Improvement...
Sep. 11th, 2006 10:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
athersgeoWell, on the upside, I can now (I think) breath without everything seizing up; so that's an improvement. On the downside, I'm now starting to feel more tired. So tired, in fact, that I just completely horlicksed up something for work and sent out the wrong batch of emails. Twice.
Oops.
Anyhow. Since I moaned last week about the whole bedtime drabble thing, it seems only fair for me to post my two eventual contributions to the hilarity *grin*
First was my initial effort - which I wasn't sure I was going to use. And then it got to be Friday morning and I hadn't managed anything else that fit the bill, so I printed it out before I left home, and ended up adding it into the envelope anyway. Well it seemed a waste not to, really!
And Saints Can't Do More
She stared in unmitigated horror at the list of stipulations for the Gather's traditional bedtime drabbles. It had pleased the organisers to produce five different categories of 'item', with the idea being the incorporation of one from each, and she had hoped that just such a challenge might tempt the bunnies back.
But no.
An idea occurred to her, which she rapidly discarded. No. The stately Miss Annersley would not be seen dead dunking Karen's famous vegetable sausage in her coffee, even if the possibilities of innuendo were huge.
Besides, it was rather a vile thought – and anyway, weren't bedtime drabbles supposed to be family rated?
Then there was the list of places. The hut of an ugly shepherd? Why did it always have to be an ugly one? Surely EBD hadn't written about THAT many ugly sheepherders. Had she?
As for the minor characters, what was one to make of a list that included Daphne Bettany, a character who never actually appeared in the books and still managed to cause trouble!
But then, as she stared at the list a little more, an idea started to form. One of the bunnies, which had previously been far more interested in a rather noisy shoot-em-up story, pricked its ears up and looked interested.
"Yes," she murmured. "I think that might work."
With a smile, she started to write her bed time drabble.
Then, at 4:30pm, half an hour before I was due to leave work and head off for the wilds of Milton Kynes (and my subsequent getting-lost-and-taking-the-pretty-route!), I finally got some coherent inspiration.
Memento Mori
Vater Johann was dead.
The thought echoed through Joey's head as she took each step further and further along the dank, dark passage the kindly priest had shown them.
Vater Johann was dead.
Joey knew that as well as if she'd seen him fall. The mob he'd saved them from would ultimately find a way into the church, and they would kill him. She shivered. He would die because he had helped them, just as they would have died had he not helped them.
Vater Johann was---
Don't think about that, she chided. Think of anything but that.
She tried directing her thoughts elsewhere. What she wouldn't give for a good cup of hot, milky coffee just now; maybe some of Marie's warming soup; perhaps a couple of bread twists; black cherry jam---
Joey stumbled; her wandering thoughts had failed to take into account the unevenness off the ground.
"You all right, Jo?" Cornelia asked.
"I'm fine," Joey answered. "Fit as an Irishman's flea."
Cornelia gave a funny little giggle. "I'll just bet you're not," she murmured. "This sure isn't what I expected to happen."
"No," Joey agreed. In the younger girl's voice she caught a hint of strain and fear. "But here's something to think about," she said, trying to redirect Cornelia's thoughts, "where do you suppose we're going to come out?"
"Gee, I don't know," Cornelia admitted. "Maybe somewhere on the mountain slope above Spartz? We seem to have been going up hill forever!"
Joey grinned to herself. She rather suspected that they had long since covered the distance to the slopes above Spartz.
"Maybe, Jo, this could be part of your next book?" suggested Jeanne.
"It could, at that," Joey agreed. "It would certainly be a thrill. Then again, perhaps my editor would tell me it couldn't possibly happen."
"They do say," said Miss Wilson, "that truth is stranger than fiction."
Joey jumped; she hadn't realised the mistress was listening to the conversation.
"Say," called Evadne, "I can see light up ahead. I think we're nearly done."
"At least!" exclaimed Hilary. "We should get home sometime, then."
Others took up that cry, but not Joey.
