Friday, November 30, 2012

Christmas Songs

"Why are there some songs that are sung as Christmas songs every year when they have nothing to do with Christmas? I can think of one that barely has to do with winter!" Susan said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked.

"My Favorite Things is a song that barely references winter, but it is played every year like it's a Christmas song. Baby, It's Cold Outside is obviously about winter, but it's not about Christmas specifically. Winter Wonderland is another song about winter, but not about Christmas. And yet, the only times we hear these songs is at Christmas. Why?" Susan asked.

"Because we don't usually have winter songs?" Arthur said questioningly. "I don't know. What brought this up?"

"I was just thinking about Christmas songs, since Christmas is coming up. And I realized that I like these songs, but they aren't specifically Christmas songs. I gave Frosty the Snowman a pass because his show includes a bit about him being made of Christmas snow, but his song doesn't mention anything Christmas-y either," Susan said.

"You think way too much," Arthur said.


Susan's question is bugging me. Why do we have Christmas songs that aren't really Christmas songs?

I definitely think too much sometimes.

I'd like to thank Ace for giving me character names today. He is currently interested in The Tick apparently. (When I first asked for a guy's name, he said The Tick, so I'm not basing it just off of the names Arthur and Susan.) I love my sweet, silly husband.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

You Need to Eat

"You need to eat. It's been 13 hours since you last ate, so you need to eat."

"I ate two hours ago."

"You had an apple slice. That doesn't count as eating. You barely noticed you put food in your mouth. You've been living on coffee and sugar too much lately. You need to eat a meal and then you need to go to bed."

"But I'm almost done with this."

"One, you will do whatever you are doing better with food and rest. Two, I know you will find something else to work on when you've almost finished that if I let you just continue on. And three, you look like you are about to collapse into a pile on the floor while you are just sitting there."

"Seriously, 5 more minutes and I'll be done."

"You say 5 minutes, but we both know if I go I'll find you here in 5 hours still working."


"I am not above dragging you out of here."


"I'm glad your chair has wheels. Here we go, off to find food and a bed."


"You asked me to help you stay healthy. This is for your own good."

"Fine. But I don't have to like it."

"I never said you did."


I'd like to thank for the prompt "You need to eat." I have found that I seem to like characters (that other people have written) that are sarcastic and need someone to make sure they actually eat and sleep from time to time. I'm not quite sure why, other than I'm a bit sarcastic (less so than I used to be) and occasionally need someone to make sure I eat and sleep.

Oh my word, I'm Sherlock Homes and Tony Stark without the contributions to society.

No one tell Ace he deserves someone better (given that he usually is the one to feed me and tell me to go to sleep). I know he does, but if we don't tell him maybe he'll let me keep him. I'm kind of selfish that way.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012


The words pour out of the pen and onto the paper almost effortlessly. It's like they had been waiting to be written. And the poem is half finished before the author fully realized why they were writing it.

Later, when the words couldn't be forced out, the author wondered why it had been so easy earlier. Was it the circumstances? Was it boredom? Was it random inspiration? Why had those words been so clear then and now they hid away? And the most important question of all: would it happen again?

Of course, it happened again. With the same questions popping up afterwards. And again. And again. With no fully discernible pattern. But that didn't stop the author from loving the times the words came and the emptying of feelings being poured out with the words. It was healing.


I am not a huge fan of poetry in general (somehow, it's just not my favorite thing to read), but sometimes I seem to have some poem that flows out of me. And each line comes right after the last, with only a minor effort occasionally to fix something that doesn't seem to be working. And when I finish writing it, I feel better.

I guess most of my writing is somewhat cathartic. At least the writing that seems to flow the easiest. And that's probably the best thing for me.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Different Mistakes

She had hope that she wouldn't make the same mistakes her mother had made when raising her own children. She had no illusions that she wouldn't make mistakes. She had wanted to laugh when her own beloved husband had proclaimed how they would raise their children when they were in public, because she knew that things were not always that simple.

But she wanted to make different choices than her own mother made. She didn't want her children to ever feel like they weren't good enough, if she could help it. She didn't want them to feel like they were broken. Because she knew how much that could haunt a person.

