“Tirella, Mirella, Breakfast!” called our mother. Mother is the only one who calls us by our full names, most people call us Tia and Mia. And often enough they call us the wrong one. We don't mind. We barely slept last night. Today we were off to our new school. Hogwarts. Mother and Father have told us heaps of stories about their days at school. We can't wait to see whether we will be in Hufflepuff like Mother or Ravenclaw like Father. Though we suppose that we may end up in Gryffindor or Slytherin. Our trunks are all packed and Ella, our owl, will be downstairs having her own breakfast.
After breakfast Father magics our trunks into the car. And we are off. Off to King's Cross Station and the train to Hogwarts.
We were early. “Here we are, platform nine,” said Father, he and Mother were pushing Mia's cart while we pushed Tia's and held Ella. “Just walk through the barrier between platform nine and ten.” Mother instructed. We admit we closed our eyes before walking through but we heard people talking, then we heard different people talking so we opened our eyes and got our first look at the Hogwarts express. Mother and Father were right behind us. “Choose a compartment girls.” said Father. “Your Mother and I will help get your trunks in. “All right.” “Thank you.” we said as we found an empty compartment. “This one.” we said, choosing one near the front of the train, but not at the front. Father and Mia took Mia's trunk while Mother and Tia took Tia's trunk. Ella having been put in already. We placed the trunks tucked away in a corner of the compartment. “There's Mrs Weasley.” said Mother. “Her twin terrors will be starting this year won't they?” asked Father. “Molly!” called Mother, “Jennifer!” replied Mrs Weasley. “So these are your famous twins!” said Father. “This is Fred, and this is George.” Mrs Weasley introduced the twins. “Tirella and Mirella.” replied Mother introducing us. “Nice to meet you.” we said. “Enchanté” they replied in unison with a bow. “Would you like to sit with us?” we asked indicating the compartment we had chosen. They just bowed and picked up their trunks and placed them next to ours. We left our parents talking. “I heard that the sorting test is you have to fight an ogre...” said Fred once we were seated. “Really?” we asked, “Hogwarts, a history says it's a hat. Godric Gryffindor's hat.” we reply. “Bill was probably making it up.” replied George.
Travel was uneventful, we got some candy from the cart, and bought some for our new friends. Then we were there. “First years!” called a loud voice. “First years over here! Leave your trunks, they'll be along!” he called. We followed Fred and George to the boats and our first view of Hogwarts.
“Told you it was a hat.” we whispered to the Weasley twins as we were instructed about the Sorting hat and listened to its song. We joined the que.
“Fred Weasley” “GRYFFINDOR”, “George Weasly” “GRYFFINDOR”. This was hardly a surprise, all their family were Gryffindors.
“Tirella Prewett”, How odd to be sorted apart. What if we are in separate houses? No. We will not consider it. The Sorting hat takes our preference into account, Mother said so. Tia placed on the hat. “Hmmm interesting... plenty of intelligence, and plenty of tolerance... hmmm... Interesting... Two halves of a whole almost... Well you'd both better be RAVENCLAW”, “Mirella Prewett” The sorting hat barely touched her head when it yelled “RAVENCLAW”. Together, for Tia had waited, we joined our Housemates. It was a pity not to be in the same House as the Weasleys but we would see them around.
Wordcount: 660
Disclaimer: I do not own Hogwarts or any other part of J.K. Rowling's world or characters I only own Tia and Mia.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Challenge 6
The Royal We
Write a first person-plural narration of an event from the POV of a close-knit couple (not necessarily lovers or opposite sex). This means the narratice should sound a bit like this:
We found the body in the outhouse, and Jenny got the can of gasoline from the garage while Benjamin removed all the toilet paper folls stacked up on the door shelves (no sense wasting them).
The reader should not be able to discern who is telling the story - do not use 'I' at all in this exercise (not even in dialog).
Wordcount: 600 (+/- 10%)
Write a first person-plural narration of an event from the POV of a close-knit couple (not necessarily lovers or opposite sex). This means the narratice should sound a bit like this:
We found the body in the outhouse, and Jenny got the can of gasoline from the garage while Benjamin removed all the toilet paper folls stacked up on the door shelves (no sense wasting them).
The reader should not be able to discern who is telling the story - do not use 'I' at all in this exercise (not even in dialog).
