If it's the 17th, that can only mean a WRITING CHALLENGE!

[in_the_blue]

Third month in a row. Ready, set, get out those pens and/or fingers to the keyboard...

Here's this month's loosely-defined DRABBLE challenge and the guidelines.

---

Rules (remember, they're more like guidelines):

• Fandom: any, so long as it's one you know well.


• Word count: 300 or less


• Main theme: the concept of empty or emptiness.


• Ratings: No restrictions.


• Duration: Challenge opens today and closes at 11:59 p.m. Saturday, June 25. Just for fun.

Post your drabbles as comments to this entry. And yes, please comment on other peoples' work. Feedback is a reader's gift to a writer.

On your mark, get set... go.

Comments

[lvpd_sidle]

Title: Half-Full
Fandom: CSI
Character: Sara Sidle
Word Count: 169

The pessimist sees the glass as half empty. The optimist sees it as half full.

Most of the time, the knowledge that her happiness would prove temporary stayed at the back of her mind.

In her relationships and habits, Sara always proved consistent. Though she was with Barry at the moment, she had still fallen for a man who would not be with her, in the long run.

Her work had been her pride. While at the lab, she had felt she was making a difference and bringing justice to those who would go beyond the law. But now she called two vigilantes her brothers and would remain silent beyond their deaths. It goes against everything she fought for her entire life.

But Barry has made her smile each day. Murphy and Connor have given her the family she never had. She would be left bereft when they left her, but could not quite bring herself to instigate the inevitable separations.

Once she asked Grissom if a murder gene could exist. She knew now that it did. Knowing such joy would eventually kill her.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

This is very cool in a chilling sort of way. I don't know CSI and I don't know Sara, but I've followed a lot of her stuff at M'ways. Having knowledge and paying later... that's a cruel concept, and you've stated it so succinctly here.

[angelofthenorth.livejournal.com]

Title: Consequences
Genre: Gen
Fandom: Bible
Wordcount: precisely 300

Sometimes you give your all, and realise you're spent, that you're overdrawn on you emotional budget and you don't have an overdraft, that the moneylenders from the temple courts will find themselves at your ear whispering cheap nothings about loans and rates. You want to borrow someone else's soul and let them feel the pain for an hour or two while you curl up and cry because it hurts too much.
You find yourself saying something, anything, because you just want it all to stop and it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Your stupid pride makes you say stuff, and you realise you'll be paying for your latest rash statement. Or even worse He'll be paying. Somehow, it's all your fault, because you were the one who realised He was the messiah first, and said so, not realising that the messiah had to die.
You were the one who swore to be with Him, yet fell asleep in the garden when He needed you. And you were the one who just said you didn't know Him in the courtyard because it was hurting too much and you just wanted it to go away.
That's your trouble. You don't do consequences. You just pray and jump. Some of the others pray and then hide rather than jump, but that's not your style. You don't care that other people may have failed, because you and your emotional bank account know that it's not healthy, that you gave away too much, never mind anyone else. Judas was always on at you about the finances - you're too generous for your own good. Jesus didn't mind, but Judas did.
And now you're sitting on a hill, hidden by a tree in the darkness, watching Jesus die and knowing that in some way, it's all your fault.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

I'm not much of an organized religion person.

Still, this is a really well-crafted little ficlet. Modern and old at the same time.

Thanks for writing with us.

[erised1810.livejournal.com]

This was very thought provoking. I see how this relates to emptiness. For the rest it gave me many inexplicable thougths (stuff I just can't put in words). Probably because it has been long since I ead from the bible and this is the first biblefic I read i.e. e first time I see a character in the spotlight form the big mesh tat is the emory of what I remember from all the reads back then. It is a very interesting view of something where I'd never find out the possible what and why from just the main canon.

[sylveraven.livejournal.com]

This is unbeta'd. I apologise. Forgive me. But I had to give it a go, as the theme fits so well with LC's mood at present.