But she wondered if her best intentions would overcome how she was raised.


Is there a way to not mess up with your kids? Somehow, I doubt there is. Guess that is part of being human.

Monday, November 26, 2012


He closed the door to the house behind him. He had sold, given away, or packed everything that had made up his life there. It was time to move on to somewhere he felt the changes he wanted to make would be accepted.

He knew that the people here loved him and he loved them, but he also knew they wouldn't be able to understand how he wanted to live his life. He would come back to visit, but it was time to follow his dreams.

He glanced back at the house in his rear view mirror as he pulled away. He was sad to leave, but he knew he would be happier in the long run.


Today's story was inspired by the song "I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flatts. I don't have words to explain how much that song has struck home with me at various times. And given that I'm about to move and then I'll be joining Ace in the truck, it's less surprising that I'd be writing about moving so much this month.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

The Cake Is a Pie

"The cake is a pie," Shelly said. "I know it's called cheesecake, but it's obviously a pie. It has a crust. Cakes do not have crusts."

"The word cake is in the name. It's a cake," Jack argued. "If they called it cheesecake, it must be a cake of cheese. You don't name something cheesecake and make a sour cream pie."

"You are both wrong," Hank said as he stood in the doorway observing the pair. "It's really more of a custard. Alton Brown proved it. The pie is a lie."


This was inspired by the line in Portal "The cake is a lie." My brain decided that the line suddenly needed to be the cake is a pie. Maybe I just need to lay off desserts for a while?

Saturday, November 24, 2012


Dear Mark,
Do you know how much I love you? How can you when I've never been able to tell you? It almost hurts sometimes, because I'm just bursting with love for you. I can't contain it all. And it brings a smile to my face.

I miss you terribly when we are apart. I don't feel whole. I feel like I'm missing half of myself. And being apart hurts. You can't just split yourself in half without feeling pain. But what you are doing is important. I could never ask you to do something different just because I don't like being apart right now. Especially when I know it's for such a short time in the bigger picture of life. But I do miss you. Terribly.

There are times I almost forget that you aren't here. I want to show you something on my computer or tell you some stupid story that, if you were here, you would have been there for. I want to share these things, and then remember that I can't. Not right now. And I remind myself that soon we will be creating new stories together. Soon.

I'm beginning to dislike the word soon. But I know that I won't be saying it much longer.

I love you, my dear sweetheart. I love you so much. Words cannot express it. I love you with every beat of my heart and every breath that I take.

See you soon,


I miss Ace. But I'll get to see him again soon.

Friday, November 23, 2012

A Cheerful Heart

He tried to be cheerful. He tried hard to continually be cheerful, because he knew that it would help him stay healthier. He tried to not be bitter or hateful. He tried to let go of his anger and focus on the good things in his life.

But there were times when that seemed impossible. Times when he would cry and hurt. Times when he felt like his heart was breaking. Times when he was just so tired. He was ready for a vacation during times like that.

Sometimes, he wondered if people could see through his cheerfulness, when it was a facade. He wondered if they could see how tired he was, how much he hurt. He wondered if anyone bothered to look past the surface. He tried to not dwell on all the things he had lost, instead he tried to focus on all the things he had.

Sometimes, he felt lost inside his own skin and inside his own head. And he just wanted to find someone who understood.


I think I've just about written myself back into depression. That was so not my intention. I was trying to do something upbeat and positive, based on Proverbs 17:22 ("A cheerful heart is a good medicine; but a broken spirit drieth up the bones." - American Standard Version). So, yeah.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Happy Thanksgiving

In addition to my NaBloPoMo post, I wanted to post to say Happy Thanksgiving.

I hope you have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. If you are traveling this weekend, I hope you stay safe and watch out for animals. One person I care having a near run in with a deer is enough for me. And I do care.

I hope that you get to celebrate with people you love. I wish I was getting to celebrate with my loved ones. Unfortunately, I am celebrating with Ace's family (on Saturday). This provides a conundrum as I am not feeling particularly thankful for that celebration. How does one celebrate being thankful when one is not feeling thankful?

