More new stuff
Apr. 1st, 2024 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tippergreenSo, I wrote my first McShep story in SGA. I'm not sure what came over me. Well, I do. I got Covid and, apparently, on Friday, when my brain was fogged, my nose was dripping snot and I was trying to swallow against the feeling of razor blades, naturally, I wrote something romantic. As one does. Because it's me, it might be more, well, brutal than romantic, but it is romantic. I think. It's also short. Well, short for me.
Anyway. Here it is: I Sometimes Wonder.
"Trapped in a random cell on a backwater planet, Rodney is rambling on and John is getting annoyed.
Until he figures out what Rodney is actually telling him, hidden beneath the bluster."
Then, on a Paxlovid high over the next two days, I churned out, not kidding, over 20,000 words of novel. Which was way too much, because now I'm well over my word limit (133,000, god damn it. I was trying to stay under 100K!) But I was stuck at home instead of cavorting with family looking for eggs, and my husband was kindly doing all the chores, and so, writing I was!
I also wrote something kinda bizarre because I didn't want to finish my taxes. Not sure it's any good. It's not fic, it's just a potential start to a short story based on an idea I had a few years ago. Be interested what you think.
The Squirrel
New plan. Buy a dog, so I can teach him to eat all the squirrels.
I've been thinking about this for a while now. Not about squirrels, exactly, or dogs per se. More generally, about instinct versus intent. I think, for most of the population, killing is not instinctual, not like it is for, say, a dog. Most people don't see a squirrel and immediately give into a primeval urge to hunt and kill. When people commit homicide, there's usually a reason, whether it be for good or ill, in self-defense or by accident or on purpose. I know this because I see it all the time—it's my job to deal with the aftermath, like the two bodies neatly wrapped in plastic in my trunk. People simply do not kill if they don't mean to. Most, in fact, avoid it if they can. Instinctively.
Which, frankly, can be a real problem. Goddamned squirrel.
Oh, hey, I can move my right arm! At least a little. Can't move my head, though. Stupid air bag. And breathing is tough—damn material is in my mouth. All I can taste and smell is plastic. And a dying car. Pretty horrible stench, to be honest.
Of course, in the grand scheme of things, I should probably be glad I am breathing at all.
I still can't believe I swerved. The road was clear, it being night, around two in the morning. last time I checked, and I'd had the road to myself. Except for the damn squirrel of course. How do they put it in the movies? There I was, minding my own business, and, bam! Squirrel Nutkin bounds into the middle of the road, all bushy tailed and bright eyed (though, really, what was he doing up so late? Shouldn't all good squirrels be in bed by now?), and I did what nearly everyone does when cute and fluffy gets in the way. I gasped, yanked the wheel to avoid the stupid common rodent…
And ended up splatted against a tree.
Why do we do that? Why do we risk possible death, certain irreparable and expensive car damage, not to mention injury to others, just to avoid a squirrel?
Because instinct makes us swerve to avoid killing another living thing.
Hence why I want to get a dog. Preferably one with a thing for squirrels. Which, if I remember correctly from childhood, should offer a lot of breed choices.
Of course, until then, I have to deal with the bodies. I'm not so stupid that I think that no one else will come along. Eventually, someone will, and they will call the police, and then things would be discovered, and that would be bad.
It meant I had to move more than my arm.
Slowly, I reached for the swiss-army knife in my jacket pocket on the passenger seat, straining to reach it. The seatbelt had me securely locked in place, but if I could relax a little I could just about….
Pop.
Lovely. I just popped my shoulder joint. Add another point to the painful injury meter.
I grunted, reaching again and, this time, grabbed the jacket. Tipping it sideways, I pulled out everything in the first pocket I found, tossing aside the revolver and nearly empty bag of spearmint candies. Green, sugary squares ended up all over the floor and the seat. Wrong pocket. Turning the jacket over, I dug into the other pocket, and found the knife along with my house keys. For half a second, I gripped the shiny keychain with my daughter's name etched on it, rubbing my thumb over the letters, and then dropped the keys and cracked open the blade.
