Solvitur Ambulando, read the heading printed in washed out soy ink on the folded apple pulp letterhead that was pressed into my palm. That was the motto of Unilever’s Energy House 36. I knew it would be on the paper already because everything Unilever issued to us had our motto on it, and all we had was what Unilever issued.
An entry for LJ Idol, week 3. There's more entries to read there! c:
I race across Flat and smell the citrus sharp, acrid scent of panic, chased by the bitter plumes of death.
...And banking quickly now, away from the source. The gelatinous globule of pink clenched in my grabbypart jostles. That tingly feeling I get from the brightness above is on my right, which means the Place We Can Relax is fifty-six thousand, three hundred and sixty-eightsevensixfivefou--and so on-- steps to the not-tingly side now. I already wanted to go there. Now, I want to go there, plus desperation.
I arc a new path for myself, skimming the notes of threat.( Collapse )
For LJ Idol's Week 2 Topic, "Living rent-free in your head". Please check out all the entries! C:
She shuffled through the throng of bodies queuing impatiently at the check-in counter, then crab-walked between extended legs of folks slouched in the unforgiving, rigid molded seats of the waiting room. Red-rimmed eyes stared into ragged paperbacks, glowing cell phones, or just at the floor tiles, oblivious of her awkward, weeding steps.
There was a place to perch at the end of the third row back and she sank into her own seat, clipboard clutched against her chest. She searched for a place to stow her bag when a voice floated across the room from one of the attendant windows.
"Please," the voice gasped. "I'm desperate. I can't even... I can't even be in relationships anymore. I don't know how to connect to anyone. I... I'm so lonely. I can't live like this anymore. There has to be a way... is there a payment plan? I get paid twice a month..!" A moment after the question trailed off, there was a wail. The answer hadn't been good.
Nobody looked over at her. The woman continued wailing. Peripherally, she could be seen on the floor, sobbing. Someone stepped over the woman's gently vibrating body to get in line. Some people shifted uncomfortably in their seat, as if hoping the woman would just leave.
She let her focus drift away from the soft, steady moans of woman and clicked the end of her basic Bic to extend the tip for writing and scanned down her form.( Collapse )
Hello! This entry is for Week 1 of LJ Idol, with the theme "Resolution".
“I guess this all just really means something to me, you know? It's a spiritual journey. Like nothing has ever really mattered to me more than making it to the top-- just so I can say I was there.”
She pressed on against the icy breeze, feeling with her clawed boot for purchase on the only-slightly-less treacherous compact layers of snow beneath the unstable tufts of powder that swirled in every gust. She gripped the guide rope that was staked deep into the ice and stone, knowing the risk to her life if she lost hold.
“I want to try to explain to all of you how hard this actually is, but even if I tried to paint you a picture, it’d still probably be impossible for you to truly comprehend exactly how cold it is up here, how exhausted I am, how thin the air is… how much I’m even risking just being up here, doing this. But, you know…? In reality? It’s actually a real privilege for me to be able to do this.”
The weight of her packs—the MREs, four season mountaineering tent, lanterns, bedrolls, and oxygen tanks—pulled at her, but she was built squarely. She deftly swept some trash that had fallen off a nearby pile onto the winding, and increasingly angled footpath and shifted her grip on the rope to pull herself up an exposed stone that functioned as a stair, taking the longer way around some snowy mounds to avoid the nearby shitpit, which was currently at capacity and drying out in the glaring sunlight.( Collapse )
Woo! I'm doing LJ Idol 11 : > Thanks for extending it, or I would have missed out! n...n;;;
(For LJIdol S10, Wk 8 Writing prompt:: "No Comment" TW/CW: child abuse)
They had all done something wrong,
some little transgression of childhood.
Maybe a chipped plate.
A baseball laying in the mess of a shattered flower pot.
Cooly, she commanded her children to go out back and choose the switch she'd beat them with.
My uncle, just 8 at the time, drug back a tree with a grin
thinking she couldn't lift it.
I turned away from him briefly and glanced at the cuckoo clock over the bar. With the sheer force of my hidden glare, I willed the minute hand to tick on. Twenty more minutes until I was out of there.
“Wouldst the m’lady perchance care to join me on a…” he paused, seeming to roll words over in his lil’ thinker in search of the most Olde Tyme lingo to throw at me. “A… daring excursion? After m’lady’s shift?”
Offering him a better smile than he deserved for affecting that horrifying Shakespearean drawl, I demurred with a small laugh that was designed to get the most tips possible. “Oh I’d probably faint at the sight of a troll or a wereraven, or whatever beasts lie out in those woods! Honestly, I can't even imagine the horrors! You’d have to save me left and right! But I wish you luck in your mission-“ I thought of the silver coins that would be in my pocket if he left happy and swallowed my pride, “… m’lord.” I topped up his ale with a great, hurried splash and turned to bolt, you know, elegantly, but he latched on again.
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“I don't skate to where the puck is. I skate to where the puck is going to be."
Thanks for stopping by!
The little bugger slapped me in the face. Not even on accident. It straight up planted its muddy, cow-smelling palm on my cheek with enough force to send my safety goggles hurtling off into a bush and then giggled at me. As I was wobbled around, cursing and searching helplessly for my dignity, I heard the high pitched hum of its wings and looked up just in time to see it buzz around and slam into the butter churning pot I’d nestled up against a stump and the take off into the tree line. The pot flung to the side with almost comical force and the milk, as it splashed out, soured and turned into viscous clumps that spread across the mossy forest floor and introduced me to a smell I instantly hoped I’d never encounter again in the rest of my life. After a few moments of silence, the puck’s laughter echoed from somewhere in the dark, but I couldn’t pin down from where. I stood quite still and looked all around for that telltale glint of piss yellow eyes from the shadows as I started to feel around on my belt for the pouch of tossable trap netting. Without warning, I felt my uniform jacket flipped up over my head from behind and found myself tumbling off balance. I landed in a graceless heap with a thick plopping sound that let me know I was now sprawled on the spilled sour milk and felt my stomach jump as it considered dumping out dinner in response to the stench.
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