This is the first year I've had to celebrate with Ace's family without Ace being here. In fact, this is the first celebration I've had without Ace since we've been married. I miss him greatly, and I am looking forward to joining him soon. Hopefully I will get to relax while spending the rest of the holiday season with my dad and step-mom.

Anyway, I hope you have a safe and happy holiday if you are celebrating Thanksgiving. And if you aren't, I hope you have a safe and happy day. I hope that for everyday for everyone.

Loki's Problems

"Loki always wanted to be Thor's equal, or at least that's what he said," John said. "Why doesn't he notice that Thor always thought of him as an equal?"

"Because sometimes it's hard to see what is right in front of your face," Mary said. "And just because someone sees you as their equal doesn't mean everyone else does."

"Did he even notice how much Thor loves him? How much fighting Loki seems to hurt Thor?" Sally asked.

"People don't always see what is right in front of their eyes. Sometimes they are too close to a situation," Mary said. "Sometimes someone needs to tell them in order for them to see it."

"I wish Loki had someone to tell him these things. Maybe then he'd hurt less," John said.

"Me too," Mary said.


Okay, I have a been wondering about Loki not seeing what is kind of clear in Thor (the stuff about how much Thor loves him and sees him as an equal), so this is me trying to answer my own questions. And I think a lot of the movie (and from what I can tell, a lot of The Avengers) would have been changed if Odin had been more honest and a better parent. I take my superhero movies way too seriously sometimes.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


The nightmare slowly scared her awake. She'd have liked it if she had woken earlier, before the dream had gotten scary, while it had just been weird. But she had apparently been too tired for that to happen. As it was, when she did wake up she was still so tired that she wanted to just go back to sleep.

Even as she was falling back to sleep, part of her mind protested. She had just had a bad dream. How did she know she wouldn't fall back into it. But exhaustion was tugging hard.

She turned the TV on for background noise and allowed herself to be pulled back into sleep. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. And she slept, deeply and peacefully.


Nightmares suck. And that's really all I have to say about that.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


As she watched the ballet dancers performing, she pulled out her paper and pencil so she could sketch. She wanted to capture the curved lines of the dancers' bodies. She wanted to show the gracefulness and beauty. She looked back and forth between the dancers and the pictures forming on her paper. She figured she would make a larger, more coherent picture after she was back home.

And while she did eventually make that picture, she liked her quick little sketches because of the fluidity. And she was glad she hadn't stifled her urge to draw.


The idea of someone wanting to draw a ballet dancer wouldn't leave my head. So, here's a quick story about it.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Good Enough

"The hardest part is figuring out how to let go of the parts that tell you that you aren't good enough. Because everyone always feels like they aren't good enough. That feeling, the one that holds you back, that is how all the people around you feel too. Cut that feeling out and stop letting it hold you back."

Noah rolled his eyes at the self-help non-sense that was playing throughout the shop. It's not that he thought the advice was completely wrong, but he doubted that everyone always feels like that. In fact, he knew there were times he had felt good enough.

"The hardest part is to ignore the part that says I'm not good enough and act," Noah said to himself. "I bet Captain America never feels like he's not good enough."

"I'll bet Cap felt like he let people down and that he wasn't good enough plenty of times," said a stranger with blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile. "He lost men, good men, and that means he felt like he messed up too. But he got up and focused on what he could do to keep from losing more men. Because that's what you do, when you feel like you aren't good enough. You do the best you can."

"Steve, are you coming?" a dark haired man asked.

"I'll be there in a minute," Steve said. "Tell Tony that his project can wait an extra five minutes, Bruce."

Bruce rolled his eyes but turned and left to go relay the message.

Steve turned back to Noah and asked, "Does that help you any?"

Noah replied, "Yeah, thanks. Hey, how did you know all that about Captain America?"

Steve just smiled and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, kid."


I've been spending a bit too much time reading Avengers fan fiction, I think.

