scene: night-time. sloppy, single bedroom apartment. lit by a lone soft red light. front door thrown open. coffee table smothered in disorganized mags. and an ashtray overstuffed with cigarettes. one firefighter. Anya. and the Tate. in his firefighting garb. the air is thick. with remnants of a personal struggle.
“You, my lovely, need someone to take better care of you,” he says and taps my nose as I look up into his eyes.
I blink and one last tear rolls down my right cheek.
The reality of what just happened suddenly snaps to the front of my foggy attention, and I revert to the immediate problem at hand.
“Oh sh*t, did I tell you? Jill has MS.”
“We know. While I was keeping an eye on you after you passed out, the other guys found her emergency bracelet. Not that she needs one for MS. But I suppose it never hurts.”
“That’s my Jill-ie,” I reply.
c. 2012, erin
ugh, I hate, hate it!
posting an excerpt from what I have all ready written sure has unleashed my harsh inner lizard critic (her name is Gertrude. Gertrude likes to voice her opinions at the most inopportune times!)
but if I don’t do it, I won’t do it! make sense Gertrude? ha! (I get to smack her on the nose when she starts to wail.)
sorry peeps, this might become a new nasty habit.
though I found that as I just CTRLed + C and CTRLed + V>>>
I Gertrude wanted to rewrite, edit, and revise entirely.
but. I’m not allowing myself to edit.
otherwise, I will never finish it! hush, Gertrude!
so this is straight from my first draft of the full monty or call of the mild. haven’t settled on a title yet.
I’ll see how it plays out. and then decide. I have written myself into a circle with what I have. so I will just rip it apart and put the sheets back together… after I’m done with my first draft. 🙂