Rifts Are Strange Things
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. I am not that mean, to leave us the way he did.
A/N: FINALLY THOUGHT OF ANOTHER ONE! This is utterly and completely pointless (aren't they all?), but I wanted to write it. Also, it's a poem, instead of a technical drabble. Sorry. I guess I was just in more of a poetic mood. I also have the beginning ideas of a real poem for this fandom. And maybe, if I get some inspiration, I'll write a REAL drabble for this.
However, it IS a 100-word poem.
Chapter 9: Tongues (100 words)
finally,
he looks up.
she
has been staring at him–
with her tongue out
(very mature)
–for hours
(he guesses.
after all
it's not like she has a job here
or something).
in retaliation
he
(stooping to her level)
sticks his tongue out at her.
she
simply smiles,
as though
she knew
such an act
was inevitable.
she closes her mouth
(finally)
and swallows.
then,
she takes a drink
from the mug
of half-caff,
double-strength,
total redundancy
coffee
that doesn't,
actually,
help her thirst.
bored
of her shenanigans,
he looks away.
then
she stops,
and selects
a new target.