I don't know that we all feel like we aren't good enough all the time, but I know we all feel that at least part of the time. And we need to do better teaching our kids that even if they make mistakes, they are still good enough.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Packing Up

As he packed up the various bits and sundry that made up his life, he wondered what the future held in store. He had plenty of time to pack before he was leaving, but he didn't want to leave things to the last minute. And it gave him time to figure out what to do with one or two things that he wasn't sure about yet.

As his space became emptier, except for the boxes, he wondered how he had accumulated so much stuff in such a short time frame. At least he knew that he could take all the important stuff with him. The books were paramount. The paperwork that filled his desk was important. The other bits and pieces made life more enjoyable, but weren't necessary.

When it was all packed up, he let out a sigh. That was one thing done. And now to move it into storage until he was settled again.


I've been packing up stuff lately. Does it show? I've got pretty much everything packed, except what I need for the next couple of weeks until it goes into storage. Moving day will likely include a couple of last minute additions to the packed stuff (things I need now, but won't then).

Saturday, November 17, 2012

The Couple

From the outside, it didn't look like they had much to keep the marriage together. They were struggling financially and their personalities seemed either too opposite or similar depending on the day. Neither liked the other's family. Everything seemed stacked against them.

But what people didn't realize is that those things that looked like they would rip the relationship apart just brought them closer together. They worked together on a budget to pay all their bills. They talked about the things that they disagreed on until they found points of compromise. They enjoyed the things they had in common. They didn't spend a lot of time with extended family. They stacked their deck to make themselves the winners.

They struggled. All people have some struggles, and all marriages have problems. They disagreed and made mistakes. They talked and talked and talked until it was natural to just talk about everything. They forgave each other. They fixed what they could and made adjustments for what they couldn't.

And when they'd survived things that would have broken other marriages, they knew it was because they had so much respect for their relationship and each other. And they smiled at each other as other people wondered how it was done.


This is a bit less fictional that a lot of my stuff has been this month. I think I'm okay with that though.

Friday, November 16, 2012

The Kiss

He had barely done more than just press his lips against hers. There was nothing about that kiss that suggested that it would be special or important. And yet, 5 minutes after it happened, she could swear she could still feel his lips.

She pressed her fingers to her lips and smiled. She could hardly wait for the next kiss to see if it would feel the same.


I think I've spent a bit too long without my husband around.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Dear Jean

Dear Jean,
I'll never understand how things got like this. One day, we were a close, loving family and it seems like the next we were so far from each other. Where did all the anger and hurt come from?

My biggest concern is the children. I don't want them to think that any relationship they get in will be like this. I don't want them to fear loving people. And I don't know how to fix this.

I know I came to this relationship a bit broken. I was honest with you from the start about how I felt and when things bothered me. I tried to mend my broken pieces and leave my past in the past. I tried my hardest to keep working on our relationship, even when it seemed like you were giving up.

I don't blame you for this ending. It was a combination of factors, and one of the biggest was my inability to get past some of my hang ups. I don't blame you for not wanting to drag this on. It's not been fair to you or the children, the things I've put you through.

Please, do me a favor. Learn to love someone else. Don't let our children be as broken as I am. I'll do my best to explain to them why I'm broken and that they shouldn't look to me for how a successful relationship should go. Please be a good example for them.

I'll always love you.


Not quite 100% sure where this came from. But here it is.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012


To look at him, with his big muscles, you would hardly think that the best word to describe him was gentle. But he was. His hands may be large, but he was careful when cupping them around things. It was almost like he was so afraid to accidentally hurt something that he went overboard with his gentleness.

Which is not to say that he never used those muscles. He was protective and willing to stop someone from hurting people, especially those he loved. And he used them to move furniture around as favors to family, friends, neighbors, and occasionally little old ladies.

It was always more obvious how gentle he was when he cupped his hands around babies, to carefully lift them up and coo at them. He almost looked like a big kid, his grin so big. He would carefully tuck them into the crook of his elbow and gently, tenderly, stroke their faces as if the touch would help him learn their delicate features.

And everyone who ever saw him cradling a baby had the same statement; "I never expected him to be so gentle."

She always just smiled at them and said, "No one ever does."