Title: Revelation
Fandom: Forever Knight
Character: LaCroix (who else?)
Summary: LC torments his listening audience. As per usual.
Word Count: ...I don't know. My word count doesn't work, and I kept losing count past 100... I doubt it's more than 300 though. Count it, if you like.

There is a soft click-hiss as the microphone turns on, and the Nightcrawler leans forward, ready to begin.

"A relatively unheard of Spanish philosopher* once said that life means to have something definite to do - a mission to fulfill - and in the measure in which we avoid setting our life to something, we make it empty. Human life, by its very nature, has to be dedicated to something. So what are you dedicated to, Gentle Listeners? A better life, a better future? More money, toys, sex, and all of the above? A life spent with the purpose of gather more possessions, more wealth, more fame. Tangible evidence that you are not empty. That you are something more.

"You are not fooling anyone. You are still empty. Floating from moment to moment, existing in a world of store-bought comforts. The gaping chasm of uselessness within you has so filled you with your own pain and loneliness that you are incapable of action. You live a life without purpose, without meaning, surrounded by false friends and meager accomplishments. You name will not go down in history. You will not be remembered. Ten years after your death, only your children will mourn you. Ten years after their death, you will be forgotten. An existence of materialism and pointless actions, forgotten in two generations. An eternity, gone in the blink of an eye."

LaCroix trails off, and the microphone clicks off without a thought. He leans back, pressing steepled fingers against his bottom lip as he stares out at the writhing crowd on the Raven dancefloor, without seeing. An eternity... 2,000 years, gone in the blink of an eye.

Never truer words were spoken.


*this would be Jose Ortega y Gasset. Read his work. It's great happy fun!

[lucius-lacroix.livejournal.com]

So, I went back and tried again, and I came up with a word count of 282. So ha! Just to prove that it really was less than 300 words.

Or something.

[balletrat]

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera.
Character: Meg. Surprise!

It’s odd, really.

You’d think she’d look happy when she danced – she says, after all, that it’s the thing that matters most, and there’s no reason to doubt it. She does it for hours and hours on end, and when she goes too long without it, she gets fidgety, snappish. Like a caffeine addict denied coffee, or a man cheating on his lover, nervous of being caught.

You’d think, then, that there’d never be a time when she would look happier, and yet when you look at her – look past the swirling movement, the elegant leaps and graceful limbs, to her eyes – it’s not joy that you see in them, nor anything else, for that matter. They’re as blank and sightless as those on the tiny dancing figures on a music box.

If she stumbles and falls, the blue paint flashes angrily and comes alive, a spark of humanity that stares at its feet and curses its clumsiness and occasionally throws things across the room to soothe its temper. But when the footwork is perfect, when the steps go right –

Emotion trickles down to the feet, to the arms, as they convey whatever they’re meant to convey, and the eyes are echoingly empty.

If you love her, as some do, you’d do best, when she’s dancing, not to look at her eyes.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

I love how much thought you put into Meg.

This just shows more of it.

[ravensnape.livejournal.com]

Fandom: Harry Potter "You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep--empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?" Severus Snape, Order of the Phoenix, pg. 538.


Rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep—empty it, make it blank and calm. For several years now, he had practiced this. It allowed him to sleep with minimal use of draughts or potions. It allowed him to rid his mind of the impurities in which he’d immersed himself. Throwing off the blanket that he’d tossed and turned under for the last hour, Severus rose from bed and walked stiffly to the small work counter in his chambers. Become empty and detached; he’d found this much harder since she’d arrived. In the dim firelight, he moved the small copper cauldron to the embers of the fire and hung it over them. Her first day in his classroom she had made coffee in this cauldron. Coffee. "Black and bitter," she had announced, with a smirk that had reminded him so forcefully of her mother, that he’d felt his bitter heart split open and drain into the black void he called his life. "Right up your alley. I'm sure you'll like it." With a tired hand, he conjured flame and set the logs beneath the caldron ablaze. He needed something for pain as well as something to block the nightmares that would certainly fill his head tonight with unwanted memories and emotions. He added valerian, yarrow, and powdered poppy root to the peppermint and chamomile now steeping in the cauldron. “Empty your mind, Severus,” Dumbledore had instructed him, “…else Voldemort will find the truth in you.” And what truths would the Dark Lord find in a void and empty life? Quite simply, Severus no longer knew what the truth was. The lines were now blurred beyond his recognition. Just who was he? Puppet of Voldemort, pawn of Dumbledore and now father of a headstrong daughter who hated him more then he hated himself. Empty yourself of emotion every night before you sleep. Make your mind blank and calm. Severus measured one dose of the sleeping draught and then tossed it back in a single swallow. As his arms grew heavy, he placed the empty cup back on the work counter, stumbled back to his bed and lay down upon it. With a heavy sigh, he felt the potion take hold of his emotions, his pain, his heart and drain them away as he slipped into the emptiness of a potion induced sleep.

