#atozchallenge: Gum

If there was one thing that really annoyed Natalie, it was stepping on chewing gum. There was that unpleasantness of the sucking feeling on the sole of your shoe when you first stepped on it, the embarrassment of unwittingly picking up stray pieces of tissue paper (or other kinds of rubbish that accumulated on Malaysian roads) as you tried to find a convenient place to stop and then the difficulty of trying to scrape off every piece of gum off from your shoe without tearing a hole in your sole (and bleeding in your soul). She'd stopped chewing gum herself at age twelve just because of this unpleasant experience and found herself contemplating a move to Singapore, where chewing gum was banned, at the age of seventeen, after stepping on another piece of chewed gum for what seemed like the millionth time.

"Don't be such a fusspot, Nat," her boyfriend, Henry, had said. "It's just part of your OCD tendencies."

Natalie put it down as a black mark against him. "Let's see how you handle it when you step on gum," she muttered to herself.

It was with pleasure that she took a trip down to Singapore to stay with a distant relation while she applied for universities there. As she stepped through the immigration office with her passport freshly stamped, she couldn't help grinning and saying aloud to the milling crowd, "Welcome to gum-free Singapore!"

A few teenagers from her bus stared at her, plainly thinking that she was crazy, but she didn't care. She hopped and skipped her way back to the waiting bus to continue the journey into the city, where her (somehow related, she forgot how) aunt would pick her up. It was precisely because she was so happy and carefree that she tripped on the curb and fell sprawling, everything falling out of her handbag.

Like a slow-motion movie, she watched as her favourite earrings rolled out of her bag, continued onto the road and ended by dropping down the grate of the drain. Some kindly souls came by to help her up and to gather her scattered belongings. A little sad sob escaped her as she stared down the grate to where her earrings lay amidst the dust. The iron bars were too narrow to allow anything more than her fingers to pass through, and they were too far down to reach. She tugged at the grate, but found that it was too firmly fixed in place for her to move it even an inch.

Just as she had given up her earrings for lost, one of the teenagers approached her, looking surreptitiously around.
"I have gum," he said in a soft whisper.
She looked up sharply at him. "But -"
"I can help you."
"How?"
"But you mustn't tell on me. Promise?"
She looked uncertainly at him, then looked down at her earrings. "Okay," she finally said grudgingly.

Peering around again, the boy casually pulled out a stick of chewing gum from his jacket pocket and slipped it into his mouth. He chewed furiously, pretending to be talking to Natalie, even as she looked at him suspiciously. Pulling out a long, thick string from his pocket, he stuck the wadded up gum on the end of it and tested it for sticking power. Satisfied, he slowly slid the string down into the drain, wiggling it until it touched the end of one of Natalie's earrings.

Within two minutes, the teen handed Natalie back her earrings, a little dusty and a little sticky, but whole and intact. He carefully wrapped the gum and the string back in its foil and disposed of it in a nearby dustbin.

"Maybe gum isn't so bad after all," she said as she thanked him profusely.

Also, reminder all: submission deadline for Love in Penang is on 30th April 2013. That's three weeks away!

#Fridayflash: Generation songs

She sang the songs of her generation and they loved her for it. They smiled at her as she walked by and she wondered if they saw past her smile to the wariness of her eyes.
“We love your songs,” someone said, “They speak to us, to our souls. Thank you for singing them. We can’t even begin to describe what they mean to us.”
“I’m glad they’ve touched you,” she replied, hoping not to sound awkward but feeling it anyway. She turned to go hurriedly, pretending that she had many things to do. After all, she was supposed to be famous.

She sang the songs of her generation and he loved her. There was adoration in his eyes as he came up to her, a package in his hand.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking at the swirly blue patterns and the little silver ribbon.
“Just a little present,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and pretending to be non-chalant about it.
“Thank you,” she said, neatly peeling at the cellophane tape. She sucked her breath in at the pretty crystal rose, fighting back tears as he said rather shyly, “do you think we could go out?”
“Why would you want me?” she whispered.

She sang the songs of her generation, but she was empty. There was raw power in her words and her voice, but there was nothing left inside her, as if her songs had drained her, leaving her as an empty husk.
“What do you mean you won’t sing anymore?” her manager asked. “Are you trying to ask for more money? We can revise the contract.”
“No, I don’t mean that,” she said quietly. “I just won’t sing.”
“What’s wrong? Have you strained your voice? You could take a break, and we’ll start the new tour next year.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Bob. There’s nothing left for me to sing out of.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
She sang the songs of her generation once. Once upon a time, a long time ago.

Give me the songs of this generation
Sing over me its mighty anthems
Sing me the songs for this generation
Give me the words from Your heart

Welcome to the Book Launch And Birthday Bash!

http://www.gifs-paradise.com

Welcome to the BLAB Bash!

I'm uber excited that you're here - this means that we can start our party! What do you need? Nothing much. Just make yourself comfortable, pick up your drink of choice (mmm, a lovely strawberry tea for me!) and prepare to get a little chatty.

First of all, the book launch!

I'm proud to unveil Stories from A Place To Call Home!

Orphaned at twelve, Daniel has often prayed for God to grant him a new family. Two years later, his prayer is miraculously answered: Emily Lee, grieving over the untimely loss of her son Matthew, has persuaded her husband to let her adopt a boy to fill the void in her heart.

But being adopted wasn't as simple or wondrous as Daniel hoped it would be. Matthew's friends resent his intrusion into their lives, getting him into trouble. Edmund Lee, a self-made man, ridicules his faith, telling him frankly that he doesn't believe Daniel would ever amount to anything.

And just when Daniel begins to feel comfortable and secure enough in his new family, he tears it apart again by disagreeing with his adoptive father's business principles.
Will they ever accept him for who he is? Will Daniel ever find a place to call home?

This e-book compiles the character development pieces written to define the main characters in the musical "A Place To Call Home", as well as other flash fiction written in an effort to work through snarly areas of the plot line.

So... if you watched the musical last month and you loved it, or even if you couldn't catch it because you're far away from Penang and only know me through the interwebs, here's your chance to find out more about the people who have been hounding my brain since last year.
The e-book is now available (for free!) on Smashwords in like a gazillion formats (epub, kindle, PDF, online viewing, and more) as well as Goodreads (online viewing or epub).