I was reading something about someone being unexpectedly gentle (in an entirely different way, oddly enough) and inspiration struck.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The Artist

The urge to sketch, to fill a page with pictures, to draw what she sees is almost irresistible. However, she never feels comfortable with what she sees when she draws. It never looks quite right, quite like it does in her head. But that doesn't stop the urge.

Instead, she writes. Words are easier. They are easier to control. She writes and she likes writing. It makes her happy. It comforts her in ways that she didn't realize she needed comforting.

But it doesn't stop the urge to draw.

She knows that with practice she might be able to draw what's in her head. She might be able to be satisfied with her art. That just because it doesn't start the way she wants it to doesn't mean that it won't become that if she practices. But every time she's tried, she suddenly can't think of what to draw. Or she can't find a reference for what she wants to draw.

Eventually, she decides that it doesn't matter if she can't find a reference. She should just start and draw what is in her head. Keep practicing until she gets it right. Keep adding detail and staying patient.

The day she showed off her art and got accolades, she is glad she never gave up.


So, yeah. Cathartic fiction seems to be where I'm at.

Monday, November 12, 2012


As he held his daughter, their daughter, for the first time, he was in awe. He counted and re-counted her fingers and toes. He stared at her face, trying to memorize the details.

As he looked, he wondered, 'Was I ever this young?'


I based this off the word young. The question at the end came first, and then I knew exactly how the rest would go.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Vampire-Pirate Apocalypse of Doom

"Here's the idea: vampire-pirates sailing the high seas and fighting off zombie-ninjas. It'll be a great hit! What do you think?" Zach asked. Zach wanted to be a movie producer. Instead Zach was a convenience store clerk.

"How would the vampires survive on the high seas? They would have to be out during the day, which would kill them. They would have to find blood to suck, which might kill them if they go too long without. And how would the zombie-ninjas be of any use? Zombies don't exactly keep their smarts. And could zombies be stealthy enough to be ninjas? Do the zombies want to eat the vampires' brains?" Andy asked. Andy was content to be a convenience store clerk for now. He was still in high school, so he figured he had years to decide what to do for a living.

"The vampires would obviously have some humans on their ship to help steer it during the day and to have meals between their attacks on other ships. Attacking people at night gives them a great advantage too, no one would expect it. Except the zombie-ninjas. And these are special zombies, they still have higher reasoning powers. They can walk quietly. They aren't rotting corpses. And yes they want the vampire-pirates' brains. All zombies, even the smart ones, want brains!" Zach explained.

"I still don't think that it's going to work. Are zombies and vampires even enemies? I know that ninjas and pirates are, but zombies and vampires?" Andy asked.

"They are two different types of undead things, of course they are enemies," Zach said. "I've even got the perfect title."

"Well, what is it?" Andy asked.

"The Vampire-Pirate Apocalypse of Doom," Zach said.

"Well, the title is great, but I'm still not sure about the rest of it," Andy said. "Maybe it'll grow on me."


Yesterday, I talked with a friend about writing and not feeling inspired. He suggested writing about zombie-vampires (or vampire-zombies). This actually inspired me at least a little bit. We talked a bit more about the idea of vampire pirates and that their enemy would be zombie ninjas. So, that conversation sparked the idea for this. Thanks, Battle!

Saturday, November 10, 2012


He kept finding himself thinking of her. At first, it was because she was so different. As time went by, he found himself thinking about how much they were alike. After their first kiss, all he could think was that he could still feel her lips pressed against his. He wished they could kiss forever.

When he was ready to propose, he realized that he had to tell himself to stop thinking, or he would never get the question asked. When she said yes, he kissed her before he could think about it. Then he realized that he would be able to kiss her like that forever.


This post is based of the word think. Hopefully tomorrow my shoulder won't be hurting.

Friday, November 9, 2012

It's the Vampires, I Tell You

All I want to do is sleep for the next week. And it seems like no matter how much sleep I get, I never feel rested for long. It could be because I am suddenly more active, it could be because of shifting sleep schedules, it could be because of hormones. But it's most likely because of the vampires.