[janeylou.livejournal.com]

I like muchly. Somehow I can't think of a more 'welcome' emptiness. Almost a craveable one. This made me think. Inspired.

[erised1810.livejournal.com]

Wel lI've read many 'who am I' portrayals of snape but this wsa new one, anther good-one. It gets rid of the purely-mean part and makes hi mmore whole.

[livii.livejournal.com]

Title:: shifts and swirls
Fandom: Doctor Who, new season.
Word Count: 111
Warning:: this is explicitly about the ending of the current season, so it's spoilery. (Don't know if anyone here is a Who fan...)



He sees the TARDIS dematerialize; he’s too late to go with them.

She sees him burn up in a blaze of fire; it’s too late to stop it.

He feels himself contract and then expand, receding and then rushing headlong into a new consciousness; it’s over almost before it started.


He’s alone.

She wonders if she’ll be alone now.

He watches himself try out his new teeth, and feels the weight of nine lives pressing in upon him, and it’s lonelier than ever.


Time shifts and swirls and it’s all at their disposal, but there’s nothing to do but go forward, because in the end, you really can’t change the past.

[shellebelle93.livejournal.com]

Oooh, neat. I'm a fan, but since I am in America, I've seen none of the new season. Grrr.

This was really cool, and I especially liked the last line.

[janeylou.livejournal.com]

Empty. Why is my classroom so bloody empty? Come to think of it so are my chambers, my children's playroom. But worse ... so much worse ... my lab. All gone. Vaporised by a mightier hand than that of the good wizarding folk.

My research.

My favourite jar of formaldehyde with its preserved occupant.

The exotic plants in the third greenhouse on the row ... *ahem*

I guess that I've wondered about such things, in the small hours when he's asleep and our children are snuffling comfortably in their cots. Are we real? Do we exist before we are born and that all that comes after is just an illusion? Is reality dreams? Are my dreams solid enough to be a reality where I can co-exist with fellow dreamers?

Bugger. I can theorise until the dragons come home to roost but it doesn't explain the swirling nothingness when I open doors. Powers have been awoken once more. He's back, feeding on the energies of our determined little community. Sucking it dry like a vampire to fuel his growth and return to power.

Voldermort has come out of hiding, reborn and renamed.

Beware the Dark Lord E.Z.Board!

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

I just love you.

Fandom: Cowboy Bebop / Spike

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

You're hungry too, baby.

I'm not sure why we refer to ships as females, but we always have. I always have. When I got the Swordfish at 17, Doohan said: always take good care of her, Spike. Treat her like a lady. Don't beat her up, don't take advantage of her. Work with her, don't fight her. She's a good girl, but if you're not careful, she'll burn you out.

And don't ever leave her empty.

We've been together 10 years now, me and her, and it's been a good partnership. I've babied her, kept her tanks full when mine were dipping into the red. Because when it comes down to it, what's more important: a ship with enough fuel to get me the hell out of whatever trouble I'm in, or a full stomach?

You bet your ass it's the first.

I haven't always made good on Doohan's words. There have been times when she's been hurt pretty badly: shot at, fired at, wings torn and crumpled, windows shattered. But always, always, I've babied her back to health. Even on those days when I just take her out to play right after repairs and watch her fall apart all over again.

