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Jul. 30th, 2007 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liptonrm_backupOMG, my great-great grandfather had horrible grammar. I'm typing up the family history he put together and in the first five pages there is a paragraph that is at least a page long. That combined with the random tangents, the awkward transitions, and the random commas thrown around left and right makes me want to scream in frustration. But it all has to be re-typed seeing as the pages are too aged to scan properly so I'll attempt to turn my brain off until the job is done. *takes deep breaths*
That reminds me, one of the things I do to take my mind off of the stress of school and like situations is write random snippets of my plague apocalypse world. It's a good writing exercise and has somehow made the post-apocalyptic world into my happy place which is humorous on all sorts of levels. Anyway, I had the urge to put them up online a couple days ago so now I will share a couple snippets with you all. Enjoy.
She left her parents’ home on a Tuesday. The key turned stiffly in the lock, the rarely-used bolt slid shut, the weight of finality in the click.
She turned, the bags heavy on her back, and stepped into the silent world. The sky was bright and blue, the leaves were beginning to unfurl from their winter absence. She stopped for a moment and stared up at the dark windows of her parents’ room, her mind purposefully kept blank and still. She didn’t cry, she wasn’t sure she had any tears left to shed.
~~~
There’s enough light seeping in through the old plate glass windows to keep them from having to use the flashlight to find their way through the broken aisles. Isaac has her bag wide open and she’s pulling old cans of corn off the shelf when they hear the crush of glass under boots. They freeze, their breaths instinctively held. They can hear the quiet tread of more then one pair of feet and the echoes of a comment to soft to hear.
She grabs the bag and throws it over her shoulder. She and Isaac quickly move down the aisle, careful to avoid the shredded plastic bags strewn over the floor. Her mind is focused, her grip tight on the shotgun. She knows that their best chance is to get outside, to get back to the car and get the hell out of here before anyone notices they were ever there. She had always been good at hide ‘n seek as a kid.
They creep around the corner and she forces herself not to swear when a glass pop bottle topples and crashes on the floor. The boots stop moving and the store goes completely still. She glances at Isaac, sees the knife clutched in his right hand and while part of her still despairs at the sight of an 11 year-old with such old, fierce eyes she refuses to waste time on foolish hope. She looks at him and feels that fiery protectiveness surge and knows that she’ll do anything at all to keep him safe.
She raises the shotgun as the whispered tread of the boots resumes. The boots move more quickly, decisively and she can’t tell where they’re coming from or how many there are. The aisle is a terrible place to stay, her brain is yelling at her that there’s no where to protect their backs but she knows that there’s nothing they can do. It’s here or nowhere.
The seconds draw out and she can hear breathing, she’s not sure whose. There’s a soft creak and a rush and suddenly they’re cut off, a man with a gun stationed at either end of the aisle. Her eyes narrow and she doesn't want to kill anyone but she'll do whatever she has to do.
The one closest to her releases a long, “Fuck” and breaks her gaze for long enough to send an exaggerated eye roll to his compatriot. They don't lower their guns but she can see the tension drain out of their shoulders. She sets her jaw, if they think that she won't shoot them just because she's a chick they have another thing coming.
~~~
She was humming and digging. The early afternoon sun glowed warm on her back and she could hear the kids shrieking down by the lake. The days had finally gotten warm enough to allow a little swimming and she knew that Tommy’s kids, at the very least, were going to spend the entire rest of the summer in their swimsuits and she knew that their dad would be down there with them as often as he could.
The dirt was cool under her hands and the weeds were ridiculously easy to pull up. She heard Scrappy twitch, his tail beating haphazardly from where he laid sprawled out in the sun. He was getting lazy in his old age but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She sat up and stretched her back, could feel things popping back into place and maybe she was getting on a little bit herself. She patted the earth down more firmly around the tomato plant and moved over a few inches to begin another attack on any weed that dared show its face in her garden.
She fell into the natural rhythm of the work and hummed along to the soundtrack in her head, occasionally singing random lyrics from half-forgotten songs. She could feel herself losing track of time or maybe time itself was slowing down, running thick and smooth like the maple syrup she’d only just figured out how to make a few months earlier.