P/S I've got my first review here! Thanks, KK!

And now, to the Birthday Bash!

You see, the BLAB acronym actually has a purpose.

blab [blæb]
vb blabs, blabbing, blabbed
1. to divulge (secrets) indiscreetly
2. (intr) to chatter thoughtlessly; prattle

I'd like to give you, my readers, a chance to know more about me, as well as for me to learn more about you. Since I'm turning 28, I'm going to blab 28 random facts about myself and in turn, you can post facts about yourself, either here in the comments, or on your own blog (link back here so I can visit you!) - how many, that's up to you!

Here it goes:

1. When I was a kid, I really really really wanted to have blond hair. I thought it was really pretty. I still think it's pretty, but I love my hair as it is now.
2. There was a time... when I was about 7, maybe... when I thought it would be an easy life to be a gardener. For a few days. Until I realised... it involved worms. And sun. And sweat. And hard work. *silly kid*
3. Almost every time I hear really good worship music, I see in my mind this lovely dancer covering the altar with ribbons, flags and interpretive dance.
4. I really wish I could dance. And be that dancer.
5. I'm actually really shy. *blush*
6. I used to eat Hokkien Mee (prawn noodles) every single day in school from 1995 - 2001, except when they weren't open. 
7. Since I left school, I hardly ever eat Hokkien Mee anymore. 
8. I'm technically allergic to prawns. Except I don't really care. :)
9. I actually prefer C.S. Lewis' Narnia and Robin Hobb to LOTR. (shh... don't tell the die-hard Tolkien fans).
10. Sometimes I smile and wave, and talk to people, and go back thinking - who on earth were they? Where/when did I meet them before? 
11. I hate auditions.
12. That's why I write my own scripts and act in them.
13. I finished NaNoWriMo at least 3 times. I'm still trying to make something out of those drafts.
14. I go just a little crazy at book fairs. Well, maybe more than a little. It's like when a woman sees shoes....... (or a guy sees gadgets)
15. I decided not to be a journalist because I don't like talking to people. 
16. And then I found out that as an auditor, I need to talk to a lot of people :(
17. On weekends when my parents aren't around, I sometimes don't talk for the whole day.
18. I have another ten random facts to go and I'm about ready to kill myself, or at least bash myself in the head of thinking of such an idea. HAHAHA.
19. The reason why I really hate games is because I hate losing. 
20. I don't really know what my favourite colour is. I mean, I like pinkish and reddish stuff. And purple. But somehow I always seem to buy things in blue. 
21. I often need help colour coordinating my clothes (and no, I'm not colour blind).
22. British accents. Mmm. British accents, all the way.
23. "I'll stop at the end of the chapter" usually means "I'll stop when I realise it's three a.m. and I have work tomorrow".
24. I meet a lot of random people ALL THE TIME. And sometimes, how I meet them is a convoluted story in itself. 
25. I love driving long distance. 
26. Sometimes, the only reason I'm up-to-date on current news is because of Twitter. 
27. I fail at being Chinese. I still can't differentiate between Mandarin and Hokkien and I really don't understand any other dialects. 
28. Despite that, some of my spoken English takes on distinctively Chinese grammar usage. I suppose I don't live in a vacuum. 

There. Finally done. That actually took me all of 2.5 hours. 

Over to you! 

hitRECord.org - an interesting collaborative site

Yuin recently introduced me to this cool collaborative site: hitRECord.org.
It's probably been around for ages. Hah. But well, better late than never.

What it is:
Baaaasically, people post random artsy stuff, whether it's a video, picture, drawing, writing, etc... and then other people get inspired and post other random artsy stuff, citing their resources (i.e. the prompt or collaboration or or post or other stuff on the site that inspired them) and this makes other people get inspired and post other random artsy stuff, citing their resources and... well, you get the drift.

So, I'm there with the handle annatan but I'm still figuring things out. (This might take a while). And it's currently being buggy enough that it tells me that I have no records when I have two. Or maybe I did something wrong. =(

BUT because I get all excited and tweet stuff, I HAVE THE LINK to tell you that this week's #fridayflash is up here. Cos I was trying it out and cos I well, I wanted to do a dialogue tale. Hehe. =)

Most flashes will resume here soon.

Not all who wander are lost, and all that #fridayflash

Fingers scrabbling against the wall. Reaching, pulling, but never quite able to find purchase against the tight ropes around her wrists. She lay still as the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“Not here, not now, not here, not now,” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. There was a long rattling at the door before it creaked open. She felt her heart sink. The long silence was unnerving. Cautiously, she peeked at the door.

Silhouetted in the doorway was a hulk of a man, leaning in, his head cocked to one side. He stepped into the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

She couldn’t help the sob that escaped her. “No, please, no,” she cried as he loomed over her.

“No?” he said in an amused tone of voice. He squatted beside her, thick fat fingers pushing her head up. He seemed to study her face, even as she searched his.

It was a hard face, his eyes dark and angry. A long scar ran from the edge of his left eyebrow, right across the cheek. He tugged at the end of his ponytail thoughtfully, pulling loose a stray strand of hair away from where it had tangled with stud in his ear.

“And what should I do with you?” he asked oddly as he grabbed her by the arm and roughly hauled her to her feet. A knife seemed to appear from thin air and she shrunk away, her eyes flicking desperately beyond him towards the door. He followed her gaze and chuckled.

“Please, let me go.” She didn’t know where she found the courage to say it, but the words slipped out. Her hands pulled at her tattered clothes, carelessly ripped off by her captor. “You’re not him… Let me go, I won’t tell on you. I won’t report you to the police.”

The man seemed to find that funny. “Come on then,” he said, slashing at the ropes around her wrists. “You won’t report me then, but you’ll report him? You can ID him?”

“Yes,” she stammered.

“How do you know I’m not his boss? How do you know I won’t do worse things to you?”

“You - I, I don’t know. I -”

“Stay there and don’t move,” he said, waving the knife at her.

She nodded mutely, tears streaming down her face. “Please…”

He slipped off his leather jacket, revealing a dragon tattoo that curled around his left biceps and a thick golden chain. “Here, you’ll need this,” he said as he draped the jacket around her shoulders. “Quickly now, we’ve got to get moving. He’ll be back in about an hour and I want clear of this as soon as possible.”

