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[Unrelated writing!]

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May. 9th, 2010 | 05:58 pm

Unrelated to PMM and prettymuch anything else, this is just a bit of something I drafted back in March. I'm thinking of adopting this journal for prose-practice attempts like this. Call it a test run, I s'pose? oo


"Don't you hate it when you're right?"

I'm biting the inside of my cheek, swallowing the taste of blood already in my mouth. I won't drool it out. I won't wheeze and huddle myself on the ground. I won't show you how hard I've been hit. But wait--

I am on the ground. When did this happen?

Doesn't matter; one knee is still folded under me. I can use that. I'll roll myself, then I still have one hand and a leg to push the earth away from me. One unbroken wrist is all I need, if I can merely keep my balance past--

Betrayed by gravity as well, I see.

If that's how this is going to play out, I can glare a whole lot harder than this. I will glare so hard, the chill coming off it will register on the weather reports. Cities for miles will complain of frost on their daisies and winter hitting early--

Oh, but I see you don't care.

I see in your eyes and in your smile that you've been laughing as I fell. Pleased, no doubt, that I'm stumbling in pursuit of the most basic of physical accomplishments. My every fiber is filled with the desire to demonstrate the serious, negative consequences that will be involved for you when I prove you've jumped to a premature conclusion--

But nothing. You're right. I can't stand anymore.

I'm angrier than ever -- and more angry than that again -- but the swell of dizzy lightness in my head seems to be a block to every nerve. Nothing's getting through. What's already up there bubbles and churns, a curdling stew of thoughts: Why did I ever give you the chance to do this to me? What flight of fantastic fancy ever possessed me to hope for any better outcome than this? Mangled and mocked by you, in exactly the fashion you treat the rest of the world. Time and again, day after day, a reality I saw just as surely as I must have seen this coming.

Yes, I was right. I was right, you're right, and I do hate it!

I hate it almost as much as I hate you from where I'm lying right now.

"..g'.. die in a fire."

My comeback-fu is weak, like my pulse.

The fade to black is filled with stars; both exactly like and unlike in the movies.


My reader response question is: Who do you picture in the first and second person roles? By description, by example (if it's a preexisting character or personage), or just one trait of them, etc.

[oo I have a number of possible personal interpretations of where it could fit for me or my characters (there's a new one of those I initially had in mind)--it all kindof got merged in. Partway in I made a purposeful effort to wipe out any gendered references (I couldn't decide the identity of the initial speaker in the first place), in hopes I might get to hear what other people got from it. I might even continue based on input. Not sure!]

Hmmm, alsoo- there was another thing I meant to say- what could it have been? A-ha, that's right: I found at the very start I wanted to put an emphasis word like "Man, don't you hate it-" or "Boy, don't you hate it-" or "My," or "Hm," or anything along those lines. But each of those seemed to imply too much! Tricky.

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Comments {2}

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from: kyaripoke
date: May. 18th, 2010 05:33 am (UTC)

ACK noooo~! hahahaha I wasn't thinking it! FOR ONCE. Until now.

. . . . . though that's about 40% false, since I couldn't stop thinking it might be TD. But him and LUKAR. I really can't think now of why Felice did not even occur to me. Maybe having other candidates I was trying to fit in the first-person position eclipsed her (top contenders: 1. my new female character, 2. self-portrait facing down a mix of TD's fun-filled personality with someone I genuinely feel rage toward).

Or it's because I never think I could possibly write for her!

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