AN: I hate to get strict with you guys but you really need to review
more. Not just my story, but others. If you read a story it is common
courtesy to review. Please, people, if not for my sake, then for my
sanity!
Drip…drip…drip…. Water plopped onto the ground in some dark corner of the cell. I stared at the ceiling, focusing and un-focusing my eyes—making the walls blur together and meet in a dome over my head. The ceiling, obscured by shadows and some sort of moss, seemed to push down, lower and lower, every hour, every night we spent here. Two weeks we'd been here, with nothing to do but-well-fuck around, as Frank would have so aptly put it. There was nothing to talk about that we hadn't discussed endlessly, picking the last, tough bits of conversation of the bone of time until it was clean, white, and endless.
We weren't even cautious anymore. The guards all knew; chatted and joked amongst themselves as Riff and I found productive (no pun intended…tee hee, I'm listening to "Lullaby"!) ways to while away the time. Other than that, nothing happened and nothing happened, and nothing happened.
This was all before the war started. When a breeze blew over the entire planet, bringing the stench of gunpowder and burnt flesh with it, things changed. The queen needed all able bodied men, and soon, the city was half empty, inhabited only by a crowd of worried wives and the pathetic, weak old people. Riff, though certainly not able bodied, was—dispensable. And so, he was torn from me, ripped from my arms as the staccato clacking of the guards' boots had ripped me from my dreams.
So I became no different from the worried wives on the streets of the city. My nights were spent awake, staring at the blank walls and envisioning the horrible death of my brother. My days were spent tirelessly writing page after page of letters, never sent but kept in the lining of my mattress. I imagined the other women writing, their movements in unison with mine, their pen strokes identical to the ones on my paper. We were one entity, except that I was still down here…unable to keep vigil by the front window, waiting for a love to return, unable to send off my letters, let him know that I'm okay, that I'm waiting.
AN: Okay, that's all. Umm…here's a haiku about my favorite transvestite rock musical.
Crowd cries, tension builds
Let there be lips, and there were
and they were quite good
Drip…drip…drip…. Water plopped onto the ground in some dark corner of the cell. I stared at the ceiling, focusing and un-focusing my eyes—making the walls blur together and meet in a dome over my head. The ceiling, obscured by shadows and some sort of moss, seemed to push down, lower and lower, every hour, every night we spent here. Two weeks we'd been here, with nothing to do but-well-fuck around, as Frank would have so aptly put it. There was nothing to talk about that we hadn't discussed endlessly, picking the last, tough bits of conversation of the bone of time until it was clean, white, and endless.
We weren't even cautious anymore. The guards all knew; chatted and joked amongst themselves as Riff and I found productive (no pun intended…tee hee, I'm listening to "Lullaby"!) ways to while away the time. Other than that, nothing happened and nothing happened, and nothing happened.
This was all before the war started. When a breeze blew over the entire planet, bringing the stench of gunpowder and burnt flesh with it, things changed. The queen needed all able bodied men, and soon, the city was half empty, inhabited only by a crowd of worried wives and the pathetic, weak old people. Riff, though certainly not able bodied, was—dispensable. And so, he was torn from me, ripped from my arms as the staccato clacking of the guards' boots had ripped me from my dreams.
So I became no different from the worried wives on the streets of the city. My nights were spent awake, staring at the blank walls and envisioning the horrible death of my brother. My days were spent tirelessly writing page after page of letters, never sent but kept in the lining of my mattress. I imagined the other women writing, their movements in unison with mine, their pen strokes identical to the ones on my paper. We were one entity, except that I was still down here…unable to keep vigil by the front window, waiting for a love to return, unable to send off my letters, let him know that I'm okay, that I'm waiting.
AN: Okay, that's all. Umm…here's a haiku about my favorite transvestite rock musical.
Crowd cries, tension builds
Let there be lips, and there were
and they were quite good