He pulled her by the arm out of the room and through the house to where a car waited by the back gate. He got into the back seat with her and nodded to the waiting driver.

“Found her, and she’s willing to ID him,” he said. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, bewildered.

“Good job, Max,” the driver said. “Though you seem to have scared the wits out of her.”

“Who… who are you?” she asked.

The driver whooped in laughter. “Stuck your foot in it, didn’t you Max? Don’t worry kid. Max here and I are private investigators and we’re taking you home.”

---

There, KK - bondage, escape, long-haired guys and Max (though maybe not the same one) all in the same post. =)

Dancing through it | #fridayflash

Smile. First position.
Fae deepened her smile, showing her teeth. Funny how people said that. Smile, show your teeth. A threatened dog showed its teeth too. She inhaled sharply and adjusted her smile. It felt fake, plasticky. She wavered between the word smile and grin, then decided it didn’t matter. Poise was all that mattered. She pulled her back straight, lifted her chin, released her stiff hands gracefully, ever so gracefully to hover at her side and smiled.

Third position. Plie. Smile.

“You don’t dance around the pain, darling. That never helps. You acknowledge it, then you laugh at it, and then you dance through it,” Brad gripped her upper arm so tightly that she cried out in pain.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she cried.
He shrugged. “Do you want this job or not?”
“Of course I want it.”
“Then do as I say.”
“But it hurts so much.”
“If you can’t handle it, go home. Go home, Fae. Give it up.”
“I’m not giving up, Brad.”
Brad watched as she pulled herself up again, wincing at the pain in her muscles, the sting of torn skin. He nodded his grim approval as she stood ready and poised again, her wide smile drenched in salty tears.

Pirouette sur les pointes. Spot. Smile.

She massaged her aching legs surreptitiously, her eyes scanning the studio. The muscle spray was on the highest shelf, way out of reach. There were days she wished she were taller, that she didn’t still look like a child. Brad walked in and frowned at her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, scrambling to her feet.
To her surprise, he walked over to the shelf, picking up the spray she had been eyeing. He gestured for her to sit, kneeling beside her. She wanted to cry with the relief his gentle kneading brought her.
“You don’t have to be strong alone.”
“But you said -”
“Not all dances are solos.”

Volte. Corrida apart.

“You don’t understand.”
“What is there to understand?”
“I don’t love you.”
“Give me a chance. Please.”
“It has nothing to do with that. I just… I just can’t.”
“Tell me why. Please, Fae.” He knelt before her, grasping her hands. She pulled away.
“I still love him, Brad. I’ve never stopped loving him. I can’t. I don’t know why.”
“But he’s gone.”
“And you killed him. It was your fault. Don’t bother telling me otherwise. I know.”
“It was an accident.”
“You were drunk!”
“He was worse!”
“Oh, so that’s justification for driving drunk? The least drunk person needs to drive?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I don’t care. He’s gone because of you. That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

Allonge, facing him.

She drew herself up straight again, feeling for all the world like a puppet on a string. She thrust her chin out, roughly at first, then gently settling into a familiar pose. Her hands clenched compulsively, but she forced them open, tautly at rest. Body poised, she set her face.

Smile.

---

So I had this dance theme in my head since last week's Broadway show. I don't really know much about dance terms, so I googled, with most of the stuff coming from this site. 

To all real dancers out there, sorry if it doesn't make sense. Also, pointers would help. 

Also, this piece is exactly 500 words because I said I would write 500 words before bed. 

#fridayflash - Oppression

“It’s over now,” Adam said, sinking into the sagging rattan chair.
“You really think so?” Nadia said softly.
He hesitated over his reply, but finally set his teeth in that flamboyant grin of his. “It is, kak. It has to be.”
“The people should not fear their government,” she whispered, like an escaping hiss. She knew that grin. He was trying to believe in his own words as much as he wanted her to.
He threw a troubled look at her. “Since when does my sister learn lines like that?” he asked, noticing for the first time the furrow of worry on her brow, the lines of tension around her mouth.
“You were gone for so long we thought they had taken you like they took Abah. I had to do something.”
“So you watched an outlawed, outdated movie.”
“No. I talked to Shukri.”
“You - where is Shukri?” There was urgency in his voice now, his thin fingers gripping her upper arm.
“That hurts, Adam.”
“Sorry, kak,” he said, letting go. “Where is he? Is he safe?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He - he comes and goes. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. I don’t know if he’s still alive.”
Adam stared as his older sister burst into tears.
“I’m so worried about him, Adam.”
He put an arm about her awkwardly. “Are you - is…” he tried to organise his thoughts. “Are you dating him?”
“What do you think?”
“No, he would never date. It would be too dangerous. But you love him all the same.”
“Why do you do this Adam? Why can’t you and Shukri leave well alone?”
“Because the government should be afraid of the people.”
Nadia shivered at the glint in his eye.