I'd rather have the emptiest damn stomach in the world and a happy, working Swordfish than be sated and leave her with an empty fuel tank. Because when I think about it, I don't really know if it's been me taking care of her so much as it's been her taking care of me.

Re: Fandom: Cowboy Bebop / Spike

[shellebelle93.livejournal.com]

Wow. that's fantastic. :) I just...really love this.

Fandom: Harry Potter / featuring Sirius Black

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Six years into Azkaban, Sirius is precise at 300 words.

He knows his Shakespeare.

---

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes...

I can think the words but I can't feel them. I can recite Shakespeare to my heart's content, but there can be no joy in it, real or perceived. That's when they hover and feed, and I won't provide Dementors sustenance.

Thoughts are mine to have, but never emotion. Neither good nor bad; happy nor tragic. Thoughts must always be empty. Precise. Unemotional. Cold. Distant. I can't consider friends or loved ones, because they make me smile and in that instant when the corner of my lip curls up -- before I can beat it back, beat it away -- they're there at the cell door, and it starts all over again and that one bit of happiness is gone.

I long for chocolate. And after six years, death would be a welcome distraction.

But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

(I can't do it. I can't.)

Re: Fandom: Harry Potter / featuring Sirius Black

[shellebelle93.livejournal.com]

Ow. *pats Sirius, because he does not like hugs*

Very good. And great Shakespeare reference.

Fandom: Harry Potter/OC, Blanche Malfoy words, 215

[blanche-malfoy.livejournal.com]

(Sorry. This is very depressing. Turn back now. ;) )

She sits in her room, having successfully avoided Karl for the second week in a row.

Despite her horrid childhood, despite everything, Blanche has always been an optimist, a very ‘glass is half-full’ type of person.

Not anymore. It is only now that she sees how utterly life has failed her. Only now, when she was empty and there was a grave that was full. Her boy. Her boy, whom she sometimes caught a scent of when she put on her clothes, or when she passed by the sealed room that had been his. Her boy, gone.

She doesn’t want pity, or sympathy. She should have known something was amiss, she should have known, she was his mother! She didn’t want to think about that, though. She didn’t want to think…

…it could have been her fault.

She doesn’t want to think that her boy, with the sweet clenched fists and the still softly bowed legs, still in infancy, was sick all along, perhaps hurting, and she’d never known. Her arms ache with longing to hold him, her heart aches to croon to him and breathe in the scent of his black tuft of hair. She aches, like a hunger, and she is empty.

And every day she is alone, the emptiness within her grows.

Re: Fandom: Harry Potter/OC, Blanche Malfoy words, 215

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Waaah.

This is all the more poignant for knowing Blanche the way I do. It's easy to forget that this is a piece of her past. So, depressing yes, but very well done. Maybe the strongest Blanche piece I've seen from you.

[maid-of-astolat.livejournal.com]

Fandom: Arthurian Romance
Characters: Elaine and Lavaine Le Blanke
Word Count: 251

Lavaine pours the cup of water into the trough. “Now Lainey, there’s no more water…what do we say the cup is?”

Elaine is three years old and she screws up her face in thought. “Wet?”

Her older brother snorts. He’s five years old and knows a great many things. “Elaine, stop being silly.”

“I am’nt being silly,” Elaine protests indignantly. “If the water is gone, it’s just wet. See? The inside of the bowl is dripping.”

Lavaine laughs at this. “I suppose you are right, Elaine.”

And painstakingly, he wipes out the cup of even the tiniest of water droplets. “Now. All the water is gone. Now what do we call the cup?”

“Dry,” Elaine says matter-of-factly.

Lavaine rubs his forehead, and goes out to find some pebbles and puts them in the cup, then brings the cup back. “We call this cup full, right?”

Elaine looks inside, then nods.

Lavaine then pours the rocks out over the ground and then says, “Now…what do we call this cup now.”

Elaine pauses and thinks. “Empty?” she asks uncertainly.

Lavaine sighs in relief. Finally, she’s gotten it. He nods.

His sister beams, then it fades and she just looks a little confused again. “But isn’t it still full?”