Okay, let me explain this. See, I'm pretty sure there are vampires stalking me. Seriously out for my blood. I keep seeing strange marks on my skin, and I'm exhausted, and I seem to be getting paler. My mom says it's because I'm avoiding going outside that I'm getting paler, but wouldn't you avoid it if there were vampires after you?

I'm not even sure which type of vampires. Is it the Dracula type? And didn't Dracula die at the end of the book? Is it the Twilight type? Please tell me there aren't sparkly vampires after me! Is it the Buffy the Vampire Slayer type? Can someone get me her number so she can save me, no matter which type?

So, yeah. I'm pretty sure that there are vampires out to get me. And I'm thinking that's why I'm so tired, they are already drinking my blood. Or could it be because I'm not sleeping to look out for vampires who are trying to attack me?

Somebody send help!

This is a product of my tired brain. I am working on packing up the room I'm staying in and it's tiring me out a lot, so I've been more tired lately. And apparently this has lead to thoughts of why someone might be tired, which lead to the idea of blood loss and vampires. My brain is a weird place sometimes.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Dance Lesson

Once things settled down and repairs to Serenity had been completed, Jayne finally had time to start wrapping his mind around the fact that River had killed a roomful of reavers while only getting a couple of scratches and a bruise or two that showed up two or three days after the fight had been over. Jayne didn’t normally spend a lot of time focusing his mind on anything but on cleaning his girls, but this whole situation required some reflection. It wasn’t often that you resign yourself to death, especially one as horrible as the way he was expecting to die, only to find you’ve been saved by a slip of a girl. He had seen how she fought in the Maidenhead. He’d felt how good she was with a knife back before Ariel, not that he liked to think on either incident. She had fought with a grace he found odd. He didn’t know that fighting could be so graceful. His fights, while not totally awkward, had never flowed quite as easily.

Jayne had noticed that River was spending time in the hold and it looked like fighting that she was doing. He wasn’t supposed to notice her, he didn’t think, but how could he avoid seeing her when he was exercising? He didn’t stare, he just occasionally observed after he finished his exercising. He would sit on his bench, taking deep breaths, and looked around the hold. When she came into his field of vision, he watched for a couple of minutes before going to the showers to get clean.

If Jayne had bothered to ask River would had told him that she was dancing for the first time in years, since they had started cutting her brain at The Academy. River had noticed that Jayne was watching her. While she was working on blocking out everyone’s thoughts, as much as she could, she still caught a lot more than she liked. She had, well heard is the best word she could come up with, heard Jayne thinking on her fighting technique. She had never given any thought to how her moves might look to someone else, she had just moved in an efficient manner for stopping her opponent. In fact, she hadn’t really given her moves much thought; she just knew where to punch next. She had also noticed that Kaylee sometimes sat on the staircase, watching her dance. She was considering asking Kaylee if she would like to learn how to do some simple dances.

The next time River decided to dance, she noticed Kaylee watching her again. She decided that it was the perfect opportunity to teach her best friend how to dance. She walked over to Kaylee and asked her if she was interested in doing more than watching River dancing. Kaylee nodded with a big smile lighting up her face. River patiently started showing Kaylee the moves to a waltz. Kaylee caught on quickly and River switched to teaching her how to do a simple jig.

Jayne had started toward the hold when he heard the sounds of laughter. He wondered what was causing it. As he got to the doorway, he saw Zoe standing on the cat walk, smiling like she had when Wash had been alive. Jayne figured that whatever was causing the laughter must be a good thing, if it got Zoe, who had been walking around in a funk since they buried the funny little man, to smile it had to be good.

When Jayne got to the cat walk, he looked down at the two girls dancing. He quickly turned around and called to Zoe over his shoulder, “I’ll be in my bunk.”

As he walked off, he missed hearing the confusion as River suddenly stopped and looked up toward the doorway in shock. Kaylee was wondering why her partner was no longer dancing, and Zoe was looking between the doorway and the girls in shock. Then, as quickly as River stopped, she shook off her own shock and asked Kaylee if she would mind stopping right now and picking this back up another day.