A shadow moved in the dark. Shukri turned his head slightly, watching it out of the corner of his eye. His hand slowly moved to grasp the hilt of his keris.
“It’s me, Kri,” a familiar voice said.
Shukri relaxed a little, his hand still at the ready, watching as Adam walked to him with his hands held wide. Adam stopped a few steps in front of him and turned around, allowing Shukri to pat him down quickly. Satisfied, Shukri finally grabbed Adam by the shoulders, spun him around and engulfed him in a hug.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly.
Adam shrugged. “Any news?”
“It’s bad in the South. Mass arrests after our meeting last Wednesday.”
“A mole?”
“Maybe.”
“Will be tough to clean up.”
“Fly was taken.”
“Wasn’t on the news. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Just means they’re not done with him yet. They’ll brand him as a traitor and hold a public execution when they’ve got everything out of him.”
“Or they’ll keep him forever, like my father.”
“Yes.”
The silence between them was heavy.
“What’s this with Nadia that I hear?” Adam finally asked, trying to keep his tone light.
Shukri groaned. “I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t want to involve her. For your sake. For your father’s.” He buried his face in his hands.
“She misses you, Kri.”
“I - I can’t get involved, Adam! Not now. Not in this place. She’ll become nothing but a weakness, a bargaining chip, to be used against me. Against you. When we’re done, when we’ve won… When our country is free again - I…”
“You could run away to Metropolita together. Now. Tomorrow. My aunt has estates there. You’ll be free and safe, and so would Nadia.”
“Would you do that, Adam? Would you run away from our cause for love?”
“Malaysia is my love, Shukri. You’ve taught me well.”
“You have your father’s heart in you. His spirit.”
“So does Nadia.”
“No, Adam, I cannot. Please don’t tempt me.”
“I am sending her away tomorrow. She will accompany my mother to Metropolita.”
“She’ll be safe there.”
“I had hoped you’d want to say goodbye.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Adam!” Nadia yelled.
“It’s for the best,” he insisted.
“And what about you? Aren’t you coming along?”
“I have work to do here.”
“So do I.”
“Please, kak. We want you to be safe.”
“We?”
“Shukri and I.”
“Oh, you’ve been talking to him, have you?”
“Yes, I…”
“Where is he?”
“Kak…”
“You tell him that his cause is my cause too. His land is my land too. And I will not be sent packing like a useless accessory.”
Adam’s fists balled. “Why won’t you listen?”
“Why won’t you?”
“What if you get arrested? What if they come for you because of him? Because of me? Because of who we are?”
“Then so be it, Adam Tash. The women of this family do not run,” Marina Tash said, her voice low and gravelly.
“But mak…”
“Why do you think you grew up here?”
The heavy woman walked slowly into the room, laying her hands on the heads of her children. “You are your father’s children. You can do no less.”

---

Kak - (short for kakak) older sister
Abah - father
Mak - mother
keris - a type of dagger

I suppose these are pretty obvious, but well, *shrug*.
---

Many thanks to Arief for his prompt, "Oppression" and Linda for her prompt "It's over now". You gotta love the twitter peeps. Christine had a prompt as well - "Surrender" - which I'll probably use next week. :)

#Fridayflash: Liz

“You’re not falling for him are you,” I blurted.

“What makes you think so?”

“I know that tone of voice. You’re hiding something.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh come on, Diane. I know when you’re faking. Besides, you’re blushing.”

“I’m not falling for that one, Liz.”

I smiled. “See, if you weren’t faking it, you wouldn’t be worried about blushing. Come on, spill!”

Diane snuggled down between the mountains of pillows we had piled on the bed. “Nothing to spill.”

I threw another pillow at her, catching her on the arm as I snuggled down beside her.

“Do you think Rob really likes me?”

She stared at me. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well if you won’t talk about Daniel, you might as well talk about Rob, right?”

“Do you like him?”

“Dunno.” I turned to face her. “He’s, well, he’s a bit of a hunk, isn’t he?”

She giggled. “Not quite my type.”

“Yeah, I know you like the quiet, dreamy types.”

“Stop it, Liz.”

“See, you admit!”

She groaned. “I hate you.”

“So what is it about him that you like? He’s not exactly our kind you know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’s like, you know, different. Strange. He’s not really -”

“Rich?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re a snob, you know, Liz?”

“Comes with the territory.”

“But he is rich. Now, anyway.”

“Yeah, but - it’s just different. It’s just something you’re born with. That - style. Attitude.”

“Like us, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

She fiddled with her hair for a while before answering. She does that a lot when she’s thinking. “I think you don’t like him because he doesn’t rise to your challenges.”

“My challenges?”

“Rob does. That’s why you play off each other like flint and rock.”

“I do not.”

“See? And if I just ignore this line of questioning you’re going into, you’ll get upset with me.”

“What have I challenged him with?”

“You wanted him to defend himself because of that book he was reading. But he didn’t.”

“He’s a wimp.”

“Then you wanted to get cheat sheets off him, and he refused.”

“Matthew always shared.”

“He didn’t have cheat sheets.”

“Who?”

“Daniel. He didn’t have any.”

“But his score -”

“Was all his.”

“And you know this because?”

“I asked.”

“You know, if you date him, we’re gonna have to wriggle him into Rob’s good books.”

“Who says anything about dating?”

“Oh surely, not the room so fast.”

“Liz, you’re impossible!”

I grinned. 

#Fridayflash: Subversive

Ladd opened a crusty eye. The stiletto heels in front of his face flicked once, causing fresh blood to gush from his nose.

"Get up, boy," the voice was high, nasal. He didn't recognise it. The foot moved again and he scrambled to his feet. She stood glaring at him, a baton held tightly in her right hand.

"I warn you," she said, stepping backwards.

She was young, too young for this, he thought as he nodded mutely at her threat, his eyes following the arc of her hand as she pointed the baton at him. He kept as still as he could, ignoring the twinge in his left leg. The girl darted at him suddenly, pressing the end of the baton into his bruised ribs. He grunted. She jerked a little, causing fresh pain to blossom in his side. Her left hand hurriedly clipped the end of a chain to his collar.

Just as quickly, she darted away again, still holding the baton out towards him, the end of the chain held in a white-knuckled grip. Footsteps came down the corridor and the girl whirled about.

"You're too edgy, Shiels. If he were anybody else but Ladd, he would have gotten away by now," the newcomer said in a wry voice.

"S-sorry, Ma'am. It's just that..."

"He's big. I know. I'll take over from here," Adele said calmly. She took the chain from the girl's hand, but refused the baton. "You can keep that in case he comes after you."

"Sure, Ma'am?"

But Adele wasn't listening to her anymore. She was looking up at Ladd, who was a full head taller than her. He smiled at her sadly.

"It's your trial today."

"Yes. I know."

"You'll survive." She laid a hand on his stubbly cheek, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Shiels behind her. “Come along then.”

“Aren’t you going to chain him?” Shiels asked desperately as they passed her at the door of the cell.

“He’s on a leash.”

“But -”

“But nothing.”

“Adele,” Ladd whispered. She stopped, turning to glare at him. “She is right.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so law abiding about everything else but the one thing that really mattered,” she said angrily, grabbing the cuffs from Shiels. Ladd turned, holding his hands still behind him as she snapped the cuffs around his wrists.

“Let’s just say I don’t want things to get worse.”

“Oh no, nothing gets worse than being sentenced to hard labour for subversive behaviour, Ladd.”

“Only hard labour?” he tried to joke. There was a glint of moisture in Adele’s eyes.

