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Look, the Leverage Flashfic comm has our first story!

http://leverage-flashfic.dreamwidth.org/1048.html?#cutid1 <-- lazy at coding.
michanna: (Default)
Friend of mine and I are having a conversation that's making me want to write good bad anime or perhaps loltastic fic ... A deadly disease is released into the world and almost everyone's infected except for one person. Someone discovers that hugging that one person can cure other people.

Actually, the more I think about it, it could get really interesting. People trying to keep it on the down low in order to get their friends and family safe first, jealously guarding the secret so they wouldn't have to share, deciding who could live and who couldn't. The government would find out but wouldn't know who and would be researching it and the group would have to go on the run to both avoid the government and find friends and family further afield. Of course the world would be falling into anarchy because everyone would know they were going to die.

Okay, I'm done being tangential and procrastinating work with silly ideas now ... (it'd be like Y The Last Man meets Ranma 1/2)
michanna: (Default)
A few drabbles )

For newbies to my journal, I don't write things very often so don't think this is normal :p
Everyone please feel free to tell me what you think, good and bad. I didn't do as much editing as I normally do for drabbles because they were magically 100 words and I wasn't going to mess with that.
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I had a notion this morning of creating (in fiction) a society where the highest form of honour is to be murdered. The younger you get murdered, the more honour it bestows. One's enemies wouldn't want to kill you because it would increase the standing of your family. I feel a person's natural desire to live combined with their friends' desire to continue enjoying their company would prevent wonton killings that would actually make such a society with less death and destruction. To die of old age or disease would be a sign of great shame because it would mean that none of your friends or family loved you enough to allow you the honour of dying at their hand. All the great saints and martyrs in their history would be people who had died at the hands of strangers because in order for a stranger to kill you, you must have done them such a great service ...
michanna: (Default)
Six word stories! Everybody go!
To start you off, http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/14.11/sixwords.html, which I may have posted at some point last year, and some that I wrote )
I might write more as the week goes on.
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Time moves forward. It is marked in succession. Ghostlights mark the path and trees give way before the keepers - but not before me. The chalky forms become ghosts in the gloaming, soon consumed by birches and willows. I watch with longing, feeling the pull of time strong, stronger, perhaps, than even the keepers. They will not see me and the trees cannot assent. I press against their bark, longing, willing them to convey to me the sense of ritual completed, of time appeased. But the wood would stifle, the fog would occlude and the curse would hold me, immortal.
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Her feet fell softly on the moist earth. Each footfall was deliberated as she paced slowly through the gloom. The sky was ominous, but in her patient reverie it seemed a blanket laid across the sky. The noise of the city was smothered in its folds; the whole world seemed calmer in its shadow. Her expression turned vague as she allowed the patient sky to reassure her. The misty rain caressed her as she walked and she reflected that she was possibly the only one out there drawing comfort. Smiling slightly, she closed her eyes and let the peace soak into her. For the first time that week, she allowed her exhaustion the recognition it deserved and allowed her consciousness to float away from its daily anguishes.

That was walking home.
And then, because I am in a mood and figured it needed an ending:

“Ah little one, ensnared by the clouds.”
His words slipped over her softly.
She turned slowly to survey her new surroundings. Her eyes, settling on his face, were mildly curious, nothing more.
“Oh truly caught.”
His tone betrayed pity.
“I’m sorry love, but this realm is not for you.”
His hand touched her brow and his lips brushed hers softly.
A single tear rolled down her cheek. He brushed it away.
“Some other time, young one.”
“Promise?”
Her voice was a whisper, fading from his world.
His voice reached her as she fell through clouds, “I wait eternal.”
It was forever the response. His eyes cried too.
She would not understand, in the days that followed, why she cried herself to sleep.
michanna: (Default)
Now the fun part of my day: Going through all my internet bookmarks and files and folders and papers and spamming my hotmail account with all the stuff I have at work that I want at home ...
Maybe I'd better spam my gmail.
And if anyone's bored enough to want to read something random and incomplete, I wrote this at lunch )
michanna: (Default)
when I'm bored on the LRT, I make up story beginnings ... )
I don't like myself today.

This stupid letter is taking way too much brain power. Maybe it's just because I don't have a brain this morning ...
I can't believe this week is almost over already and that I only have one more week of work left ... people keep offering to take me out for drinks and lunch and stuff next week ... I won't get anything done at this rate ... my Wednesday and Thursday have already been taken away from me.
Wow ... it's 10 already! Back to work. I hope my co-op advisor calls me today because I need to talk to him ... and I hope my lab results come in.

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michanna

August 2013

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