Friday, January 31, 2014

Prompt: There are all kinds of touch, Take 2


In the low gravity, Meredith easily carried Jillie from the bath to the den, with Jillie’s arms and legs wrapped around her. Meredith tapped the wall and said, “Night sky, Bermuda.”

Upstairs and down, the lights dimmed, and the ceilings disappeared, revealing open starry skies. The effects were seamless, worth every Hari-credit Meredith had spent. Jillie looked up at the rich, black sky filled with countless bright stars. Simon slept more easily under the open sky, even though he knew it was illusion.

As Meredith walked, she pointed to Jillie’s favorite constellations. She paused in the den doorway until Simon looked up from his tablet. “Okay, my little monkey, go give Daddy a special hug,” she encouraged Jillie, holding her hands as their beautiful, impossible daughter drifted down to the floor.

Jillie grinned at Simon, who sat still, except for his fingers back and forth on his knees. Meredith scanned his pulse and breathing from her vantage point in the doorway. Elevated. Shallow. But acceptable. She didn’t want Jillie to push him too far though.

Jillie held her arms wide open, palms flat. She took slow, sliding steps, watching Simon as carefully as Meredith did. If he stiffened up, she would stop. But he stayed calm – for him – on the couch, and held out his hands, palms to the sides to match Jillie’s when she reached him. They clasped hands, and Jillie pushed against his, leaning with all her might into their special open hug.

Meredith had figured it out in the long, dark months after she had taken Simon out of the Hari. He couldn’t tolerate any constriction, nor any light touch. She couldn’t hug him, or trail her long dark hair over him, or run her fingers playfully over his skin. Nothing the Hari had used – nothing she had used -- to seduce him, to break him, to compel him to give up the information they wanted. 

Eventually, face to face, palm to palm, he could relax enough to accept her body against his. By the time Jillie was born, he trusted himself enough to hold her if Meredith carefully wrapped her in a blanket for her feet and hands wouldn’t startle him.

Meredith slid slowly away from the doorway. “Okay, monkey. Off to bed with you. Come, I’ll throw you up the stairs.”

Jillie blew kisses to Simon, who almost didn’t flinch as her hands fluttered toward him. He tried so hard. Jillie ran around the couch to Meredith, who grabbed around her waist and pitched her up the stairs. Jillie giggled as she floated down to the top landing. “Goodnight, Mama,” she called as she climbed into her hammock and sealed it.

Note:
So what do you think of this re-working of yesterday’s post?

I think it’s cleaner, perhaps, but I also have the feeling it’s more of a coda, an ending scene, than the beginning of the story. I think the real story is Meredith and Simon in the Hari, and their escape from it…unless the Hari are about to come retrieve Jillie…

Dogs in house
Houdini


Time writing
20 minutes


January word count
15,332

Prompt: There are all kinds of touch


Meredith tossed the kitchen towel over her shoulder and leaned against the doorway, watching Jillie jump from chair to chair around the table. Jillie loved their new home’s low gravity. Simon sat on the couch, back straight, hands on his knees, rubbing them slowly back and forth. Meredith dropped her head to the side, letting her hair fall down, knowing it would catch his attention. When his eyes snapped toward her, she smiled and blew him a kiss. He relaxed, marginally, but his eyes flickered back to Jillie’s pre-bedtime antics.

Meredith knew he was thinking of children in the mine fields. She scanned his pulse and breathing. Elevated. Shallow. But acceptable. She didn’t want Jillie to push him too far though. “Okay, my little monkey. Bound over here for a goodnight hug,” she called to Jillie.

Their beautiful, impossible daughter pushed off the closest chair and launched across the room into Meredith’s arms. Their heads dropped together, long black hair mingling with long blond curls. Hari curls, if Jillie followed in her footsteps, Meredith thought, then pushed the idea away. She left the Hari willingly for Simon. He would never accept that life for Jillie.

“Okay, monkey. Go give Daddy a special Daddy-hug,” Meredith said, sliding Jillie down to stand on the floor. Jillie turned to Simon and held her arms wide open, palms flat. She took slow, sliding steps, watching Simon as carefully as Meredith did. If he stiffened up, she would stop. But he stayed calm – for him – on the couch, and held out his hands, palms to the sides to match Jillie’s when she reached him. They clasped hands, and Jillie pushed against his, leaning with all her might into their special open hug.

Meredith had figured it out after they left the Hari. Simon couldn’t tolerate any constriction, nor any light touch. Nothing the Hari had used to seduce him, to break him, to compel him to give up the information they wanted.  She couldn’t hug him, or run her fingers playfully over his skin. Face to face, palm to palm, he could relax enough to accept her body against his.

He had found comfort in her round belly, lying perpendicular to her, with his ear resting against her skin. He said he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, and it soothed him. He slept.

When Jillie was born, Simon cried. He couldn’t hold her without triggering the nightmare memories. Meredith wrapped her tightly in a blanket and when Jillie slept, lay her on Simon’s chest. “Now she hears your heartbeat. Let her know it,” she soothed him. He slept.

Meredith slid slowly away from the doorway. “Okay, monkey. Off to bed with you. Come, I’ll throw you up the stairs.”

Jillie blew kisses to Simon, who almost didn’t flinch as her hands fluttered toward him. He tried so hard. Jillie ran around the couch to Meredith, who grabber around her waist and pitched her up the stairs. Jillie giggled as she floated down to the top landing. “Goodnight, Mama,” she called as she climbed into bed.