“Brionna begged for your life. Her Grace couldn’t say no.” Her long fingernails dug into his hands. “Why, Ladd? Why did you have to learn how to read?”

---

Snippet from anywhere, a WIP I'm rather ambivalent about continuing.

---

In the 5 days of blog silence I have:
a) thrown in random ideas while the boys co-wrote the opening song for the musical
b) finally decided what I'm going to do for my audition video (to be taped on Sunday!)
c) sprained my ankle
d) had dinner with Josh Yeoh, after talking about it for two months.

Since April is over, I will be resuming my sort-of-normal blog posting schedule of:
Sunday: Fireplace
Wednesday: book review (if any)
Friday: Friday flash

Any other day: random posts.
Or will try to anyway.

I kind of thought the next round of Renaissance was in May, but... no news so far.
Mary Pax's launch of The Backworlds is next week! Woots! So check back for that.
Also, JC Martin's Oracle releases July 30th!
Then it's the next Writer's Platform Building Campaign, I think in August (have to check).

Anything else you think I should be participating in?

Xylophone: #atozchallenge

Xylophone: http://www.buzzle.com/articles/different-percussion-instruments.html

They said that if you listened in the quiet of the night, you could hear the faint tinkling of the xylophone in the wind. You could hear it throughout the house, all the way to the nursery, but if you opened the door, the music would stop.

Mr Lee opened the door, Mrs Lee and Nanny peering in behind him.
“Didn’t you keep it last night?” Mr. Lee asked Nanny as he eyed the xylophone.
“Of course I did,” Nanny replied in a huff, wrapping her gown closer around her in the cold night chill. “Locked it in the cupboard, didn’t I?”
“You can’t have,” Mr. Lee insisted. “It’s right there in the middle of the table.”
“I did too, and kept the key with me too, I did.”
“Does someone else have a spare key?”
“Not that I know of. You ain’t accusing me of lying, are you?”
“No, of course not,” Mrs Lee interjected, glaring at her husband. “Look, it’s three a.m. And we’re all tired. Let’s go back to bed and talk about it in the morning.”
“Here - aren’t you going to put it away now?” Mr Lee said sharply as the two women turned to go.
Grumbling, Nanny shuffled off to her room to look for the key. She found it in her coat pocket. Under the watchful eye of Mr Lee, they locked the xylophone back in the cupboard. Mr Lee took the key from Nanny. “I’ll keep this for now.”

As he drifted off to sleep again, he could hear the sound of the xylophone, tinkling in the silence. He stared at the key in his hand.

Vying

It started when they were ten. Rose was the reigning class champion and Leslie, freshly transferred from out of town, beat her by two marks. Rose smouldered her way through Standard 5 and at the end of the year, beat Leslie by ten marks. Leslie took it with a faint grin and reluctant grace. In Standard Six, they tied. Neither was happy.

All the way through secondary school, their marks climbed neck to neck, each fighting not only for the highest scores, but as the years progressed, also for the highest posts. When Rose was elected President of the Tennis Club, Leslie merely smirked, secure as House Captain of Pykett. When Rose became Head Librarian as well, Leslie grimaced that he was only the Assistant Head Prefect.

“Get on with it,” their friends would say. “When’s Anne going to marry Gilbert?” they would taunt.

“Never!” was their immediate reply, the only thing they could ever agree on.

By a freak coincidence, both were accepted into the same university for the same course and their rivalry continued.

“Aren’t you ever going to give up?” Leslie stormed when she beat him by another mark in Economics.

“Only when you do,” Rose retorted, angry at losing to him in Finance.

It ended rather abruptly when they were twenty-five and had landed jobs in the same firm. Rose looked up at Leslie with tears in her eyes, and said “I’m frightened, Leslie.”

He held her hands in his and replied, “So am I.”

And they laid their war at rest.

Uxorious

“Bob, after you’ve done the dishes, make sure you remember to take rubbish out to the bin. I’m going out for drinks with the girls. Be back later.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Oh and don’t forget, Hannah’s coming over dinner tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, dear.”
“She does so like that wonderful roast you make. You will be -”
“Of course, dear.”
“So sweet of you, Bob. Tata, and don’t wait up.”
“Have fun, dear.”

—

The two policemen stared down at the bludgeoned body.
“Couldn’t have been the husband, could it?” Detective Malloy said, twirling his unlit cigarette between his fingers.
“That uxorious little man?” his partner shrugged. “Hard to believe. But you know what they say about breaking points.”
---
Uxorious:
Having or showing an excessive or submissive fondness for one's wife.

---

On other random matters, I haven't filed my taxes. =(

Also, the cheque's in the mail! Meaning, the revenue off Campaigner Challenges 2011 has finally been donated. Check out Cat's update here.

Tzatziki: #atozchallenge

“No!”
“Yes, darling. Just one bite. Look, the aeroplane is coming,” Mother made the spoon fly through the air, making it hover at Zara’s nose. “Come on, open up.”
“No!” Zara folded her arms and stamped her foot.
“How about with some nice bread? I’m sure it will taste better with bread.”
“No!” She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose.
“Zara, you listen to me. If you don’t eat your Tzatziki, I’m not giving you any dessert.”
“But mommy, I don’t want it.”
“I don’t care if you don’t want it. You’re going to eat it.”
"Oh, leave her be, Mags,” Greg said, hiding a grimace as he placed his spoon down.
“You always side her. I thought we agreed about discipline, and being in agreement and…”
“Just one time. Let her off,” he said, winking at Zara from behind Mag’s back.
Zara giggled.
“What are the two of you up to now?” Mags said, turning as Zara ran past her and clambered onto her father’s lap.
The two looked guiltily at each other.
“Actually, dear, it’s quite… disgusting,” Greg said with a shrug.
Mags’ shoulders slumped. “I thought I made it right!”
“It’s not your cooking, dear. Your cooking is delightful. But this is just…”
“You said you wanted to teach Zara all about our wonderful Greek heritage.”
“I do, Mags, I do. But maybe not Tzatziki, please?”
“Fine. I’ll eat it myself.”

