in Writing

Death scene

Hrm. I need to start writing lighter things. Maybe a love story next time…

The guard opened the door and Tony stepped through it. Behind him, he heard a sharp cough and the sound of the door closing hurriedly.

A sickly-sweet rotting stench crept into his nostrils. It was a thick, greasy, dirty smell; he felt as if it were wrapping around him in the darkness. He fought the instinct to wipe it off himself.

Instead, he moved forward through the gloom until the cough stopped him. His eyes caught the glint of a heavy-banded gold watch. He knew the watch well: it had been the first thing Paul had bought after his first assignment. He’d come home bragging and exhilarated by the killing s like the brainless, vicious kid he was. That was eight years ago.

Now, Tony saw that the skin underneath his brother’s watch was bluish and paper-thin. Sickly brown spots, some of them crusted over with blood and pus, peppered his forearm.

From the darkness, a reedy, rasping voice came begging. “Help me, Tony. You have to help me. It’s killing…eating…me…”

His last words disappeared into a terrible coughing.

Tony had seen the reports on the news. They were calling it a virus, but he knew better. He’d dreamt the truth behind it, seen the girl and the smoking man together.

“You’re marked,” Tony said softly. “There’s nothing I can do.”

A wet, ripping noise in the darkness, a fresh assault of the rotting smell, and Tony knew Paul was trying to move towards him. Paul’s voice rose, becoming agitated. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t know what you are? You fucking help me!”

The hand with the watch shot out towards Tony in the dark, gripping his forearm. Tony did not recoil, but rather bent down and was swallowed by the dark. He leaned close to where his brother’s head must be and said, “I can see what you are, too, Paulie. All those people you killed are dragging you down, and this is how you’re going to die.”

A wail of rage and despair roiled up next to him, and he quickly disengaged his hand from his brother’s. If Tony retained any memory of how much he had loved his brother once, he didn’t betray it. He stood now, enveloped by the scene of his brother’s death, unmoving, unspeaking.

It wouldn’t be long.

in Writing

Late, late!

This one is slightly late, but I think we have until morning to turn them in. If not, I’ve got my dollar ready! Also, friend Casey has started doing the short writing challenge thing, too!

This one is missing the funny part at the end, but since my tummy hurts and it’s already late-ish, we will simply forego the funny, and keep it morbid.

Julie wondered if it was truly possible that all the moments of her life added up to her current situation. Or, rather, it was not addition, but a series of branched functions. If this, then this. Else if this, then this. Like, if she had gotten to the garage on time this morning, her car would not have been stolen. If her car had not been stolen, she would not have ended up on the bus. If she had not ended up on the bus, she wouldn’t have been sitting there when the bus swerved to avoid hitting a cat. If the cat had not been running across the road, the bus wouldn’t have swerved. If the bus hadn’t swerved, the man next to her would not have suddenly drooped across her lap, revealing the tiny, tiny bullet hole under his ear.

in News, Politics

Hrm.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090214/ts_nm/us_madoff_britain

Losing one’s life savings is devastating, but it’s strange, isn’t it, to think of people killing themselves over money when they have family, friends, and apparent health? Obviously, I do not have a million dollars stashed away anywhere, and am not immune from worrying about money (as I am so prone to worrying), but would I kill myself over it? Does having so much money become so important? Maybe it’s different when you’re older. Maybe, being closer to death, it just becomes easier to check out than it is to keep struggling, especially when some asshole swindles you out of your money.

in Life of Giang

No food after midnight

George is getting spayed tomorrow, and she has no idea. I feel this ridiculous guilt whenever she whines at me to pet her. Will she still love me tomorrow?! /sob

The stove in our apartment sucks. It’s an electric stove, and a lot of the time the largest burner doesn’t quite heat up sufficiently to cook. This evening, in a fit of annoyance with said burner, I lifted the stove top and fiddled with the wiring underneath (which, I’m told, was not my brightest moment), causing two of the wrong wires to touch each other, effectively crossing the proverbial streams. The stove’s electrical system went FIZZ-WHUMP!, and then died.

I think beside that one time I literally drove the brakes off my car, this is the biggest thing I’ve ever broken.

:)

in Life of Giang

All at once

Whew.

The javascript course I was taking is over, and I think I did fairly well on my final project, so that’s one more thing off my plate. It was a night class, five hours every Tuesday night for six weeks, on top of work and periodic volunteering. I like being productive, but it’ll be good to relax a little bit for a few weeks before the new semester starts up. ;) And who thought semester classes were a good idea, anyway? :P

Went to the doctor on Monday. While I’m trying to convince the doctor there might really be something wrong with me, I have flashes of future vu in which I can see myself as a crazy old woman eating aspirin for breakfast and badgering young doctors into looking down my throat. Turns out it’s (most likely) the same thing I’ve been paying doctors to diagnose me with for years: hypochondria. And overweight-ness, which has not yet become anything else too terrible for me. Which still gives me time to change that. Oh, ever-dwindling youth, fail me not!

Curt and I also went for a hike this weekend, in the rain. I was happy to put our $1.25-on-clearance-at-Target rain ponchos to use, because Curt made fun of me when I bought them and that’ll show him ha ha.

I feel lucky to have the life I do, even if my pants don’t always fit right. :)

in Life of Giang

First letter meme – from Ai

Answer the questions with words that begin with the first letter of my name. Which is G! (S-M-R-T, I am so smart!)

