grr
of course, i finally got rid of several of those "writer's guides to..." crime and forensics, and only a year or so later I decide to write a novel with some elements of mystery and death to it. Murphy's Law.
Am feeling human again, though I lost a day of writing. Grr.
At least I've finally crossed the barrier into the 20,000s. By, uh, 20 words. But I still feel a sense of accomplishment.
Am feeling human again, though I lost a day of writing. Grr.
At least I've finally crossed the barrier into the 20,000s. By, uh, 20 words. But I still feel a sense of accomplishment.
The shattered halves of the phone catch her attention. She gathers them up in her hands, careful, as if they are pieces of porcelain that she can glue back together again before anyone noticed they were broken. Ana isn't watching. Her gaze is locked on the floor, on her boots, still beaded with dampness from the outside.
The radio chooses that moment to flare up with harsh dissonance, the classical jazz giving away to screeching and thumping, with a tinkle of piano and throbbing bass drums. Before Nina thinks to shut the thing off Ana lashes out, her hand catching the plastic transistor and sending it flying across the counter. It hits the cabinet on the other side of the kitchen and the sounds cut off as the case flies open and the batteries spill out.
They don't look at one another. Nina just picks up the radio as she picked up the phone, with care, and sets it back on the counter, the batteries lined up next to its plastic hulk like sentinels, waiting to be put to use again. It's a hardy appliance – used to camping trips and laying out on the beach, and if it has survived sand and the woods and repeated disassembly by Roni, it will make it through a momentary gesture of despair. And if it doesn't... well, it's served its purpose.
The radio chooses that moment to flare up with harsh dissonance, the classical jazz giving away to screeching and thumping, with a tinkle of piano and throbbing bass drums. Before Nina thinks to shut the thing off Ana lashes out, her hand catching the plastic transistor and sending it flying across the counter. It hits the cabinet on the other side of the kitchen and the sounds cut off as the case flies open and the batteries spill out.
They don't look at one another. Nina just picks up the radio as she picked up the phone, with care, and sets it back on the counter, the batteries lined up next to its plastic hulk like sentinels, waiting to be put to use again. It's a hardy appliance – used to camping trips and laying out on the beach, and if it has survived sand and the woods and repeated disassembly by Roni, it will make it through a momentary gesture of despair. And if it doesn't... well, it's served its purpose.