---

Tzatziki (from wikipedia)

Tzatziki or tzadziki(Greek: τζατζίκι [dzaˈdzici] or [dʒaˈdʒici]; Turkish: cacık [dʒaˈdʒɯk]; English pronunciation: /zæˈdziːkiː/ Albanian: xaxiq), Persian ماست و خیار, is a Greek and Turkish meze or appetizer, also used as a sauce for souvlaki and gyros. Tzatziki is made of strained yoghurt (usually from sheep or goat milk) mixed with cucumbers, garlic, salt, usually olive oil, pepper, sometimes lemon juice, and dill or mint or parsley.^[1] Tzatziki is always served cold. While in Greece and Turkey the dish is usually served as an accompaniment, in other places tzatziki is often served with bread (loaf or pita) as part of the first course of a meal.

---

Because there are a lot of things I don't like to eat, cucumbers included. 

Sleep, Don't Weep: #atozchallenge

Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
Your face is all wet and your day was rough
So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, paint my shelf
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I...

“Are you coming up yet?” He leaned over the banisters, watching her.
“Just a little while more.” Her fingers were covered in paint, her face screwed in concentration, putting the finishing touches on the rose.
“It’s beautiful.” He sat down beside her as she laid her paint brush down, throwing an arm around her.
“I’m a mess.”
“You’re a beautiful mess.”
She laughed. “Is this our nightly ritual?”
“It’s coming to be.”
“Oh, Sky.”
And then she was crying in his arms, a raw, heaving sob.
“Hush.”

Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
Your face is all wet 'cause our days were rough
So do what you must do to fill that hole
Wear another shoe to comfort the soul
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I feel I will...

The sheets were tangled around them, her head lay on his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Why?” he said sleepily, an arm slowly stroking her long, dark hair.
“I know we can’t afford it.”
“Afford what?”
“I bought a pair of heels.”
“How much was it?”
“Sixty.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Are you angry?”
“No, sweets. I’m not. Don’t worry about it.”

Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
My face is all wet 'cause my day was rough
So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, paint my shelf
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I hope I find a place where I feel I belong

“We might have to move,” he said.
“Again?”
His eyes were staring at the ceiling, unseeing. “The landlord wants to raise the rent.”
“Where else can we go?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m so tired, Sky. We’ve been working so hard…”

Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
My face is all wet 'cause my day was rough

---

Sleep, Don't Weep by Damien Rice. 

Pyx: #atozchallenge

Pyx: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyx

“There it is,” Max whispered.
A particularly loud snore came from inside the room.
“Why do you need it?” Jim whispered back as he peered through the window at the small round box that Max had pointed out.
“It’s supposed to be holy.”
“And?”
“Uhm, well, I just might have a use for it.”
“This is crazy, Max. I can’t sneak in to the priest’s room to take that - that whatever it’s called. If he wakes up…”
“You can blame it on me. Come on, Jim. You’re quieter and smaller than me. I really, really need that pyx.”
“What for? I won’t do it until you tell me what for.”
“They say the sacred bread is inside it.”
“All this trouble for a piece of bread?”
“Well, they say it can heal. Please, Jim. My grandma needs it.”
Jim took a quick glance into the room. The priest hadn’t stirred. He pulled his friend away from the window.
“Has she seen a doctor?”
“Dozens. Nothing works. This is my last chance.”
“Why can’t you just ask him for it?”
“I… I just can’t, okay?”
Jim stared at Max for a moment.
“Look, I really don’t know if this is going to help your grandma. Do you think it will still work if it’s stolen?”
“It’s not stealing, just -”
“Is this what you’re looking for?” a deep voice boomed over them, causing the two to jump.
The boys looked up to find the priest standing over them, the little pyx in his hands.
“I could hear you, you know,” he said. “You boys woke me up from a very nice dream. I was just about to have freshly-baked shepherd’s pie.”
Jim looked at down at his feet sheepishly. “Sorry, Father.”
“And you?”
“Please, sir. It might save my grandma? The boys said the holy bread can heal her,” he blurted, almost in tears.
“Max, those are only legends. The bread in this pyx can’t do that. It’s faith in God and prayer that heals.”
“Then why won’t you pray for her?”
“I have, son. I have. But only God knows His reasons as to when and why he heals.”
“So she’s going to die?”
“Everyone dies. She, at least, has lived a long and full life.”
The priest looked down at the disconsolate boy.
“Here, take it,” he wrapped Max’s fingers around the pyx. “Maybe your faith will work a miracle.”

---

Pyx:

vessel for the consecrated bread of the eucharist. The term can also be used in archaeology and art history to describe small round lidded boxes designed for any purpose from antiquity or the Middle Ages, such as those used to hold coins for the Trial of the Pyx in England.

Ozone Layer: #atozchallenge

James lay on the grass, staring up at the blue sky above him.
“Did you put your sunscreen on?” Jeanette asked as she let the screen door slam shut behind her.
“That’s for sissies,” he said, barely turning his head to look at his younger sister.
“You wanna get skin cancer?”
“That’s a myth.”
“Everything’s a myth to you.” She pursed her lips, looking down at him, a mirror image of their mother. But instead of berating him like their mother would have, she took a seat beside him.
“What’s up, girl?”
She shrugged, plucking discontentedly at the grass.
“You don’t come all the way out here just to scold me about sunscreen and then sit in the sun. You have your ‘screen on?”
“Yeah. Ma made me. She don’t ever make you.”
“She knows I don’t care bout freckles. Or tans.”
“Or the skin peeling off your nose.”
James rubbed at his nose. “Is it peeling again?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Aww, shoot.”
“See, you do care.”
He sat up, rubbing grass out of his hair. “Maggie’s gonna be at Science tomorrow.”
“That your girlfriend?”
“Nah, just a friend.”
“The friend you don’t want to see with a peeling nose. You can tell me. I can keep secrets you know.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s nothing.”