He blinks at her. “Of what, for Heaven’s sake?”

“Air.”

Lavaine groans and falls backward, and Elaine begins to tickle him. “You’re silly,” she says, giggling.

“I’m silly?” Lavaine laughs and tickles back. No one had ever told him that teaching was such tiring work.

[erised1810.livejournal.com]

oh thi was lovely!!1
I haeto ask is this fro ma camelot tv series or abook? *is immersei nother arthuria ntexts anc curious tofind new ones.

[lostinapapercup.livejournal.com]

(Guess I should be courteous and mention that the chosen fandom is Y - The Last Man and all that, huh?)


He didn't do anything but look at me after I told him to have faith that he'd find his girlfriend.

Beth.

Sort of a funny little coincidence.

I couldn't turn away from him after saying something like that. He was looking me straight in the eye; I had to face him, had to look into those chocolate brown eyes, and every goddamn second of it was an hour long.

Make the last man alive be an attractive young man who's brave (and foolish) and funny, then put him in front of almost any girl who's been out there and see if she can not be tempted. Have him invite her to leave with him and see if she doesn't nearly keel over from temptation.

"You're sure you don't want to come?"

All my earlier humor about his last question like that had already vanished.

"Yeah, Yorick, I'm sure."

There wasn't another kiss before he started to walk away, and I went back in the church, thinking it'd been a long time since those fucking double doors had felt so hard to push open.

But as I walked down the aisle between the pews, I heard the door open again.

Alas, poor Yorick.

Bet he hears that all the time.

"Miss me?" He flashed me half a smile. I watched silently as he crossed to a middle pew and picked up that gas mask he hid behind. "Can't forget my beauty mask."

I closed my eyes and laughed. And hoped that when I looked again, he'd be gone.

Sure enough, I opened my eyes to an empty church.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

This is just... so terse and so perfectly Beth. I think I might know her pretty well (though not as well as you), and I can see this so clearly. In this short space you've made it both bitterly emotional and hugely visual.

So now I'm having flashbacks to issues 24 and 25 and have to go read them again.

Harry Potter - gen, humorous

[chrysantza.livejournal.com]

(I want to lighten the mood a bit)

Cardamom, Catnip, Cat's-claw... The words flickered and blurred together before Ernie's bleary eyes. His Potions O.W.L. was tomorrow, and Ernie was determined to wring every last drop of study time from the night before.

"Ow." Ernie felt a huge hunger pang grip his stomach. He had skipped dinner to study and now his stomach was a whistling black hole of emptiness. He got up and stretched, his body cramped from studying, hoping he still had a pumpkin pasty stashed in his wardrobe somewhere.

He heard muffled chatter and laughter as the door to the Hufflepuff common room swung open. In came Susan and Justin with heaped plates in their hands; Hannah followed, balancing a pitcher of Butterbeer and some glasses in her hands.

"Why are you swotting away when it's party time?" Justin deposited his plate of food on a table.

"All study and no food makes Ernie a grumpy boy!" Susan sang out. Hannah took Ernie by the arm and dragged him over to the table, where they all dug into pumpkin pasties, trifle and butterbeer raided from the Hogwarts kitchens.

Surrounded by food and friends, how could Ernie feel empty?

Re: Harry Potter - gen, humorous

[erised1810.livejournal.com]

Y oaure fabulosu with the hufflepuffs. I dont' knw how i can pick up the full characters for suc hashort piece but I se them in front of me .Y uals o reminedme of m yshort stint f tryignto play susan bones inan rpg. {smootch}

Whew, not late!

[enelya-oronar.livejournal.com]

Title: A deal with a demon
Fandom: Miyazaki in general
Character: Howl & Calcifer
Word Count: 369 :o(
Author’s Note: No beta. (At least not yet.) I have only seen the movie. I got the book last week but have not read it. So this might/might not be canon,,,I don’t know. For all I know this scene might be explained in the book. But it hit me the moment I read this challenge.