Wordcount: 600 (+/- 10%)
Challenge 5: Leaving Louisiana
February 14th
It is hardly surprising that I have no valentines today. My school is a prison and boys are the devil. I look out, through the bars of my cell, and see other girls dancing merrily on the street or walking by on their lover’s arm. I shall never be one of them. My father already knows who he wants me to marry. Less than a year and I shall be Mrs. Louis Rodger, baroness of the largest plantation in Carencro, Louisiana. Oh hell, that old man is twice my age and five times my weight. I fear he shall squash the very life out of me on our wedding night.
February 19th
Academy of the Sacred Heart. There is a sort of comfort in that name, don’t you think? I was in mass this morning and Sister Maria spoke about a part of our heart that no man can touch. I mean, to tell the truth, the catholic church is probably short of nuns at the moment, so maybe she is just recruiting, but still…
February 20th
My room-sister, Elizabeth, found my diary last night. I was such a fool, leaving it just sitting on top of my chest like that. She has promised she didn’t read it, but I am not sure I believe her. I will definitely lock it up when I am finished tonight.
March 17th
Back at last. My father and mother took me out of school for nearly four weeks to visit my future husband’s estate. Can you believe that I would rather spend my days in this two person cell than as mistress of such a place? Neither can I. The tour was certainly impressive, golden fields stretching out to the horizon, food so plentiful that I would soon look as large as dear Louis himself. Could I put aside the knowledge of where it all comes from? Do I even have a choice?
There’s another thing too… Louis took me aside into his library on the afternoon before we were to head back to New Orleans and he told me he was very happy that father was agreeing to this marriage. He promised me all sorts of pretty dresses and parties and that I would be one of the most popular ladies in Carencro… maybe I would even get to meet the president some day. He seemed sweet, but I know he was wrong. The president hates men like Louis Rodger. I hear it from Sister Agnes who is the only black nun at Sacred Heart school. She says that there is a war coming and the South is going to feel the pain of god’s wrath.
Now I’m back here, sitting in my tiny room, staring out my barred windows and I can hear Elizabeth snoring behind me. She doesn’t notice my candlelight, or maybe she pretends not to anyway. She’s a good girl, when it comes down to it. Maybe she wouldn’t tell, at least for a little while. See papa has decided that whatever he is getting from ol’ Louis for me, he can not wait any more. I overheard him talking to the matron about taking me out, maybe at the end of the month. I only have a few more days.
Please god, help me decide. What should I do?
April 4th
The hay is getting everywhere, under my shirt and into my worn out shoes. I barely recognize myself as I cower here, behind the bales, listening to dogs howling to each other. I am not a prisoner any more, I am a runaway slave, or near enough. I am certainly a fool.
Has it really been a half month since I wrote? I suppose I did not want Elizabeth to know my plans. Perhaps now she can marry old Louis, she seems like the sort who would enjoy that sort of thing. Myself, I could not live without adventure, nor with the blood of those men and women in my sugar. Figuratively, of course.
Papa will never forgive me for what I have done; I only hope God will be a little more understanding.
Wordcount: 708
It is hardly surprising that I have no valentines today. My school is a prison and boys are the devil. I look out, through the bars of my cell, and see other girls dancing merrily on the street or walking by on their lover’s arm. I shall never be one of them. My father already knows who he wants me to marry. Less than a year and I shall be Mrs. Louis Rodger, baroness of the largest plantation in Carencro, Louisiana. Oh hell, that old man is twice my age and five times my weight. I fear he shall squash the very life out of me on our wedding night.
February 19th
Academy of the Sacred Heart. There is a sort of comfort in that name, don’t you think? I was in mass this morning and Sister Maria spoke about a part of our heart that no man can touch. I mean, to tell the truth, the catholic church is probably short of nuns at the moment, so maybe she is just recruiting, but still…
February 20th
My room-sister, Elizabeth, found my diary last night. I was such a fool, leaving it just sitting on top of my chest like that. She has promised she didn’t read it, but I am not sure I believe her. I will definitely lock it up when I am finished tonight.
March 17th
Back at last. My father and mother took me out of school for nearly four weeks to visit my future husband’s estate. Can you believe that I would rather spend my days in this two person cell than as mistress of such a place? Neither can I. The tour was certainly impressive, golden fields stretching out to the horizon, food so plentiful that I would soon look as large as dear Louis himself. Could I put aside the knowledge of where it all comes from? Do I even have a choice?