1. What is your name? Giang
2. A four-letter word: gape
3. A boy’s name: George
4. A girl’s name: Grace
5. An occupation: geophysicist
6. A color: grey
7. Something you wear: garter belt (that’s a figurative “you”, right?)
8. A food: guacamole
9. Something found in the bathroom: gargle
10. A place: Greece
11. A reason for being late: Godzilla
12. Something you shout: “Good grief!”
13. A movie title: Glengarry Glenross
14. Something you drink: Grape juice
15. A musical group: Good Charlotte
16. An animal: gorilla
17. A street name: Grand Avenue
18. A type of car: Geo
19. A song title: “Good Golly Miss Molly”
20. A verb: grate

in Baseball, Writing

Bob and Nell

Far below, the waves were frothing against the rocks. From where she stood, Nell observed the sea churning, and smelled rain in the air. It’s going to be a bad storm, she thought. Sighing softly, she clenched her eyes shut and stepped over the side of the cliff.

Bob watched it all happen from below, and exhaled roughly, covering his face.

“Stupid, stupid girl!”

Cursing angrily, Bob wound his way through the detritus on the beach until finally he emerged from around the corner of a small sea cave. He glanced around him peremptorily and, not seeing her body anywhere, walked deeper into the cave to take advantage of the shelter.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and waited.

He was dozing off slightly when he heard the wet sucking noises of someone approaching through the quickly saturating sand. The annoyance came rushing back to him, and he turned towards her, shaking his head slowly.

“What are you doing here?” she asked darkly, glaring at him. He noted – not without satisfaction – that she was shivering.

“Serves you right,” he retorted. “Jumping off cliffs in the rain – isn’t that a bit overdramatic, Nellie girl?”

“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped. Wrapping her arms about her, she sat down on the sand and rested her head against the wall of the cave. She looked exhausted, and Bob felt a pang of pity for her in spite of himself.

“It’s no good, you know. Nothing works. You just create problems for yourself, and have a hell of a time explaining yourself to the mortals when they see you.”

She turned sharply towards him, “Don’t say that! I hate it when you say that word!”

Bob flicked open his lighter, and lit another cigarette. “Pretty, thick-skulled little Nell. You’re still in such terrible denial, aren’t you?”

in Writing

Basement Serenade

I started out wanting to make it a funny scene, and then it went a little maudlin because funny would have taken me more words and it’s already 10:59 PM. ;)

He could hear it as soon as he stepped through the door, and was halfway out of his coat when his wife Anna came around the corner, hands on her hips and clearly on the warpath. He averted his eyes and pretended he hadn’t seen her.

“If you don’t talk to him, I’m going to kill you both.”

He sighed, and turned to face her. Her face was angry. Again.

He bolstered himself and said, “His girlfriend just left him. What am I supposed to say? Suck it up? ”

She was not deterred. A long, cold finger poked at him, “Fix it, Doug.”

Her heels made stark clacking noises on the wood floor as she stalked away. Doug sighed and slowly trudged towards the basement. He put his hand on the knob, girded himself, and opened it.

The room smelled of beer, and despair. His brother Steve was sitting on the old flannel couch, staring at the stereo. It didn’t look like he’d moved at all since the night before. In one hand, Steve held a beer. In the other, he held the stereo remote. He didn’t look up as Doug settled next to him. He wordlessly held up a beer in Doug’s general direction.

Doug accepted it, and sighed. “Hey, man, I know you’re upset.”

Steve sniffed.

“Anna wants you to stop with the Foreigner. It’s driving her nuts.”

Steve hung his head back and gave a low moan. He started belting out the song at the top of his lungs. “I want to know what love is! I want you to shoooow me, you cold-hearted bitch-faced asshole bitch!”

He sobbed again, and lay still on the couch, the remote falling from his hand. He brought up the beer to his mouth and took a long swig, then lowered it. Doug could hear him crooning the song softly under his breath. He saw his brother’s wet cheeks, and thought of Anna upstairs. Anna and her clacking heels, her anger, her patent indifference.

Doug sat back in the couch, opened the beer and took a long swill. With his free hand, he grabbed the remote, and slowly cranked up the volume dial.

in Writing

Brothers

The thermometer inside the car read 99 degrees. Ben frowned, and hung his head out the window.

“Are you sure you don’t need help out there?”

His brother’s voice came floating back to him from underneath the hood of the broken-down car. “Water’d be good.”

Ben grabbed the juice pack from his lunch pail and scurried to his brother’s side. He held it up, and shook it in front of his brother.

“Thanks, Bennie.”

“Yeah.”

Ben leaned on the car, staring into the dirty engine next to his brother. “Do you think they have science fiction in Star Trek?”

Luke gave him a sideways glance, grinning faintly. “Wouldn’t all of it be science fiction?”

“I mean,” Ben explained patiently, “if Captain Picard reads science fiction?”

Luke straightened, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Picard’s the one with the beard?”

Ben frowned, “That’s Riker. Captain Picard is bald.”

Luke shook his head. “No, that guy doesn’t look like he reads science fiction.”

“But if he did, what do you think would be in it? ‘Cause they have aliens already. And space ships.”

Luke considered this information. Then, turning to his brother, he said, “Women.”

Ben looked skeptical. “But they have women in Star Trek already! Why would they need to read about women if they’ve already got ‘em?”

“Because, Bennie, once man has conquered space and aliens, it’s the only unknown left to them.”

Ben stared up at his brother, and shook his head slowly. “I don’t get it. I’m going back to the car.”

“Okay, kiddo. Save me some of that juice.”