The pair sat side by side, the young girl fair, with long blond braids, in a sweet gingham dress, the boy with tussled brownish locks, his bare back smooth and brown.
“So?” he asked.
“Is pa leaving?”
“That what you’re worried about?”
Jeanette nodded. “If he goes, ‘twill be like that hole there in the ozone. All the dangerous stuff might get in at us.”
“Nah, ‘sokay. I’m here, remember?”
“You ain’t big enough yet. Won’t fill the hole.”
“But I’ll get bigger.” He put an arm around her shoulder. “You just leave it to me, ‘kay? ‘Nyways, don’t think he will. Ma gave him a piece of her mind last night. Heard her.”
“What’d she say?”
“Said she can’t manage a place like this on her own. Told him his fancy thinking might just get us into bigger debt that if he just stayed here and worked the land. He said he’d think about it.”
“I hope he doesn’t go.”
“Yeah. Harvest won’t be fun without him.”
---

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ozone_layer

The ozone layer is a layer in Earth's atmosphere which contains relatively high concentrations of ozone (O3). This layer absorbs 97–99% of the Sun's high frequency ultraviolet light, which potentially damages the life forms on Earth.[1]

---

Also, for the heck of it, yesterday's wordle of my site:
 
I blame all the bunnies on Yuin-Y. 

Nymphomania: #atozchallenge

Continuing on from Ivy...

It was the cool breeze blowing through the room that woke me up in the middle of the night.
“Ivy?” She stirred beside me. “How did we get here?”
She merely curled up again and went back to sleep so I slid off the bed and walked over to the window. The overgrown forest I had hiked through this morning seemed to have been cleared in a day.
“Come back to bed, Ben,” she mumbled.
“Where are we?”
“We’re still in the mansion.” She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“But… it’s all different.” I turned back to look at her, taking in the room for the first time. I recognised it as one of the rooms we had explored upstairs by the painted cupids in the upper left corner, something I had been craning my neck to make out amidst the crumbling plaster. The cupids were as good as new now.
Her smile was beguiling, but I couldn’t help backing away. We had been sleeping on a bed of ivy.
“What are you?” I couldn’t help asking as she stepped towards me.
“Does it matter?”
“I… I don’t know. It might help.”
“Why are you afraid?” she asked as she backed me into the corner. I shivered as she laid her hands on my chest; a tingle, half of anticipation, half of terror.
“What do you want with me?”
“I want you. All of you. Stay with me.”
“What about my life? My job? My family?”
“Is it all that important to you?”
She pulled at me now, a soft insistent tug, like earlier in the morning. It was irresistible. We tumbled onto the bed, the ivy twining us around us, sealing us, making us one, until exhausted, we fell apart.
“I am Kissiae,” she finally said in the stillness above our laboured breathing.
“What does that mean?”
“I am the Ivy-nymph.” Her violet eyes glittered at me now. The long tendrils that had covered us wrapped itself around me, binding me tight.
“Am I your captive?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Would you ever let me go?”
“You have too many questions, little one. Let me stop them for you.”
Her kiss burst on me like a sunrise; multi-faceted, surprising, unexpected.
“Stay Ben, please.”
“Until morning.”
She nodded sadly, her hands reaching out to me again, pulling me into her.

The bright sun pierced my eyelids. I sat up with a groan. A bird twittered in the midsts of the trees outside the window, where the shutters hung loose on their hinges. The walls were covered with ivy again, the paint peeling, the plaster crumbling.
“Ivy?” Her name echoed in the empty hallway. I picked up my scattered belongings, pulling on my clothes as I ran stumbling down the same way she had led me. It was quiet now, except for the steady drip of water in the pool beside the thick old stem. I laid my hand on it gently, but it was nothing more than a plant.
I never found her again.

---

Nymphomania:
uncontrollable or excessive sexual desire in a woman.

But I concentrated more on the Nymph part, sort of.
A nymph in Greek mythology is a female minor nature deity typically associated with a particular location or landform. Different from gods, nymphs are generally regarded as divine spirits who animate nature, and are usually depicted as beautiful, young nubile maidens who love to dance and sing; their amorous freedom sets them apart from the restricted and chaste wives and daughters of the Greek polis. They are believed to dwell in mountains and groves, by springs and rivers, and also in trees and in valleys and cool grottoes. Although they would never die of old age nor illness, and could give birth to fully immortal children if mated to a god, they themselves were not necessarily immortal, and could be beholden to death in various forms.

Juxtapose: #atozchallenge (and an earthquake report!)

We’ll have coffee-coloured children.
With extra milk.
And lots of sugar.
Bitter sweet.

She hated the way they were always contrasted, juxtaposed, as if showing off their differences would drive them apart. They always said he was too black, too ugly and she too fair and pretty for the relationship to work out. His insecurities will drive him to kill you one day, didn’t you know all blacks are murderers at heart?

She had laughed. Are you insecure, honey? she had asked. Only when I need to be he answered. And that would be? Every week when I collect the dole on behalf of your parents. It helps the cashiers release the money.

Her father had glared at him then. “Aren’t your parents on dole as well?” he had growled.

My father is still lecturing at the University.
Stop it, dad. Come on, let’s go.

They had left the house silently after that.

I wish you wouldn’t egg him on. He might hate you even more now.

I thought he was trying to make me prove my worth.

The more you try to, the more he’ll say you’re insecure.

Fair enough.

I think your ego is big enough, as it is.

Hmph.

They sat side by side in the car, worlds apart, and yet firmly intertwined.

---

Juxtapose:
place or deal with close together for contrasting effect

---

It's been an exciting day. If you haven't heard, there was an 8.7 earthquake off North Sumatra sometime today... and we felt the tremors all the way here (which is Penang, Malaysia).
It was 4-ish PM when I initially thought I was a wee bit dizzy (which isn't unusual, but more so than usual) so I put my feet down on the floor (I usually sit with my legs crossed on the chair) then I realised that the floor was shaking. I looked out the window to see if there was some sudden earthworks being done, when I realised that the glass panes in the house opposite were shaking. Yeah, so that lasted for a while. Someone said it was almost 5 minutes.
Later on at 6-ish PM, there was another tremor. We were in the middle of discussing the script when it started shaking again. Quite a few shops closed due to "tsunami warning" but nothing's happened so far (was supposed to hit at 9.11PM and it's already 10.50PM).
That's a good thing at least =)
Don't know about Indonesia though.

Ivy: #atozchallenge #flashfiction

Long black hair curtained shy violet eyes, which blinked once in the strong sunlight. She spoke with a soft, sibilant whisper, “Let’s go back in.”

“It’s dark in there,” I protested, but her insistent hand pulled at mine and I followed.