The sun had moved a few inches lower by the time Scrappy gave an excited little yip and rolled to his feet, bouncing like a puppy again for just a second. She thought at first that one of the kids had come running up from the lake, legs muddy and covered in specks of weed and leaf. Matt’s middle kid, Jenny, was particularly fond of curling up in a sunny spot and napping with the dog.
That low-pitched chuckle was too deep and subdued to be Jenny’s. She stood up with a stretch, wiping her hands on her battered jeans. She turned and saw him leaning over the dog, a smile crinkling the edges of his eyes. He looked up, as if he could feel her gaze. His grin widened and she could feel herself smiling in return. She wiped a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes, not caring if she left a smear of dirt in its wake. Damn, it was good to see him again.
“I didn’t hear the car come up.”
He shrugged. “It gave out a few miles back. Thought I’d take Bill back with me and see if we could get her back.”
She nodded. “He and my brothers are supposedly working on the addition to Tom’s place but I have a feeling that they’re out on the dock with their fishing poles.” Her mouth quirked wryly. “It’s just one of those days.”
He nodded but didn’t turn away. He stood there, staring at her, and she could feel an itch start in the back of her head. She felt a need to say something, make a joke, start a conversation but all of the words died before she could open her mouth. Scrappy circled around them ecstatically and the echo of a guitar drifted up on the breeze. She could feel something unraveling between them that she didn’t understand, it was terrifying and exhilarating and she wanted to run away but something was keeping her there, glued to that one spot, unable to blink.
He looked tired and worn, mud caked on his boots and spattering his jeans. She wondered, briefly, where they had gone this time and what they had seen. She knew there were horrible things, horrible people, lurking out there on the edges of their little world. The worry that it would all spill over onto them again kept her up some nights, staring at the door wondering how much more peace they would be vouchsafed.
He blinked and his face softened. Slowly he stepped forward and her focus narrowed and then there he was, standing in her space, closer then she usually allowed anyone to stand but she didn’t step back or away. He lifted his hand and brushed back another loose tendril before carefully resting his hand on the side of her face.
And suddenly everything clicked. She didn’t realize that her hand had climbed up to rest on his shoulder because all she could see was his face lowering to her’s. ‘Well, fucking finally’ One part of her brain snarked and she would’ve laughed if not for other, more important matters.
~~~
She knew it was all over when everything went completely still. She could remember when she was a kid and how she would listen carefully during a tornado watch, waiting for the silence that everyone warned came before the tornado would come tearing through. She imagined that this silence was worse, it wasn't even the calm before the storm it was all that was left over after the storm had passed. She couldn't even hear the customary sounds of her modern world, there wasn't even the comforting hum of the refrigerator motor or the whooshing of cars out on the road, there was just nothing.
She stepped out onto the porch. A cold spring drizzle made everything grey and damp and chill. She closed her eyes and listened. Not even the birds were chirping. She shivered as a dog began to howl mournfully somewhere in the neighborhood. She turned and stepped back into the silent house. Scrappy lifted his head lazily when the door squeaked shut, his tail thumped a few lazy wags against the couch. She scrubbed at her eyes, feeling more tired then she had ever thought it possible to feel. She glanced up the stairs towards her parents' room and felt another shiver slide down her spine. They weren't coughing anymore and somewhere deep down inside she knew what that meant. She was glad they'd never gone to the hospital, she couldn't imagine how much worse it would be to be there are the world fell apart around them all. It was much better to be here in the home where she'd grown up.
She collapsed on the couch beside the dog and dug her cell out of her pocket as she absent-mindedly scratched at her pup's leg. She hadn't been able to get through to Tommy for days, all of the circuits busy or dead, but he needed to know, she needed to tell him. She carefully spelled the message out, her eyes blurring from exhaustion or stress or unshed tears, she didn't know which. mom and dad gone, going to cottage She hoped he'd understand, that he'd get this, that he was still okay and alive somewhere and maybe she'd see him again but she didn't, couldn't, put much stock in any fleeting hope.
She laid her head back and closed her eyes. She had to pack up the van and pray that it would get her up north. She had to dig up her grandpa's old shotgun before any looters showed up, she had to move forward but she couldn't, not yet. She just needed a minute.