“Powerful is an understatement. Join me and I’ll do amazing things for you.” Calicifer taunted Howl with his demonic sorcery. “Give me something of you and together we’ll be more powerful than Madam Suliman”

“What d’you mean, give me something of you?” a very young Howl nervously inquired.

“My power comes from the person that shares a part of himselves with me. The more valuable the item, the stronger we will become.” The demon smiled. Howl was a very powerful wizard and Calcifer knew if he could just get Howl’s heart…

Howl looked down at his fingers, then hands. His eyes traveled his body for a source of power then slowly came into focus on Calcifer. Howl had an idea.

“My eyes? They’re very powerful.” Howl questioned.

“Well, yes, your eyes are powerful. But if I have them, how will you see? Maybe something a little bit closer to your chest.” Calcifer prodded him.

Howl looked down at his chest. “My heart? Can I give you my heart?”

“Yyyyeeessss. That’s a good choice. If you give me your heart our combined powers will be extraordinary.” Calcifer was pleased.

Howl’s expression changed slightly; fear crept into his face. “ How’ll I live without my heart? How do I know you won’t leave me?”

“Young one, I’ve done this for hundred’s of years. You’ll be more alive once the exchange is completed. And as for me leaving…I can’t! While I hold a piece of you, we will be bound. If either of us is permanently separated from the other we’ll both die.” Calcifer watched the inner debate rage across Howl’s face. He knew from experience now was the time to wait and not push; Howl was almost ready to commit.

“Ok, what do I have to do?” Howl listened carefully to the instructions

He pulled his heart from his chest and passed it to Calicifer. The fire demon gobbled it down and immediately blazed full with power while Howl collapsed onto the ground.

Empty. Howl felt dreadfully empty for less than a second. Then he felt the warmth of more power than he could have ever imagined and he would not feel again for many, many years.

Re: Whew, not late!

[sff-corgi.livejournal.com]

From what I've heard, the book and movie are fraternal twins. ^_^ What's in the movie might not be in the book at all.

Nicely described, though, since in the movie we just see it from Sofi/Sophie's PoV - and so quickly.

finally!!

[erised1810.livejournal.com]

two hundredand ninety thre words of Sera* trying to explain part of why she underrstand Sirius so easily. it is/wil lbe soemwhat mroe extendedi nthe acut lfic but thsi was afantastic lesson in scrap-your-nonsense-and-tell-the-story. italso made me realize...*blatherbltherlbather* on with the story.
****************
I could hardly breathe. Time seemed to stand still here. Behind me the remains of the doorway melted away. I floated in nothinngess and felt scared. I screamed, but I didn't hear my own voice. There were other voices whispering around me.

I stayed in that place for what seemed like hours, envisioning landscapes I'd never seen before except on paintings.

Then there was a shadow in front of me. It startled me, and I bounced away. But then I looked for a while at the man floating there as he reached out to me. He took my hands in his and squeezed them.

"Don't worry," said his voice above the whispers, "you’ll be home soon."

"Really?" I asked. Then came the questions I should have asked firs. "Who are you? Where am I? What is this?"
My curiosity came back and defeated my fears.
With someone else nearby, I didn't feel lost any more. I sighed and looked up at him.

"Alright," I said. "I will trust you." Then I did the boldest thing I had ever done in my life. I made him change his mind from creating a portal to explaining this nothingness to me. I went eveen further and asked where he lived.

He told me his name was Keneth, and thatr there would be time enough for him to tell me his life story. Then he floated to a door that hadn't been there before, and I could only follow.

I breathed fresh air again, and felt raindroplets on my head. I was also still curious...adn very reluctant to ask the way home. I was too glad that I didn't have to stay in that void forever. The helplesness, the dispair, I never wanted to feel that again.