There’s another thing too… Louis took me aside into his library on the afternoon before we were to head back to New Orleans and he told me he was very happy that father was agreeing to this marriage. He promised me all sorts of pretty dresses and parties and that I would be one of the most popular ladies in Carencro… maybe I would even get to meet the president some day. He seemed sweet, but I know he was wrong. The president hates men like Louis Rodger. I hear it from Sister Agnes who is the only black nun at Sacred Heart school. She says that there is a war coming and the South is going to feel the pain of god’s wrath.
Now I’m back here, sitting in my tiny room, staring out my barred windows and I can hear Elizabeth snoring behind me. She doesn’t notice my candlelight, or maybe she pretends not to anyway. She’s a good girl, when it comes down to it. Maybe she wouldn’t tell, at least for a little while. See papa has decided that whatever he is getting from ol’ Louis for me, he can not wait any more. I overheard him talking to the matron about taking me out, maybe at the end of the month. I only have a few more days.
Please god, help me decide. What should I do?
April 4th
The hay is getting everywhere, under my shirt and into my worn out shoes. I barely recognize myself as I cower here, behind the bales, listening to dogs howling to each other. I am not a prisoner any more, I am a runaway slave, or near enough. I am certainly a fool.
Has it really been a half month since I wrote? I suppose I did not want Elizabeth to know my plans. Perhaps now she can marry old Louis, she seems like the sort who would enjoy that sort of thing. Myself, I could not live without adventure, nor with the blood of those men and women in my sugar. Figuratively, of course.
Papa will never forgive me for what I have done; I only hope God will be a little more understanding.
Wordcount: 708
Challenge 5: The new guy
December 26th
Dear Diary – That's how you start these things right? I'm not sure what to write here really. Life is average really. Yesterday was Christmas. The first with Mum's new boyfriend. Which is why I'm writing this really. This diary was his Christmas gift to me and I'll hear about it from mum if I don't use it. I will admit that I like that he replaced the pathetic lock this thing came with by adding a proper padlock to the gift. Complete with packaging so I know who has access to it. He even gave me a neat chain to keep the keys on. Apart from the fact that I barely know the man he seems ok. Better than mum's last boyfriends. Why Mum dated any of them is beyond me. Mum wouldn't tell me. I am fourteen years old, I would prefer it if she would talk to me. That's really my only complaint about my life. Ever since Dad died two years ago mum hasn't had time to talk to me. I understand that she has to work hard to keep our apartment, but I would prefer less money and more quality time. Maybe it will get better with this new guy.
December 27th
Today was amazing! Mum's new boyfriend took us to the Zoo! He actually got mum to take a day off! We actually had a almost 'family' discussion over lunch. This guy actually listened to me, encouraging me to be part of the conversation rather than seeming annoyed that he wasn't alone with Mum. And then, even better than the whole day. Tonight after he left mum actually asked me what I think of him. I, of course, responded that I liked him. That he seemed to make her happier than any of her other boyfriends. We spent most of the night talking. It was great! We had a proper discussion of everything. I actually told her that I missed spending time with her and she admitted that she did too. So now we have a regular mum and daughter evening arranged for Friday nights. I even added that her new boyfriend was welcome to join in sometimes if he wanted to. Mum looked really pleased at that.
December 31st
It seems that mum and the new guy have been going out for longer than I thought, because we are on our way to his family home for New Years. Apparently he has quite a large family, not siblings but all of his aunts and uncles are regular guests at his father's home along with their spouses and children and their children's spouses and children. I really should stop referring to him as the new guy his name is Cesare Corleone. He is very family oriented, he is the only one of his siblings that isn't married. Almost all of his stories are about one or other of his family. And they are all varied stories. His family seem to be in almost every career I can think of. Cesare is an architect. Apparently he met mum while she was working as a receptionist for someone. Mum does a lot of temp work as a receptionist, sometimes for a couple of weeks while someone is away sometimes for a years maternity leave.
January 5th
I meant to write in here earlier but things have been really hectic. New years was great, after mum and I met all of Cesare's family – I still can't get names straight in my head – mum and I had a bizzare 'interview' with Cesare's mother and father then it was like we were long-lost family. Then at midnight just as the countdown finished Cesare proposed to mum! This all seemed so quick! Mum glanced at me for just a second for me to nod before saying 'yes'. It seems that his family decided that he's been single for too long so the wedding is today! I don't know how I managed to find time to write this. I am to be mum's maid of honour, I'm too old to be a flower girl. Then I will be staying with my new grandparents while mum and my new dad go on their honey moon! And while they are away I am to help move both mum and I and Cesare into the house that is their wedding present from his parents! They don't know that yet, I was called in to make sure that mum would like the place and it's amazing! Now I really have to go!