~~~
You know what's kinda funny? The fact that I began this whole entry complaining about grammar and than I posted a whole bunch of writing that hasn't been meticulously edited. There's a kind of irony there. ;-)
That reminds me, one of the things I do to take my mind off of the stress of school and like situations is write random snippets of my plague apocalypse world. It's a good writing exercise and has somehow made the post-apocalyptic world into my happy place which is humorous on all sorts of levels. Anyway, I had the urge to put them up online a couple days ago so now I will share a couple snippets with you all. Enjoy.
She left her parents’ home on a Tuesday. The key turned stiffly in the lock, the rarely-used bolt slid shut, the weight of finality in the click.
She turned, the bags heavy on her back, and stepped into the silent world. The sky was bright and blue, the leaves were beginning to unfurl from their winter absence. She stopped for a moment and stared up at the dark windows of her parents’ room, her mind purposefully kept blank and still. She didn’t cry, she wasn’t sure she had any tears left to shed.
~~~
There’s enough light seeping in through the old plate glass windows to keep them from having to use the flashlight to find their way through the broken aisles. Isaac has her bag wide open and she’s pulling old cans of corn off the shelf when they hear the crush of glass under boots. They freeze, their breaths instinctively held. They can hear the quiet tread of more then one pair of feet and the echoes of a comment to soft to hear.
She grabs the bag and throws it over her shoulder. She and Isaac quickly move down the aisle, careful to avoid the shredded plastic bags strewn over the floor. Her mind is focused, her grip tight on the shotgun. She knows that their best chance is to get outside, to get back to the car and get the hell out of here before anyone notices they were ever there. She had always been good at hide ‘n seek as a kid.
They creep around the corner and she forces herself not to swear when a glass pop bottle topples and crashes on the floor. The boots stop moving and the store goes completely still. She glances at Isaac, sees the knife clutched in his right hand and while part of her still despairs at the sight of an 11 year-old with such old, fierce eyes she refuses to waste time on foolish hope. She looks at him and feels that fiery protectiveness surge and knows that she’ll do anything at all to keep him safe.
She raises the shotgun as the whispered tread of the boots resumes. The boots move more quickly, decisively and she can’t tell where they’re coming from or how many there are. The aisle is a terrible place to stay, her brain is yelling at her that there’s no where to protect their backs but she knows that there’s nothing they can do. It’s here or nowhere.
The seconds draw out and she can hear breathing, she’s not sure whose. There’s a soft creak and a rush and suddenly they’re cut off, a man with a gun stationed at either end of the aisle. Her eyes narrow and she doesn't want to kill anyone but she'll do whatever she has to do.
The one closest to her releases a long, “Fuck” and breaks her gaze for long enough to send an exaggerated eye roll to his compatriot. They don't lower their guns but she can see the tension drain out of their shoulders. She sets her jaw, if they think that she won't shoot them just because she's a chick they have another thing coming.
~~~
She was humming and digging. The early afternoon sun glowed warm on her back and she could hear the kids shrieking down by the lake. The days had finally gotten warm enough to allow a little swimming and she knew that Tommy’s kids, at the very least, were going to spend the entire rest of the summer in their swimsuits and she knew that their dad would be down there with them as often as he could.
The dirt was cool under her hands and the weeds were ridiculously easy to pull up. She heard Scrappy twitch, his tail beating haphazardly from where he laid sprawled out in the sun. He was getting lazy in his old age but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She sat up and stretched her back, could feel things popping back into place and maybe she was getting on a little bit herself. She patted the earth down more firmly around the tomato plant and moved over a few inches to begin another attack on any weed that dared show its face in her garden.
She fell into the natural rhythm of the work and hummed along to the soundtrack in her head, occasionally singing random lyrics from half-forgotten songs. She could feel herself losing track of time or maybe time itself was slowing down, running thick and smooth like the maple syrup she’d only just figured out how to make a few months earlier.
The sun had moved a few inches lower by the time Scrappy gave an excited little yip and rolled to his feet, bouncing like a puppy again for just a second. She thought at first that one of the kids had come running up from the lake, legs muddy and covered in specks of weed and leaf. Matt’s middle kid, Jenny, was particularly fond of curling up in a sunny spot and napping with the dog.
That low-pitched chuckle was too deep and subdued to be Jenny’s. She stood up with a stretch, wiping her hands on her battered jeans. She turned and saw him leaning over the dog, a smile crinkling the edges of his eyes. He looked up, as if he could feel her gaze. His grin widened and she could feel herself smiling in return. She wiped a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes, not caring if she left a smear of dirt in its wake. Damn, it was good to see him again.