***********
* this is an ocI created spedifical yfora sirius fic whre he coems back from _a world_ beyond the veil i hisdog for mwit her asa guide,suposedly until he finds a new hoe mand a way out of the restrictions i.e. nto allowed to see those who saw i mdisappear. as yo uwill most like ysee mc later Sea knwos owto pass througthe mazes inthe mere semantic 'letter' of the lawsand..wel, fo rthis particular story the ris much more to her hp-universe wise tha nI first thought. THis challenge gave me astart to continue my story. htis chalene adn the last-but-oen also helped me fill some plot holes andbackstory. I'd like to thank yo uvery much for this.
By the way is it ok to use one's oriinal writign ideas for oru prompts too? asi nIhave a fantasy novel/series?? brewing in my head adn sice your themes are fantastic for me to find bits of m ybackstory and character building stuff I was hoping to snippets of it here.

Harry Potter, once again

[chrysantza.livejournal.com]

Title: The Last

Rating: PG

Fandom: See above

Pairings: R/T

Tonks remembered the romance novels her mum used to love. So many of them had a heroine or hero who was the last of her or his line. It sounded so romantic in the novels. The last, doomed, tragic survivor of the family...

In real life being the last of the Black family wasn't so very romantic. It was a horrible hollow feeling, a gnawing emptiness like mice nibbling away at one's hollow insides. Tonks could scarcely bear to look at the three tombstones, all in a row, in the Black family plot.

Andromeda, Bellatrix, Narcissa. And there was the newest grave under the freshly turned earth - Draco Lucius Malfoy, 1980-1997. Entitled to a place in the Black family plot because of his mother.

Andromeda Black Tonks was found dead, BLOOD TRAITOR etched into her flesh. Ted was spared, he having stopped in the Leaky Cauldron for an after-work beer and game of darts; he now lay in St. Mungo's, half-dead from shock, grief and guilt.

Tonks drew a shaky, sniffling breath and turned her head. There, standing by a nearby grave, stood Remus. The other last survivor, only his family was once bonded even more tightly by affection than the Blacks were by blood. She walked over to Remus, gently touched his arm.

"Are you ready?"

Remus nodded, balled his hands into fists and jammed them into the pockets of his overcoat. "Nothing more we can do here..."

"We'd better go to St. Mungo's and see how Dad is doing."

Arm in arm the last of the Marauders and the last remaining descendant of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black left the graveyard.

Re: Harry Potter, once again

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

I think I missed this last time! Shame on me. This is very succinct and very... sad. And very nicely done.

[sky-captain.livejournal.com]

I know I'm a bit late, but this is a version of what landed me in prison camp. Remember, Miss Perkins is the writer, not me!

---

Joe leaned around, fired two shots at the patrol sniping from a half-fallen wall, then dashed across the open ground. His speed should make do in place of covering fire.

Alone in Nanking, his ‘Flying Tigers’ blood chit was worthless in the face of the Japanese invasion. His boot slipped on bomb-churned rubble from what once was a stylish boutique; catching his footing, he cursed Polly Perkins again. She'd heard the bare rumour of a chance to interview Hideki Tojo, rising star of the Japanese Army, and bolted.

Sullivan scrabbled to a stop, checking the park in which he’d landed his Curtiss P-40. There’d be enough room for a take-off with luck, wind... and a bounce off that roof at the far end.

He listened carefully: distant gunfire; some echoing screaming... Joe flinched. He’d seen what they’d done to the Chinese women, but he was only one man. He sprinted for his aeroplane, hoping that whatever surveillance the Japs set wouldn’t block his runup.

All right so far; he scrambled into the cockpit, running through startup faster than ever before. Elevator in takeoff... propellor in automatic.... Back out, using the vantage to check for soldiers: why is my luck holding? The P-40 sat too long, the prop had to be turned first. Move! Jump back in, a squad running towards him now, mag switch to BOTH, engage starter, hold in engage until engine fires....

And she coughed. Joe looked at the fuel gauge frantically. ‘Empty?! NO!’

He knew now he’d never get away, but maybe he could find out why. Scrambling out one last time, he found the cut fuel line just before the soldiers surrounded him... just before being clubbed to the ground... just before his heart emptied onto the ground, like blood from his damaged nose.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Yeah! Nice. I love this: setting the scene for everything Joe blames on Polly during the whole movie. I know it's a moment I never really considered.

Very nicely done!