Vater Johann was dead.
And so would they be if they remained here.
And for reference, this ties to two of my previous bedtime drabbles:
Fear No Evil and Anschluss.
Oops.
Anyhow. Since I moaned last week about the whole bedtime drabble thing, it seems only fair for me to post my two eventual contributions to the hilarity *grin*
First was my initial effort - which I wasn't sure I was going to use. And then it got to be Friday morning and I hadn't managed anything else that fit the bill, so I printed it out before I left home, and ended up adding it into the envelope anyway. Well it seemed a waste not to, really!
She stared in unmitigated horror at the list of stipulations for the Gather's traditional bedtime drabbles. It had pleased the organisers to produce five different categories of 'item', with the idea being the incorporation of one from each, and she had hoped that just such a challenge might tempt the bunnies back.
But no.
An idea occurred to her, which she rapidly discarded. No. The stately Miss Annersley would not be seen dead dunking Karen's famous vegetable sausage in her coffee, even if the possibilities of innuendo were huge.
Besides, it was rather a vile thought – and anyway, weren't bedtime drabbles supposed to be family rated?
Then there was the list of places. The hut of an ugly shepherd? Why did it always have to be an ugly one? Surely EBD hadn't written about THAT many ugly sheepherders. Had she?
As for the minor characters, what was one to make of a list that included Daphne Bettany, a character who never actually appeared in the books and still managed to cause trouble!
But then, as she stared at the list a little more, an idea started to form. One of the bunnies, which had previously been far more interested in a rather noisy shoot-em-up story, pricked its ears up and looked interested.
"Yes," she murmured. "I think that might work."
With a smile, she started to write her bed time drabble.
Then, at 4:30pm, half an hour before I was due to leave work and head off for the wilds of Milton Kynes (and my subsequent getting-lost-and-taking-the-pretty-route!), I finally got some coherent inspiration.
Vater Johann was dead.
The thought echoed through Joey's head as she took each step further and further along the dank, dark passage the kindly priest had shown them.
Vater Johann was dead.
Joey knew that as well as if she'd seen him fall. The mob he'd saved them from would ultimately find a way into the church, and they would kill him. She shivered. He would die because he had helped them, just as they would have died had he not helped them.
Vater Johann was---
Don't think about that, she chided. Think of anything but that.
She tried directing her thoughts elsewhere. What she wouldn't give for a good cup of hot, milky coffee just now; maybe some of Marie's warming soup; perhaps a couple of bread twists; black cherry jam---
Joey stumbled; her wandering thoughts had failed to take into account the unevenness off the ground.
"You all right, Jo?" Cornelia asked.
"I'm fine," Joey answered. "Fit as an Irishman's flea."
Cornelia gave a funny little giggle. "I'll just bet you're not," she murmured. "This sure isn't what I expected to happen."
"No," Joey agreed. In the younger girl's voice she caught a hint of strain and fear. "But here's something to think about," she said, trying to redirect Cornelia's thoughts, "where do you suppose we're going to come out?"
"Gee, I don't know," Cornelia admitted. "Maybe somewhere on the mountain slope above Spartz? We seem to have been going up hill forever!"
Joey grinned to herself. She rather suspected that they had long since covered the distance to the slopes above Spartz.
"Maybe, Jo, this could be part of your next book?" suggested Jeanne.
"It could, at that," Joey agreed. "It would certainly be a thrill. Then again, perhaps my editor would tell me it couldn't possibly happen."
"They do say," said Miss Wilson, "that truth is stranger than fiction."
Joey jumped; she hadn't realised the mistress was listening to the conversation.
"Say," called Evadne, "I can see light up ahead. I think we're nearly done."
"At least!" exclaimed Hilary. "We should get home sometime, then."
Others took up that cry, but not Joey.
Vater Johann was dead.
And so would they be if they remained here.
And for reference, this ties to two of my previous bedtime drabbles:
Fear No Evil and Anschluss.