“The light hurts my eyes,” she said as we stepped into the dank coolness of the hallway. She ran her fingers over the walls as she walked, leading me deeper into the entrails of the abandoned mansion. We passed by space after space of forgotten glory, each one growing darker, quieter, stiller.

“What’s that?” I asked, stopping in the doorway of the largest hall I had ever seen. Traces of gilt still remained on the arches, the frescoes still partially visible.

“What?”

“That sound.”

She cocked her head on one side, a look of puzzlement on her face.

“It sounds like violins,” I said. “Is there a gramophone playing in there?”

“Oh that. The walls are remembering. This used to be the ballroom. Oh, they had grand dances here once.” She turned away and continued walking.

I stared at her retreating back. “Wait. Wait – I don’t want to go any further in.”

“Come on, I’ll lead you.”

“Do you stay here? By yourself?”

She turned back to face me, beckoning from down the dark hallway. I could barely see her in the dim light, the fair skin of her face seeming to float by itself; her hair swished back and forth with her movement, only allowing me to see parts of it at a time. “Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Why don’t I go and get my torch?”

She shook her head. “No, don’t. You’ll hurt her if you do.”

“Her?”

“The house.”

“But what if it gets so dark that we can’t see where we’re going?”

She smiled. “It won’t. Trust me.”

I hesitated, but followed her. Her bare feet padded lightly, her dappled green sundress swayed to a non-existent breeze. It seemed to me that the further we got into the house and the deeper down we went, the hallways seemed to grow brighter with a slight green glow. The walls were covered with ivy now, and she often touched them as we passed by. Sometimes when she stopped, she seemed to almost blend into the walls.

“Where are we?” I whispered as she came to a stop in a yawning cavern, bigger than the hall I had admired upstairs. I wondered if it used to be the wine cellar.

“In the heart of the house.” She laid a pale hand on the thickest stem of ivy that I had ever seen. It seemed old and thick and hard enough to be part of a tree trunk. I wondered how it grew in the dimness of the house that never saw the light of day. Firmly, she pushed me against the wall; my bare arms shuddered a little as they brushed against the tendrils that swayed in the unfelt wind. The leaves rustled around me and she seemed to be communicating to them silently.

“Who are you?” I finally asked.

She smiled, her body pressing against mine. “Ivy.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

Her eyes widened a little. “Why would I?”

“I’m frightened.”

“Stay with me, Ben.”

She laid her soft lips on mine and the outside world faded away.

---

Ivy means a lot of things. Check out Wikipedia here. After all, as Taylor said, "If it's on Wikipedia, it must be true!" 

Hysterical #atozchallenge

Read part 1: Fuzzy
Read part 2: Gyroscope

Cherise stared at him. “You mean I’m stuck here forever?” She grabbed his lapels frantically. “I can’t be! I'm only twenty. I have my whole life to live and my boyfriend is waiting for me at home and he must be really worried by now -”

“Would that be George or Mike?” he asked, gently prying her fingers off him.

“Fine. I don't really have a boyfriend.”

“No, you seem to have several.”

“God, how did I get caught up in this?”

“By calling His name in vain, I suppose.”

Cherise fell on her knees. “Dear God, I really promise, if you would just let me get back home again, I'll be good. I'll go to church every week. I'll... I'll even read my Bible - when I can find it. I'll - “

Cherise scrambled to her feet as a loud siren blared in the distance. Footsteps pounded in the hallway and a young officer dashed through the door.

“Emergency in the bridge, Sir!”

“I’m coming.”

“Wait! Wait! Don’t leave me here!”

“Sorry, my dear. You can’t come to the bridge.”

“But - you said I was free to go anytime, right? Like even right now?”

“Yes, you’re free to go anywhere you wish on this ship, except the bridge. That is strictly off-limits to everyone except the crew.”

“But -”

“I’m sorry, I really do have to go.”

She watched as the man calmly walked out of the room, then fell back on the bed.

“Oh, God, what do I do now?”

“You could try using your brain a little,” a voice said out of nowhere.

Cherise sat up in a fright. “Who said that?”

“Me, of course.”

“Who’s me? Where are you? Are you a ghost?”

A low amused chuckle came out of nowhere.
“I’m the one who brought you here, Cherise.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything about you.”

“You do? Who are you? A maniac? A stalker? Oh my goodness, I have a stalker! I’m going to die!”

“Hush, child. You panic so easily.”

“But I’m scared.”

“Don’t get hysterical about it. Look, I brought you here for a reason.”

“You? Are you… who are you?”

“I am me, as you are you. For now, you can just call me Ship.”

“You brought me here? You? You crazy… thing!” Cherise started kicking at the nearest wall.

“I don’t feel pain like you do, you know. The only thing that will come out of that is the Captain will be quite upset if you damage anything. He does like a neat and proper ship. And I don’t want him to be angry with you.”

“What do you want?”

“The Captain is a good man. Just a little reserved sometimes, but very kind hearted. He called me soft-hearted, didn’t he? I’m very mean compared to him. I am being mean now, after all.”

“And your point is?”

“He needs a good woman -”

“And you think I’m the one? You must be crazy! You can’t just kidnap me like that and ask me to marry him! Why don’t you use your brain? Or whatever it is you have?”

“Stop being so silly!”

“But you -”

“He wouldn’t like you. You’re so… so… hysterical. And besides, you’re too young for him. No. What I want for you to do is to let him take you home and introduce him to your sister.”

“My sister?”

“Yes, your lovely sister.”

Cherise though about it slowly, a smile spreading on her face. “She does need a man, after all.”

---

 Hysterical:

1. Of, characterized by, or arising from hysteria.

2. Having or prone to having hysterics.

3. Informal Extremely funny: told a hysterical story. 

 

---

 

This will be the last instalment of this mini space opera series. I hadn't intended to do it this way, but there it is. The words take you to places you've never dreamed of. (And I discovered I can actually write something sci-fi-ishish. Double ish because it's not quite quite, but somewhere there, if that makes sense.)

I actually re-drafted this short story (well at least the Fuzzy and Gyroscope posts) into script format last Saturday night as a submission for the Short + Sweet acting, directing and playwriting workshops we were having and the actors loved it, or so they said. I don't know about Alex though, he didn't give much feedback.

Well if all goes well I'll probably be reworking that script, plus the extras from today's post, into a final script for submission. Rahr.