A few slashes cut through the airbag, and my upper body sighed in relief, slumping towards the dashboard. The seatbelt cutting into me still hurt like a son of a bitch, though. Gingerly, I tried to see if it would release on its own. Amazingly, yes. My body slumped even more, so happy to be released, blood pumping wildly into places where it had been cut off before. Everything tingled, and I was momentarily dizzy.
I must have blacked out then, because I woke up to my phone ringing and my face smooshed up against the deflated airbag, drooling.
Disoriented, I patted my pockets, and then the car seats, and, finally, found the offending ringing object on the floor surrounded by little green sugary gemstones. I won't bore you with the truly painful acrobatics I went through to retrieve it.
"Hello?"
"Paul?"
"Yeah?"
"What happened?"
"Huh?"
"You're late. You should have been here about twenty minutes ago. Where are you?"
"Um…" I leaned back, blinking slowly, trying to recall….Oh yes. The squirrel. "I might be in some trouble."
"Trouble?" The voice on the other side of the phone immediately jumped in pitch and volume. "What kind of trouble?"
"Well…."
"Oh God. Tell me you're not calling me from the police station."
"Uh, no?"
"Was that a question? Oh God! You are calling me from a police station! You bastard!"
"You called me."
"I did? Oh, right. Still, Caller ID! Hang up! Hang up!"
"That really wouldn't help you, you know."
"You bastard! What'll I tell Bob? He's going to kill me! Well, not literally of course, but--"
"I'm not at a police station."
"Huh?"
"I was in a car accident."
That earned a long pause, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.
"A car accident," she repeated finally. "A bad one? Are you okay?"
"I think so?"
"Stop answering my questions with questions, Paul."
"Then I don't know. I haven't really tried moving yet."
"What sort of accident?"
"I hit a tree."
"How did you hit a tree?"
"Squirrel."
That earned an even longer pause. I almost smiled, except that I hurt too much.
"You swerved to avoid a squirrel," she postulated, keeping her tone even. "And hit a tree."
"Yeah."
"You've put our lives and livelihood in jeopardy because of a squirrel."
"Yeah."
"You are the worst husband in the entire world."
"Very likely."
"I hate you so much right now."
"I know. But, um, I think I may need some help."
She sighed heavily, and the line filled with static for a moment.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Where are you exactly?"
"Side of Route 9C. Middle of nowhere."
"What can you see?"
"Besides the tree?"
"Yes, besides the tree," she repeated tightly.
"More trees."
"Paul…."
I really wasn't sure I was up to this conversation. She seemed to want to know a lot more than I was able to tell her.
"It's dark," I tried. "I'm pretty sure I'm alone. Haven't seen another car, and I don't see any lights from houses."
"Well, that's not surprising. It's why we always use that road, if you recall."
I hummed, smiling. "True." I rested my head against the headrest, and looked up through the skylight. The stars were pretty.
"Paul."
"Mmm?"
"Paul!"
"Mmm."
"Paul! Open your eyes!"
So I did, blinking a little in surprise. I hadn't even noticed I'd closed them.
"Paul!"
"Here." I blinked some more, and rubbed my hands against my forehead. "I'm here, Grace."
I heard her exhale heavily. "Okay, okay. Don't do that again. We need a new plan. Can you move?"
He nodded. Then, realizing she couldn't see him, answered out loud: "Sorta."
"Enough to hide the car and move the bodies?"
Oh God. Just the idea of moving that much hurt. "Where?"
"I don't know, but you have to make the car less visible so no one stops on the road, and you have to get the bodies out of the car in case it doesn't work."
"I don't know if I can do any of that."
"Yes, you can."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Now stop being a wuss and make it happen. According to my phone, I can be there in an hour with a tow truck. Just keep hidden until then."
"Okay." He closed his eyes again.
"And don't fall asleep. Closing your eyes is not hiding, unless you're a baby."
He opened his eyes again. How did she know?
"Just hang on, honey," she said, her tone softening. "I'm on my way. I love you."
"I love you too."
"You're still a huge idiot."
"I know. By the way, we're getting a dog."
"What?"
"When this is over, we need a dog. One that eats squirrels."
"Right. Start moving now. I'll be there in an hour."
He nodded, and was about to saying something else when he heard the phone beep to indicate she'd hung up.