Wordcount: 761
Dear Diary – That's how you start these things right? I'm not sure what to write here really. Life is average really. Yesterday was Christmas. The first with Mum's new boyfriend. Which is why I'm writing this really. This diary was his Christmas gift to me and I'll hear about it from mum if I don't use it. I will admit that I like that he replaced the pathetic lock this thing came with by adding a proper padlock to the gift. Complete with packaging so I know who has access to it. He even gave me a neat chain to keep the keys on. Apart from the fact that I barely know the man he seems ok. Better than mum's last boyfriends. Why Mum dated any of them is beyond me. Mum wouldn't tell me. I am fourteen years old, I would prefer it if she would talk to me. That's really my only complaint about my life. Ever since Dad died two years ago mum hasn't had time to talk to me. I understand that she has to work hard to keep our apartment, but I would prefer less money and more quality time. Maybe it will get better with this new guy.
December 27th
Today was amazing! Mum's new boyfriend took us to the Zoo! He actually got mum to take a day off! We actually had a almost 'family' discussion over lunch. This guy actually listened to me, encouraging me to be part of the conversation rather than seeming annoyed that he wasn't alone with Mum. And then, even better than the whole day. Tonight after he left mum actually asked me what I think of him. I, of course, responded that I liked him. That he seemed to make her happier than any of her other boyfriends. We spent most of the night talking. It was great! We had a proper discussion of everything. I actually told her that I missed spending time with her and she admitted that she did too. So now we have a regular mum and daughter evening arranged for Friday nights. I even added that her new boyfriend was welcome to join in sometimes if he wanted to. Mum looked really pleased at that.
December 31st
It seems that mum and the new guy have been going out for longer than I thought, because we are on our way to his family home for New Years. Apparently he has quite a large family, not siblings but all of his aunts and uncles are regular guests at his father's home along with their spouses and children and their children's spouses and children. I really should stop referring to him as the new guy his name is Cesare Corleone. He is very family oriented, he is the only one of his siblings that isn't married. Almost all of his stories are about one or other of his family. And they are all varied stories. His family seem to be in almost every career I can think of. Cesare is an architect. Apparently he met mum while she was working as a receptionist for someone. Mum does a lot of temp work as a receptionist, sometimes for a couple of weeks while someone is away sometimes for a years maternity leave.
January 5th
I meant to write in here earlier but things have been really hectic. New years was great, after mum and I met all of Cesare's family – I still can't get names straight in my head – mum and I had a bizzare 'interview' with Cesare's mother and father then it was like we were long-lost family. Then at midnight just as the countdown finished Cesare proposed to mum! This all seemed so quick! Mum glanced at me for just a second for me to nod before saying 'yes'. It seems that his family decided that he's been single for too long so the wedding is today! I don't know how I managed to find time to write this. I am to be mum's maid of honour, I'm too old to be a flower girl. Then I will be staying with my new grandparents while mum and my new dad go on their honey moon! And while they are away I am to help move both mum and I and Cesare into the house that is their wedding present from his parents! They don't know that yet, I was called in to make sure that mum would like the place and it's amazing! Now I really have to go!
Wordcount: 761
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Challenge 5: Tomatoes
November 20th
“I planted plants while he brews beer” I love it when life matches up to my favourite songs like that. Technically speaking it was vodka he was brewing and I'm not sure that setting up the hydroponics counts as planting but it's close enough for me.
I've just realised how bad that sounded. If anyone finds diary this they are going to think we sound like drug dealers. It makes me giggle to think that I'm actually growing real hydroponic tomatoes. Along with beans and carrots too. I wish we could have a real veggie garden but this apartment is on the 3rd floor.
As for the vodka, well... it's not like making your own is illegal or anything. And it's so much cheaper.
I've decided that once I finish my degree this time next year that both of us are going on an OE together to London. He can find a job in a pub and I can get one in a museum or whatever it is that people do with a classics degree. They say that any couple who can travel together are made for each other. It could be a good way to test just how great we are together. I am sure we will come through it great. Hopefully it will show mum how serious I actually am about him so she can stop nagging me about it.