Kaylee, concerned for her friend, said, “Of course. We’ve got plenty of time for you to show me how to dance.”

River quickly responded with, “I’ll be in my bunk. I’ve got some things to think over.” She had heard what Jayne had said, both out loud and in his head, and felt the need to mull over it for a while. It wasn’t often that a girl heard that she might be worth getting spaced over.

Zoe sighed as she saw the fun breaking up. She had enjoyed herself for the first time in a few months and was sad to see it end. But she did wonder what exactly River had heard that caused her to stop and feel the need to stay stopped for a while. She shrugged and decided to check back in the hold more often to see when the next dance lesson happened. Since she had just been randomly walking past when she came across it this time, she felt it important to try to see more, as it cheered her up.

Kaylee stared after River for two minutes before deciding to go find her boyfriend, Simon, for some talk and some cuddling. She was glad she found someone who liked to cuddle, as she enjoyed getting some human touch. As she left the hold, she ran her hands over the sides of the ship, giving her a pat while she had Serenity on her mind.


This is a story I wrote a while back based off the TV show Firefly and its movie Serenity so any most references are to events in one of those. I do not own either, except as DVDs. I wrote this story out of a love for the show. I'm pretty sure this random bit of fluff came to me and demanded I write it at the time.

It is still one of my favorite things I've ever written. It makes me smile.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Art Maybe

"You wouldn't exactly call this art, would you?" the first man asked

"It looks like a pile of junk to me. The museum seems to think it's art though," the second man said.

"I thought art was supposed to be pretty, or at least understandable. This does not make any sense to me," the first woman said.

"No one would steal it, I don't think. At least not until somebody said it was worth millions of dollars," the second man said.

"According to that sign, it is worth millions of dollars. Still doesn't seem worth stealing though," the second woman said.

"We aren't going to steal it. We're just trying to figure out if it's art," the first man said with reproach.

"I wasn't going to steal it, I'm just saying that it doesn't seem worth stealing," the second woman replied. "I don't think it's art though."

"Well, if she won't steal it, it's not art," the first woman said. "She knows her art and she knows what is worth stealing." The two women smiled at each other.

"I don't know," said the second man. "I think Eliot would find it fascinating though."


Thank you to for the prompt "You wouldn't exactly call this art, would you?" This one turned into a sort of fanfic without meaning to. If you can guess the TV show that inspired this, I'll be impressed.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

You Can't Fix What Isn't Broken

"We don't understand why you don't trust us. Please, help us understand," the doctor said.

"I don't trust you because you keep trying to fix something that isn't broken. I appreciate that you are wanting to help, but you are no where near where the problems are and you keep trying to fix something that just part of my personality. I shut myself away sometimes not because I'm broken but because I need to recharge myself. I don't get energy from being around people, I get it from being alone," the patient said. "And for the most part, the things that are broken are things you cannot fix because you weren't who broke them."

"But we want to make you whole again," the doctor said, trying desperately to fix this problem too.

"You can't. Sometimes things can only be fixed by the person that broke them. And sometimes the person that broke them aren't able to fix them because they are too broken themselves. Please stop trying to fix things you can't. Just let me be," the patient said, hoping that this time the words would be understood.

"We don't know how to let you be," the doctor admitted.

"And that is why I must go. Because you try to fix things that aren't broken and don't know how to let me be so I can fix what I can myself," the patient said. "Good bye."


Thank you to for the prompt "We don't understand why you don't trust us." This has been surprisingly cathartic to write.

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Dance

They were a study in opposites as they swayed together on the dance floor. Tall and short. Delicate and solid. Dark hair and fair. Pale skin and tanned.

The smiles on their faces matched. And they were poetry in motion.


I had a word, motion, and that brought to mind dancing, which brought about this little mental picture of two people who look like opposites dancing with matching smiles.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Wiggling Cake

The cake wiggled, ominously. The table was still and there were no obvious reasons for the cake to wiggle, but wiggle it did. Five adults gathered around it all giggled nervously. They were sure the cake was alive.