Okay then.
He was going to start an online campaign to eradicate squirrels. At least the nocturnal ones. Down with squirrels! It'd made a snappy t-shirt, don't you think?
Was he thinking in the second person now? That's just weird.
He had to move.
Anyway. Here it is: I Sometimes Wonder.
"Trapped in a random cell on a backwater planet, Rodney is rambling on and John is getting annoyed.
Until he figures out what Rodney is actually telling him, hidden beneath the bluster."
Then, on a Paxlovid high over the next two days, I churned out, not kidding, over 20,000 words of novel. Which was way too much, because now I'm well over my word limit (133,000, god damn it. I was trying to stay under 100K!) But I was stuck at home instead of cavorting with family looking for eggs, and my husband was kindly doing all the chores, and so, writing I was!
I also wrote something kinda bizarre because I didn't want to finish my taxes. Not sure it's any good. It's not fic, it's just a potential start to a short story based on an idea I had a few years ago. Be interested what you think.
The Squirrel
New plan. Buy a dog, so I can teach him to eat all the squirrels.
I've been thinking about this for a while now. Not about squirrels, exactly, or dogs per se. More generally, about instinct versus intent. I think, for most of the population, killing is not instinctual, not like it is for, say, a dog. Most people don't see a squirrel and immediately give into a primeval urge to hunt and kill. When people commit homicide, there's usually a reason, whether it be for good or ill, in self-defense or by accident or on purpose. I know this because I see it all the time—it's my job to deal with the aftermath, like the two bodies neatly wrapped in plastic in my trunk. People simply do not kill if they don't mean to. Most, in fact, avoid it if they can. Instinctively.
Which, frankly, can be a real problem. Goddamned squirrel.
Oh, hey, I can move my right arm! At least a little. Can't move my head, though. Stupid air bag. And breathing is tough—damn material is in my mouth. All I can taste and smell is plastic. And a dying car. Pretty horrible stench, to be honest.
Of course, in the grand scheme of things, I should probably be glad I am breathing at all.
I still can't believe I swerved. The road was clear, it being night, around two in the morning. last time I checked, and I'd had the road to myself. Except for the damn squirrel of course. How do they put it in the movies? There I was, minding my own business, and, bam! Squirrel Nutkin bounds into the middle of the road, all bushy tailed and bright eyed (though, really, what was he doing up so late? Shouldn't all good squirrels be in bed by now?), and I did what nearly everyone does when cute and fluffy gets in the way. I gasped, yanked the wheel to avoid the stupid common rodent…
And ended up splatted against a tree.
Why do we do that? Why do we risk possible death, certain irreparable and expensive car damage, not to mention injury to others, just to avoid a squirrel?
Because instinct makes us swerve to avoid killing another living thing.
Hence why I want to get a dog. Preferably one with a thing for squirrels. Which, if I remember correctly from childhood, should offer a lot of breed choices.
Of course, until then, I have to deal with the bodies. I'm not so stupid that I think that no one else will come along. Eventually, someone will, and they will call the police, and then things would be discovered, and that would be bad.
It meant I had to move more than my arm.
Slowly, I reached for the swiss-army knife in my jacket pocket on the passenger seat, straining to reach it. The seatbelt had me securely locked in place, but if I could relax a little I could just about….
Pop.
Lovely. I just popped my shoulder joint. Add another point to the painful injury meter.
I grunted, reaching again and, this time, grabbed the jacket. Tipping it sideways, I pulled out everything in the first pocket I found, tossing aside the revolver and nearly empty bag of spearmint candies. Green, sugary squares ended up all over the floor and the seat. Wrong pocket. Turning the jacket over, I dug into the other pocket, and found the knife along with my house keys. For half a second, I gripped the shiny keychain with my daughter's name etched on it, rubbing my thumb over the letters, and then dropped the keys and cracked open the blade.
A few slashes cut through the airbag, and my upper body sighed in relief, slumping towards the dashboard. The seatbelt cutting into me still hurt like a son of a bitch, though. Gingerly, I tried to see if it would release on its own. Amazingly, yes. My body slumped even more, so happy to be released, blood pumping wildly into places where it had been cut off before. Everything tingled, and I was momentarily dizzy.
