Post by Eurydice on Apr 20, 2008 0:30:45 GMT -5
((I'm not really sure what this is, but the idea came into my head and I felt like writing it down. If I am similarly inspired again, perhaps I will make it into something a little more artistic and coherent.))
On one autumnal Thursday,
Anne's hopeless addictions to coffee and gin proved to be of no negative consequence, as, with a liberal amount of the latter applied last night and a liberal amount of the former applied this morning, she felt glorious. She had received a letter from an old friend in the States and, with a secret smile on her lips, she wrote back;
Matthew spent the day instructing his son in the proper use of a rifle-- he'd known enough to point and fire before, but it was time for him to learn properly. The gun's action was smooth as satin, weather conditions perfectly clear, and the boy was an excellent shot, a quick study;
Maxwell finished blueprints for a surprisingly simple, minimalistic design, a sleeker, streamlined engine. He triple checked his work, sighing wistfully as Elizabeth walked past, wondering if she would even notice his efforts;
William smiled triumphantly as his usually forced and crooked handwriting twisted into something like straight, simple elegance on the page; the words, usually a copied exercise, were his own. He knew it was a small accomplishment, trivial, but it made his heart glow with pride;
Elizabeth unpacked her fresh new outfit, a crisp white shirt, grey vest, and dark blue jacket and trousers, and she felt like a new person when she donned the clothes, smoothing the stiff cloth against her skin. She blushed slightly as she passed Maxwell, but she did not stop to speak to him;
Jamie puttered in his lab, until Elizabeth dragged him out for a nice afternoon stroll by the park, which was actually a nice afternoon supply run;
Hugh passed the morning with his wife, a calm between the storm of shouting matches that had come to define their relationship of late. He made a bad joke about their respective ages and fondly watched her smile, thinking on a simpler time;
the Wolf wandered, snarling and jagged toothed, over the woody countryside but found no substantial prey. It was forced to settle for a few baby rabbits, which it tore into with relish;
Maratte sat closed in a little apartment room, poised by the telegraph machine, waiting, unmoving;
and Johanna strode back from the first day of classes wearing a smile. Every year, there was at least one class with one prick who made some snide remark about her gender, and when she'd shot down this year's perpetrator, the rest of the class, who would traditionally be shocked into sullen silence by the exchange, had burst into spontaneous, heartfelt applause at her sharp rebuke.
No cracks opened up in the heart of London, spilling white-hot liquid rock into the streets and setting fire to the buildings. No mysterious, ominous notes written in mind-bending cypher arrived on their doorstep. No sudden, violent riots broke out in any of Washington's major museums. The only O'Reilleys on the police force were the ones who later stopped by the pub for a pint after their shift. Serene statues, historical buildings, and regal monuments from London to Washington to Philadelphia stood proudly unmolested and untoppled. Nothing presented itself that called for a jet pack in its solution. No strange flashes fell from the stars, and not a single unsavory character rose from the dead.
It was a very nice day.
On one autumnal Thursday,
Anne's hopeless addictions to coffee and gin proved to be of no negative consequence, as, with a liberal amount of the latter applied last night and a liberal amount of the former applied this morning, she felt glorious. She had received a letter from an old friend in the States and, with a secret smile on her lips, she wrote back;
Matthew spent the day instructing his son in the proper use of a rifle-- he'd known enough to point and fire before, but it was time for him to learn properly. The gun's action was smooth as satin, weather conditions perfectly clear, and the boy was an excellent shot, a quick study;
Maxwell finished blueprints for a surprisingly simple, minimalistic design, a sleeker, streamlined engine. He triple checked his work, sighing wistfully as Elizabeth walked past, wondering if she would even notice his efforts;
William smiled triumphantly as his usually forced and crooked handwriting twisted into something like straight, simple elegance on the page; the words, usually a copied exercise, were his own. He knew it was a small accomplishment, trivial, but it made his heart glow with pride;
Elizabeth unpacked her fresh new outfit, a crisp white shirt, grey vest, and dark blue jacket and trousers, and she felt like a new person when she donned the clothes, smoothing the stiff cloth against her skin. She blushed slightly as she passed Maxwell, but she did not stop to speak to him;
Jamie puttered in his lab, until Elizabeth dragged him out for a nice afternoon stroll by the park, which was actually a nice afternoon supply run;
Hugh passed the morning with his wife, a calm between the storm of shouting matches that had come to define their relationship of late. He made a bad joke about their respective ages and fondly watched her smile, thinking on a simpler time;
the Wolf wandered, snarling and jagged toothed, over the woody countryside but found no substantial prey. It was forced to settle for a few baby rabbits, which it tore into with relish;
Maratte sat closed in a little apartment room, poised by the telegraph machine, waiting, unmoving;
and Johanna strode back from the first day of classes wearing a smile. Every year, there was at least one class with one prick who made some snide remark about her gender, and when she'd shot down this year's perpetrator, the rest of the class, who would traditionally be shocked into sullen silence by the exchange, had burst into spontaneous, heartfelt applause at her sharp rebuke.
No cracks opened up in the heart of London, spilling white-hot liquid rock into the streets and setting fire to the buildings. No mysterious, ominous notes written in mind-bending cypher arrived on their doorstep. No sudden, violent riots broke out in any of Washington's major museums. The only O'Reilleys on the police force were the ones who later stopped by the pub for a pint after their shift. Serene statues, historical buildings, and regal monuments from London to Washington to Philadelphia stood proudly unmolested and untoppled. Nothing presented itself that called for a jet pack in its solution. No strange flashes fell from the stars, and not a single unsavory character rose from the dead.
It was a very nice day.