Anyway, I'd better go I'm getting kind of hungry.
November 23rd.
D has got a promotion at work so tonight we went out to celebrate! I felt like such a rebel sneaking home made limoncello into the restaurant but nobody caught me and it tastes so much better than anything they sell there. I never could get a taste for wine.
Dinner was very romantic, he had the steak and I had the pasta. I could hardly pay attention to the food though. There were actual candles at our table and fairy lights strung right across the roof. Not the swankiest of places but perfect for us. We don't really fit in to upmarket kind of places.
The waiter realised we were celebrating and asked us why. Before I could answer D said “It's her 25th birthday today” which is a complete lie. I'm 23 and my birthday is in June. The waiter congratulated me and brought me a free glass of wine. D drank it though of course.
Sometimes I worry about how easily he lies but I guess as long as he isn't lying to me it's ok.
December 28th
Wow, I can't believe it's been so long since I wrote anything. I just got so busy with Christmas that I didn't have time. I've managed to keep the plants alive anyway. Well... D helped. OK, maybe he's pretty much completely taken over. It's kind of odd really. He doesn't even like veges but he seems more than happy to be the one looking after them. He spends quite a bit of time looking after them now, I'm not sure what takes so long. When I asked him he said he was singing to them. I'd believe it too. He gets pretty stressed out so singing to plants could really help him feel better.
January 3rd
Worst. Day. Ever.
Well me and D split up. Our apartment got broken into by the police and it turns out that while D was 'looking after' my veges he decided it would be a good idea to rip them all out and replace them with pot. The guy who he bought all the plants off dobbed him in to get his own sentence decreased. We weren't even home when the police came to the house, I got home from work to find them there. Of course because I was the only one home they started grilling me about the plants and I had no idea what was going on.
Luckily them seem to believe that I didn't know about it although they could just be humouring me. D hasn't come home yet.
I guess when I said that we split up it wasn't exactly true, I haven't actually seen him yet since the police were here. He's as good as broken up with anyway. Luckily the lease is in my name so he can just piss right off and I can stay here.
I'd better go type out my formal statement for the police
word count
740
“I planted plants while he brews beer” I love it when life matches up to my favourite songs like that. Technically speaking it was vodka he was brewing and I'm not sure that setting up the hydroponics counts as planting but it's close enough for me.
I've just realised how bad that sounded. If anyone finds diary this they are going to think we sound like drug dealers. It makes me giggle to think that I'm actually growing real hydroponic tomatoes. Along with beans and carrots too. I wish we could have a real veggie garden but this apartment is on the 3rd floor.
As for the vodka, well... it's not like making your own is illegal or anything. And it's so much cheaper.
I've decided that once I finish my degree this time next year that both of us are going on an OE together to London. He can find a job in a pub and I can get one in a museum or whatever it is that people do with a classics degree. They say that any couple who can travel together are made for each other. It could be a good way to test just how great we are together. I am sure we will come through it great. Hopefully it will show mum how serious I actually am about him so she can stop nagging me about it.
Anyway, I'd better go I'm getting kind of hungry.
November 23rd.
D has got a promotion at work so tonight we went out to celebrate! I felt like such a rebel sneaking home made limoncello into the restaurant but nobody caught me and it tastes so much better than anything they sell there. I never could get a taste for wine.
Dinner was very romantic, he had the steak and I had the pasta. I could hardly pay attention to the food though. There were actual candles at our table and fairy lights strung right across the roof. Not the swankiest of places but perfect for us. We don't really fit in to upmarket kind of places.
The waiter realised we were celebrating and asked us why. Before I could answer D said “It's her 25th birthday today” which is a complete lie. I'm 23 and my birthday is in June. The waiter congratulated me and brought me a free glass of wine. D drank it though of course.
Sometimes I worry about how easily he lies but I guess as long as he isn't lying to me it's ok.
December 28th
Wow, I can't believe it's been so long since I wrote anything. I just got so busy with Christmas that I didn't have time. I've managed to keep the plants alive anyway. Well... D helped. OK, maybe he's pretty much completely taken over. It's kind of odd really. He doesn't even like veges but he seems more than happy to be the one looking after them. He spends quite a bit of time looking after them now, I'm not sure what takes so long. When I asked him he said he was singing to them. I'd believe it too. He gets pretty stressed out so singing to plants could really help him feel better.
January 3rd
Worst. Day. Ever.