I must have blacked out then, because I woke up to my phone ringing and my face smooshed up against the deflated airbag, drooling.
Disoriented, I patted my pockets, and then the car seats, and, finally, found the offending ringing object on the floor surrounded by little green sugary gemstones. I won't bore you with the truly painful acrobatics I went through to retrieve it.
"Hello?"
"Paul?"
"Yeah?"
"What happened?"
"Huh?"
"You're late. You should have been here about twenty minutes ago. Where are you?"
"Um…" I leaned back, blinking slowly, trying to recall….Oh yes. The squirrel. "I might be in some trouble."
"Trouble?" The voice on the other side of the phone immediately jumped in pitch and volume. "What kind of trouble?"
"Well…."
"Oh God. Tell me you're not calling me from the police station."
"Uh, no?"
"Was that a question? Oh God! You are calling me from a police station! You bastard!"
"You called me."
"I did? Oh, right. Still, Caller ID! Hang up! Hang up!"
"That really wouldn't help you, you know."
"You bastard! What'll I tell Bob? He's going to kill me! Well, not literally of course, but--"
"I'm not at a police station."
"Huh?"
"I was in a car accident."
That earned a long pause, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.
"A car accident," she repeated finally. "A bad one? Are you okay?"
"I think so?"
"Stop answering my questions with questions, Paul."
"Then I don't know. I haven't really tried moving yet."
"What sort of accident?"
"I hit a tree."
"How did you hit a tree?"
"Squirrel."
That earned an even longer pause. I almost smiled, except that I hurt too much.
"You swerved to avoid a squirrel," she postulated, keeping her tone even. "And hit a tree."
"Yeah."
"You've put our lives and livelihood in jeopardy because of a squirrel."
"Yeah."
"You are the worst husband in the entire world."
"Very likely."
"I hate you so much right now."
"I know. But, um, I think I may need some help."
She sighed heavily, and the line filled with static for a moment.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Where are you exactly?"
"Side of Route 9C. Middle of nowhere."
"What can you see?"
"Besides the tree?"
"Yes, besides the tree," she repeated tightly.
"More trees."
"Paul…."
I really wasn't sure I was up to this conversation. She seemed to want to know a lot more than I was able to tell her.
"It's dark," I tried. "I'm pretty sure I'm alone. Haven't seen another car, and I don't see any lights from houses."
"Well, that's not surprising. It's why we always use that road, if you recall."
I hummed, smiling. "True." I rested my head against the headrest, and looked up through the skylight. The stars were pretty.
"Paul."
"Mmm?"
"Paul!"
"Mmm."
"Paul! Open your eyes!"
So I did, blinking a little in surprise. I hadn't even noticed I'd closed them.
"Paul!"
"Here." I blinked some more, and rubbed my hands against my forehead. "I'm here, Grace."
I heard her exhale heavily. "Okay, okay. Don't do that again. We need a new plan. Can you move?"
He nodded. Then, realizing she couldn't see him, answered out loud: "Sorta."
"Enough to hide the car and move the bodies?"
Oh God. Just the idea of moving that much hurt. "Where?"
"I don't know, but you have to make the car less visible so no one stops on the road, and you have to get the bodies out of the car in case it doesn't work."
"I don't know if I can do any of that."
"Yes, you can."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Now stop being a wuss and make it happen. According to my phone, I can be there in an hour with a tow truck. Just keep hidden until then."
"Okay." He closed his eyes again.
"And don't fall asleep. Closing your eyes is not hiding, unless you're a baby."
He opened his eyes again. How did she know?
"Just hang on, honey," she said, her tone softening. "I'm on my way. I love you."
"I love you too."
"You're still a huge idiot."
"I know. By the way, we're getting a dog."
"What?"
"When this is over, we need a dog. One that eats squirrels."
"Right. Start moving now. I'll be there in an hour."
He nodded, and was about to saying something else when he heard the phone beep to indicate she'd hung up.
Okay then.
He was going to start an online campaign to eradicate squirrels. At least the nocturnal ones. Down with squirrels! It'd made a snappy t-shirt, don't you think?
Was he thinking in the second person now? That's just weird.
He had to move.
