Hooray! I'm glad you're enjoying it! I'll make sure the posts are more regular!
I'm not sure I want to say what this is about. You tell me:
The walls pressed close around me, stark white. The floor was cold under the thin soles of my shoes. It was silent, every noise seeming as loud as a foghorn in the stillness. I vowed I would not break that silence.
So I sat.
How long I had been sitting there I did not know, but I had stopped worrying about time a while ago. I did not want to be caught; I could not be caught. I could bear almost anything but that. I willed myself to be silent, I forced myself to be still contracting muscles and forbidding any air to leave my body without signed permission from management.
And I sat.
I could sense her – she was as much a prisoner as me. We were the only two in trapped in this little chamber of horrors. At first we had heard one another, when we had made noises to announce our presence, to attempt to ameliorate our embarrassment. It had been reassuring but we had settled in to wait one another out. We faced the same torment, but that suffering did not form a bond between the two of us. Humans are not like that. No, we sat, locked in a silent battle, just waiting for the other to crack.
I sat, my elbows resting on my thighs and my bowed head resting on my hands.
I waited. I am a patient woman.
I knew I had won when I heard the noise.
PML!!!! Thats brilliant Nef. I never find myself in that predicament. I just go ahead and make noise.
There is so much wrong with that small story - mostly the idea itself is just wrong. I am going to refuse to say whether or not I did any research on the issue ...
Blytonly obvious strikes again! Click my sig to read!
Lol Nef loved that little 'I sat' piece XD Very funny!
The 'I sat' thing sounds like me on a bus-stop when it's raining and there's only one other person there... lol. I'm sure that's not quite the context you meant for it but whatever... :D
I like it :D
Thandi, perhaps you should lower your mind into the gutter a bit when reading that story (loath though I am to say that) ...
Oh i see what you mean!!!
I still like the story though... :D
Tragedy has strucken! My USB with all my stories has been lost ... LOST! What will I do?
OML!!! This is terribles!!!! Try to think of the last place you remember having it and start searching from there... It can't be lost!!! NOOOOO!!!!!!
My sister lost it. No joy there ...
Steal her teddy and treaten it with doom unless your USB is found...
what is the point in living if you no longer have your USB full of stories?
i lost mine once and i cried and then sulked for days until i found it. it turned out it had fallen off my desk and i had put a bag on top of it. i wore it around my neck for about a month afterwards. :-"
maybe you should interrogate the evil sibling to find out as much as you can about where it could be... then demand that they buy you a new one to compensate regardless of whether you find the other one...
[act]quietly offers DSC's to Lud after praying for Nef's USB to be found[/act]
Fortunately, I saved a lot of my stories elsewhere, so I've not lost too much - so it's not too bad ... my sister can live, this time ...
[act]ominously[/act] she's lucky...
well thats some good news at least but it still sucks that some of your hard work has been lost... :(
Well, this is the start of another story I've been working on - it's nearly 5000 words so far, so I won't post the whole thing:
Yesterday, I sat on the floor. There were chairs near-by, all around me in truth, but they were the clinical drab seats of the burocracy that was killing me. Sitting in them reminded me that we were waiting, or rather, that everyone was waiting for me. I’m not sure that I could say that I was waiting as such, but I was beginning to grow impatient. Perhaps it was the influence of all that expectation. There was an event coming in the not too distant future, and sitting in the chairs reminded me that I would not be part. There would be no Christmas present under the tree for me when I came down on Christmas day. I wouldn’t come down that morning. Rudolph would probably have gored me while I slept. Santa, on the other hand, would have waited quietly on the roof until I was gone.
So I sat on the floor. Looking at the chairs, I noticed that they had changed colour again. They used to be blue, now they were yellow. I’d missed it – I’m not surprised that I did. They used to be blue, and grey before that, and red, mauve (mauve was a bad time) and red, apricot and ... blue again. I think they were green at one point. I had measured time by those chairs – first the length of time I spent waiting in them, then afterward, I measured time by the changing colour of the fabric. I watched the fabric fade and wear, rip and break, and be replaced. My life has been lived by those replacements. I thought about it for a moment, then I realised that I no longer remembered how many times the chairs have been re-covered. It could have been ten, but that didn’t seem right – had they changed the fabric soon after Eva’s birth? That lapse galled me. I could have checked a calendar, but this was my own way of marking time and it galled me that I had forgotten it. By the calendar, 65 years was a life-time; it didn’t feel so long measured by the chairs.
It struck me as odd that the hosts would change the chair covers now. Today, He was coming to see me. Excitement had rippled through our quadrant at the news. There was unprecedented action outside my sleeping pod as the settlers fluttered in anticipation of His arrival. He didn’t get out much anymore, but I had become a celebrity in the past few weeks. I was the last. I was dying, and my death heralded the end of our incarceration.
AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I finally posted on Blytonly Obvious again. It's a filler until I can get the next post up. Click my sig to read.
XD Nef, I just read your spoilered story! I love it! A very clever way of putting the whole situation :P
Kaede, thank you. Good to know ...
Anyway - the Blytonly Obvious has been updated, click my sig for the entry
And here's a glimpse into what I've been toying with this week:
My nan’s farm is full of scary places. It is. Outside the little living area with the paper and green and purple pens that my sister and I play with, and outside the dark kitchen with the coke we’re not allowed to drink because it’s saved for my cousins, there are lots of scary spots.
There were the quiet unused rooms with old furniture and dusty smelling carpet. The front hall with its long table covered in photo frames. There were so many photos, like pictures of my granddad who died. The pictures are all kind-of fadey and feel … grey, even even the coloured ones. My dad went through the photos once and told me about every one in them. Lots of the people were dead, but their eyes could still see me though the dusty glass. I run down that hall now. And I make no noise there; who knows what I will wake up?
Oooh, I'm loving the sound of what you're currently working on!