They decided to see how the cake responded to being jiggled about. The cake just continued to wiggle. They poked it's sides. It still wiggled.

"I have a plan," Clint announced. Everyone held their breath to hear it clearly. The cake continued to wiggle. "I say we-"

Clint was cut off by Mary entering the room. "Why hasn't anyone cut the cake?" Mary asked. "Give me a knife and I'll start cutting it."

Mary ignored how the cake was wiggling and cut it into pieces for people to eat. As she cut, the cake stopped wiggling. After she finished, Mary said, "I'm going to let people know that we have desserts. I wonder if there was gelatin in that cake. Might explain the wiggling."

After Mary had left the room, Clint confessed, "I'm glad she cut it, I was thinking of using electricity. Who knows what would have happened in that case." Everyone started laughing in relief.

This bit of fiction was based off a dream I had last night. In my dream, the cake wasn't wiggling, but apparently it had been. And when I woke up, the sentence "The cake wiggled, ominously." wouldn't leave my head.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Dead Letter

I received a letter today. It read:

Dear Alberta Saunders,

We regret to inform you that after extensive testing, your husband is brain dead and not just in a coma. We have repeatedly told you this when you've come to visit him, but it does not seem to be sinking in. We respect that you love and care about your husband, but your insurance company is not going to continue paying us for to keep him alive on life support.

As long as you are willing to pay, we will, of course, keep him alive. However, it might be time to think about pulling the plug. We have counselors available to talk to you about the grieving process and to help you make this decision.

You have our deepest sympathies.

Karen Smith, MD
XXXXX General Hospital

I think it's time to go visit Jack today.

"Hey, Jack," I say as I walk into his room. "I received a letter today."

Thank you to for the prompt: I received a letter today. I am starting to worry about where my brain is going with all these stories. I keep thinking of fairly happy things when I see the prompts, and then when I write, somehow I get depressing with the stories. Hopefully that will change as the month goes on.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Mushrooms and Death

"Those are poisonous."

Lanie dropped the mushrooms she had been gathering as she stood up and looked around to see who had said that. As she turned, she saw a little boy, staring at her with a smile on his face.

"Are they now?" Lanie asked. "Only, I was gathering them up to see if they were what killed somebody."

"Oh, it was the mushrooms that killed him. He was dead before they were forced into his stomach. But they are poisonous," the boy said.

"Who are you? And how did you know all of that?" Lanie asked.

"I observe. Always," the boy said. "And I don't know who I am. They haven't told me yet."

"Who hasn't told you?"

"My parents. At least, that's who they seem to be. Are you going to find the killer?"

"That's the plan. Do you want me to take you back home?" Lanie asked.

"I guess," the boy said with a sigh.

Lanie planned on coming back to gather those mushrooms. Even if the boy was right, they were still needed. She just hoped she got some straighter answers from the boy's parents about who he was. "Come on, kid," she said. "Lead the way."


I'd again like to thank for the prompt "Those are poisonous." I think Sherlock Holmes slipped into my writing a bit today. He wasn't invited, but he showed up anyway.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Cut Myself Shaving

"Is that blood behind your ear?" Shelia asked.

"Yeah, I cut myself shaving. Again. But that isn't really what we're here to talk about is it?" I replied.

"No, I guess not. We need to figure out what happened in England. How did your mission go so cockeyed?"

"Well, it could have happened when I decided that I'm done blindly taking orders from the higher ups. Or it could have happened when I found out they wanted me to take out a perfectly innocent father of three because he opposed us being so involved in what's happening around the world. All I know is that it's not done being all 'cockeyed' because I haven't finished what I've got planned," I said.

Before Shelia could get another word out, I slashed her throat and she was bleeding on the floor. I quickly pulled out the towel I was carrying in my bag and wiped my hands and face clean, glad that my black clothes would hide her blood until I was done. I eased my way out into the hall and headed toward my next target.

"Is that blood behind your ear?"

"Yeah, I cut myself shaving."

I'd like to thank for the prompt "Is that blood behind your ear?" that inspired this bit of fiction. This is way more blood thirsty than I expected. My imagination is a bit scary at times, even for me.