Meredith tapped the wall panel for the night sky view. Upstairs and down, the lights dimmed, and the ceilings disappeared, revealing open starry skies. The effects were seamless, worth every Hari-credit Meredith had spent. Jillie fell asleep every night watching for shooting stars. And Simon slept more easily under the open sky, even though he knew it was illusion.

Note:
Bah! I had a good initial idea/scene, but I think it's wandered too far afield already. What do you think? Are you interested in Simon and Meredith? Curious about the Hari? Want to know more, or ready to move on? Comments welcome! 

Dogs in house
Houdini


Music
Mediaeval Baebes


Time writing
40 minutes


January word count
14,824

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Prompt: Believer in reincarnation, hospital waiting room, extremely hairy person, unexpected package


Stefan ignored the furtive glances of the others in the waiting room. He’d had a lifetime of experience ignoring them, and more. A little girl -- five or six, he guessed, for all he knew about kids – climbed down from her chair and clattered over to stand in front of him. The clatter was from her red sparkly shoes, which she had stylishly paired with baby blue fleece pants and a Lion King sweatshirt. Stefan looked up from his months-old magazine to see her staring at him intently.

“Are you Dorothy?” he asked her quietly.

She got it, looking down at her shoes and rocking back on her heels. With a grin, she said, “No, I’m Emma. Are you a werewolf?”

Closing his magazine, Stefan pretended to think about this, stroking his long cheek hair with one furred hand. “I don’t think so. How would I know?”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Well,” she said seriously, “do you turn into a wolf?”

“No.”

“Howl at the moon?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Emma copied his movements, stroking her cheek with her hand. Stefan saw the hospital ID band and a tell-tale bandaid-covered IV port. “I guess you’re not a werewolf, then.”

“I agree with your diagnosis,” Stefan said, a twinkle in his eye. Kids never bothered him, the ones who weren’t mean. Curious wasn’t mean. And they were honest about it.

Emma laughed, a happy, high-pitched tone. The man she had been sitting with looked up, and Stefan nodded to him. Don’t worry. I’m not a freak. I won’t hurt your little girl. The man went back to his magazine.

Emma climbed up next to Stefan, making herself comfortable. He slid the magazine into the empty chair on his other side, since she obviously planned to be awhile. “I’m Stefan.”

Emma shook his hand very seriously, then turned it over in her hand, studying the hair on his fingers and back of his hand. “Hi Stefan. Why do you have so much hair?”

There. Honest and direct. “It’s called hypertrichosis. It makes my hair grow crazy fast and long. Why are you here?” Turn about was fair play, he figured. And children usually thought so too.

“I’m giving one of my kidneys to my brother,” Emma said, sitting up proudly. But Stefan heard the little tremor in her voice and saw the shadow cross her face. Her hand, still holding his, clenched a little.

Emma was afraid. He looked back to the man, reading and not paying attention to this beautiful young girl. Surely not the brother. Her father? Pay attention! Stefan wanted to shout. He looked back down to Emma, who looked up at him patiently.

“You’re very brave,” Stefan said. “I would be scared.”

Emma leaned forward to whisper, cupping her left hand to her mouth. Stefan bent down to hear her. “I am scared, Stefan. I was hoping you were a werewolf so you could help me.”

Stefan pulled back in surprise. “Help you? How?”

Dogs in house
Houdini


Music
Frozen Soundtrack


Time writing
~30 minutes, including research


January word count
14,255

Prompt: Prisoner of war, rapper, flight, plastic flowers


The screen by the door flickered to life. “CZ19374, report—”

“Black Ice, man. Ima here, all ears,” Charlie Zickman, known as Black Ice to thousands, or at least dozens of adoring fans on Lunar Station 7, tossed his playing cards in the air and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and fingers splayed in an illegal gang salute. He was never in a gang, but it looked cool, and it really pissed off the administration, so he used it all the time.

“CZ19374,” the implacable voice might have carried the slightest hint of irritation, which made Charlie smile. “Report to loading station three.”

Charlie sketched a middle-finger salute over his eyebrow and sat silently until the screen went dark. Loading station three? They were shipping him out. Where? He cued his neural implant to scan the news and alert him of anything that might be relevant while he packed his scant belongings into the cotton duffel they allowed each prisoner.

One extra shirt, one extra pair of loose cotton pants, one thin paper journal and a nub of pencil, one copy of Haiku by Matsu Basho, tattered around every edge and dog-eared on most pages. A small portfolio with a handful of paper letters and photos. Not much to show for this two-year gig on Lunar 3, he thought bitterly.

His implant pinged for his attention. He sat on the bunk and scanned the search results. News on Earth, news on the Moon. Hey, he missed the Academy Awards again this year? Wait, backup. What was that? Ah, very interesting. But where did he fit in? Nothing to do but go along for the ride, of course.

He picked up his duffel and stood in front of the door. “Black Ice ready to report to loading station three.”

The door dissolved and he stepped out, following the lighted path than led him to the loading station. He was careful to step on the floor lights – if he deviated more than two steps, the hallway would become electrified and he’d be knocked on his ass. He’d quickly learned not to give the guards the satisfaction.

Dogs in house
Houdini


Time writing
~25 minutes


January word count
13,762