Well me and D split up. Our apartment got broken into by the police and it turns out that while D was 'looking after' my veges he decided it would be a good idea to rip them all out and replace them with pot. The guy who he bought all the plants off dobbed him in to get his own sentence decreased. We weren't even home when the police came to the house, I got home from work to find them there. Of course because I was the only one home they started grilling me about the plants and I had no idea what was going on.
Luckily them seem to believe that I didn't know about it although they could just be humouring me. D hasn't come home yet.
I guess when I said that we split up it wasn't exactly true, I haven't actually seen him yet since the police were here. He's as good as broken up with anyway. Luckily the lease is in my name so he can just piss right off and I can stay here.
I'd better go type out my formal statement for the police
word count
740
Challenge 4: White flowers
It was now late afternoon, he would have to move quickly. On this planet once the sun set it got very cold very quickly. Tonight, to make it worse, there would be one of the biggest storms the planet had seen. Due to hit just after sundown. The vegetation here was short and sparse, having to survive both the intense heat of the day and the chilled cold of the night. Add to this the extreme UV exposure and it was surviving anything could survive here. Sean had prepared himself for the mission as best he could but nothing could really prepare you for a place like this. He paused for a moment to consider the mission.
I have been on this hell hole for eight days now. With the number of rocket launchers guarding the target they had to drop me a long way off. That wouldn't have been so bad except that since we don't know what kinds of tech they can detect, I have had to proceed almost unarmed, on foot. All I have is a small stun gun, enough food and shelter to survive and the dagger I stole from my last target. All packed small enough to fit into a low profile backpack. It has taken me this long but now I can see the building I have spent the last week walking towards. They obviously don't expect an attack from ground level or they would have made it out of something other than chrome and glass. It sticks ostentatiously out of the stunted and scrubby plants like a new cell phone propped up in a bowl of dirt.
Suddenly something caught Sean's eye and he took a moment to examine one of the plants. It was flowering. Tiny white flowers just like the ones that grew outside his window in the place he called home. Used to call home that is, he reminded himself. He would never see those flowers again now and there was a man in that building on whom much of the blame lay. He may not like the manner in which his mission had to be carried out but he would enjoy his success. Someone had to pay for what had happened and they would do so at the tip of his dagger.
I have no plan from this point. I don't know what security there is or where in the building to look. There must be hundreds or rooms. Never the less he will not get away from me. Once night falls and the storm begins, nobody will be able to exit the building for at least a day. My objective, to be the only person alive in that building when the storm does lift. The guards will be easy enough to deal with. I can just stun them then slit their throats before they come around. They won't be expecting it so I have the element of surprise. Wes Nye, however, will not receive the mercy of being stunned. He will face me fully able to feel the pain. I will show him as much mercy as he showed on my home planet.
Sean got up and started walking again. The low sun cast his shadow long and lean behind him.
He was going to enjoy this.
449 words
I have been on this hell hole for eight days now. With the number of rocket launchers guarding the target they had to drop me a long way off. That wouldn't have been so bad except that since we don't know what kinds of tech they can detect, I have had to proceed almost unarmed, on foot. All I have is a small stun gun, enough food and shelter to survive and the dagger I stole from my last target. All packed small enough to fit into a low profile backpack. It has taken me this long but now I can see the building I have spent the last week walking towards. They obviously don't expect an attack from ground level or they would have made it out of something other than chrome and glass. It sticks ostentatiously out of the stunted and scrubby plants like a new cell phone propped up in a bowl of dirt.
Suddenly something caught Sean's eye and he took a moment to examine one of the plants. It was flowering. Tiny white flowers just like the ones that grew outside his window in the place he called home. Used to call home that is, he reminded himself. He would never see those flowers again now and there was a man in that building on whom much of the blame lay. He may not like the manner in which his mission had to be carried out but he would enjoy his success. Someone had to pay for what had happened and they would do so at the tip of his dagger.
I have no plan from this point. I don't know what security there is or where in the building to look. There must be hundreds or rooms. Never the less he will not get away from me. Once night falls and the storm begins, nobody will be able to exit the building for at least a day. My objective, to be the only person alive in that building when the storm does lift. The guards will be easy enough to deal with. I can just stun them then slit their throats before they come around. They won't be expecting it so I have the element of surprise. Wes Nye, however, will not receive the mercy of being stunned. He will face me fully able to feel the pain. I will show him as much mercy as he showed on my home planet.
