisition
exile / constipation / dedication
reason / debut / tamales
candle snuffers / stationary / heartache
oblige / revelation / flood
soft / arse / honey
.
added edit: this post did have a tag for the "general uselessness of me", but i was ordered to remove it by the delightful @TehAntiBubble - and you do not mess with Teh Bubbles. ma'am, yes ma'am! *salutes* XXX
.
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