“I didn’t hear the car come up.”
He shrugged. “It gave out a few miles back. Thought I’d take Bill back with me and see if we could get her back.”
She nodded. “He and my brothers are supposedly working on the addition to Tom’s place but I have a feeling that they’re out on the dock with their fishing poles.” Her mouth quirked wryly. “It’s just one of those days.”
He nodded but didn’t turn away. He stood there, staring at her, and she could feel an itch start in the back of her head. She felt a need to say something, make a joke, start a conversation but all of the words died before she could open her mouth. Scrappy circled around them ecstatically and the echo of a guitar drifted up on the breeze. She could feel something unraveling between them that she didn’t understand, it was terrifying and exhilarating and she wanted to run away but something was keeping her there, glued to that one spot, unable to blink.
He looked tired and worn, mud caked on his boots and spattering his jeans. She wondered, briefly, where they had gone this time and what they had seen. She knew there were horrible things, horrible people, lurking out there on the edges of their little world. The worry that it would all spill over onto them again kept her up some nights, staring at the door wondering how much more peace they would be vouchsafed.
He blinked and his face softened. Slowly he stepped forward and her focus narrowed and then there he was, standing in her space, closer then she usually allowed anyone to stand but she didn’t step back or away. He lifted his hand and brushed back another loose tendril before carefully resting his hand on the side of her face.
And suddenly everything clicked. She didn’t realize that her hand had climbed up to rest on his shoulder because all she could see was his face lowering to her’s. ‘Well, fucking finally’ One part of her brain snarked and she would’ve laughed if not for other, more important matters.
~~~
She knew it was all over when everything went completely still. She could remember when she was a kid and how she would listen carefully during a tornado watch, waiting for the silence that everyone warned came before the tornado would come tearing through. She imagined that this silence was worse, it wasn't even the calm before the storm it was all that was left over after the storm had passed. She couldn't even hear the customary sounds of her modern world, there wasn't even the comforting hum of the refrigerator motor or the whooshing of cars out on the road, there was just nothing.
She stepped out onto the porch. A cold spring drizzle made everything grey and damp and chill. She closed her eyes and listened. Not even the birds were chirping. She shivered as a dog began to howl mournfully somewhere in the neighborhood. She turned and stepped back into the silent house. Scrappy lifted his head lazily when the door squeaked shut, his tail thumped a few lazy wags against the couch. She scrubbed at her eyes, feeling more tired then she had ever thought it possible to feel. She glanced up the stairs towards her parents' room and felt another shiver slide down her spine. They weren't coughing anymore and somewhere deep down inside she knew what that meant. She was glad they'd never gone to the hospital, she couldn't imagine how much worse it would be to be there are the world fell apart around them all. It was much better to be here in the home where she'd grown up.
She collapsed on the couch beside the dog and dug her cell out of her pocket as she absent-mindedly scratched at her pup's leg. She hadn't been able to get through to Tommy for days, all of the circuits busy or dead, but he needed to know, she needed to tell him. She carefully spelled the message out, her eyes blurring from exhaustion or stress or unshed tears, she didn't know which. mom and dad gone, going to cottage She hoped he'd understand, that he'd get this, that he was still okay and alive somewhere and maybe she'd see him again but she didn't, couldn't, put much stock in any fleeting hope.
She laid her head back and closed her eyes. She had to pack up the van and pray that it would get her up north. She had to dig up her grandpa's old shotgun before any looters showed up, she had to move forward but she couldn't, not yet. She just needed a minute.
~~~
You know what's kinda funny? The fact that I began this whole entry complaining about grammar and than I posted a whole bunch of writing that hasn't been meticulously edited. There's a kind of irony there. ;-)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 04:03 am (UTC)Marry me.
Love,
Cynthia
Because seriously: ‘Well, fucking finally.’ STILL gets me in the gut every time. Also that text message at the end. For very different reasons.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 05:02 pm (UTC)It's kinda heady, rebuilding the world in one's own image. I highly recommend it. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 05:04 pm (UTC)I really do want to turn this into a novel, hopefully, someday. *crosses fingers*