Sean got up and started walking again. The low sun cast his shadow long and lean behind him.
He was going to enjoy this.
449 words
Challenge 2: Plant
Go to sleep, baby. Dream about your mother, out in the fields digging, planting. Dream about the late morning sun beating down on her back as she bends and stretches and sweat stains the armpits of her green blouse. Dream about the skirts hiked up to her knees, about flies and mosquitoes and the dust powdering her feet; dream about the trickles of water through the little culverts she’s so painstakingly dug.
Give your mother a smile before she puts you down on the straw mat inside the cool walls of the house and sets your sister to watch you and takes up the splintery wooden handle of her old hoe. Watch your sister frowning, wandering around the house, sweeping the floor; watch her light the fire and make the morning bread, burn her fingers, cry. Cry too. Forget about it when she picks you up - make happy noises instead. Make her smile.
Go to sleep, baby. Dream about your sister chasing the mosquitoes away from your face, feeding the cow, overcooking the lentils. Dream about the shawl she drapes over your little cradle so you won't get bitten. Dream about the wind rioting through the house, the dark clouds rushing to you. Let the burst of thunder wake you - cry again. See your mother running back in the heavy rainfall with her shawl over her head, see her struggling with the hoe.
Grow up; follow your sister. Let your mother stay at home and sweep the floor, light a fire to make the bread, feed the cow, cook the lentils just right. Follow your sister into the fields - follow your sister with her sweat-stained second-hand green blouse and her skirt hiked up to her knees and the flies and mosquitoes and the dust powdering her feet. Watch her recalling memories from before you were born. Watch her remembering days in the field with your mother. Watch her remembering how to dig culverts and furrows and plant seeds. Learn from her.
Try to find her a husband. Cry when she finds her own and leaves to sweep his floor and light a fire to make his bread, to feed his cow, to cook his lentils just right. Take up the hoe with the splintery handle - wonder how to fix the blade back on. Fix it with who-knows-what and a thousand prayers to keep it there. Greet your sister and her husband when they visit; wonder how you’ll feed them. Take the corn they give you; think of them as you eat it.
Chase the mosquitos away from your mother's face. Slap them and get itchy hands. Learn to sweep the floor, overcook the lentils and burn your fingers making bread. Buy a mosquito net with the money you borrowed from the moneylender. Sell the cow. Tell the moneylender you’ll need an extension on the loan.
Bury your mother. Set the light to her funeral pyre; cry.
Give your mother a smile before she puts you down on the straw mat inside the cool walls of the house and sets your sister to watch you and takes up the splintery wooden handle of her old hoe. Watch your sister frowning, wandering around the house, sweeping the floor; watch her light the fire and make the morning bread, burn her fingers, cry. Cry too. Forget about it when she picks you up - make happy noises instead. Make her smile.
Go to sleep, baby. Dream about your sister chasing the mosquitoes away from your face, feeding the cow, overcooking the lentils. Dream about the shawl she drapes over your little cradle so you won't get bitten. Dream about the wind rioting through the house, the dark clouds rushing to you. Let the burst of thunder wake you - cry again. See your mother running back in the heavy rainfall with her shawl over her head, see her struggling with the hoe.
Grow up; follow your sister. Let your mother stay at home and sweep the floor, light a fire to make the bread, feed the cow, cook the lentils just right. Follow your sister into the fields - follow your sister with her sweat-stained second-hand green blouse and her skirt hiked up to her knees and the flies and mosquitoes and the dust powdering her feet. Watch her recalling memories from before you were born. Watch her remembering days in the field with your mother. Watch her remembering how to dig culverts and furrows and plant seeds. Learn from her.
Try to find her a husband. Cry when she finds her own and leaves to sweep his floor and light a fire to make his bread, to feed his cow, to cook his lentils just right. Take up the hoe with the splintery handle - wonder how to fix the blade back on. Fix it with who-knows-what and a thousand prayers to keep it there. Greet your sister and her husband when they visit; wonder how you’ll feed them. Take the corn they give you; think of them as you eat it.
Chase the mosquitos away from your mother's face. Slap them and get itchy hands. Learn to sweep the floor, overcook the lentils and burn your fingers making bread. Buy a mosquito net with the money you borrowed from the moneylender. Sell the cow. Tell the moneylender you’ll need an extension on the loan.
Bury your mother. Set the light to her funeral pyre; cry.
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Word count: 490
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