(no subject)
Dec. 17th, 2006 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
floweranzaPieces of stuff I'm working on now:
Sitting in his living room, Adachi picked nervously at the band-aid across his cheek. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
He’d been clumsy, like usual. He didn’t even remember why he’d wanted ice cream in the middle of winter – but he had gone to get it, and that’d turned into a disaster. The boy, wincing, remembered how he’d tripped over the broom that his mother had left out on the floor. He’d cartwheeled for balance but tipped, smashing face-first into the glass cabinet that’d been hanging off the wall for as long as he could remember. Nice.
The wide gouge on his cheek had required stitches. The hospital orderly had winced as he’d told them he was an actor, asking if anything else could be done. It couldn’t.
They had a performance tomorrow.
His cheek was throbbing and his mind raced. There was no real way to disguise it; even if he took off the gauze, the audience would see the stitches and he’d been told to keep it covered in the case of infection, anyway. Eiji couldn’t go out there with his band-aid, and then a beat up face under that. This wasn’t something that could be covered with makeup. At a loss, Adachi brooded. He’d called Ueshima, but the man had been out. Adachi hated his long, clumsy legs. It was his fault.
“Osamu?” That was his mother. Upon seeing the blood and her sheepish son sprawled in the middle of what looked like a murder scene, the woman had almost shrieked her head off.
“Yeaaah?”
...and...
Kitty poked a finger into the plastic container, sending it skittering a fair distance over the refrigerator rack. She gazed at it suspiciously, and then turned to look over her shoulder. “Kurt, d’you think this is growing mold?
“Vhat?” He examined the sandwich clutched in his hand, then peered at her. “Vhat’s growing mold?”
“My science… thing,” she huffed, “It doesn't look any different, but it’s supposed to get all moldy after I kill it with this solution.”
Kurt shrugged, mouth stuffed with ham and lettuce. His tail was busy with a pencil over his Chemistry homework, and many of the students were, at times, actually jealous of the German boy’s ability to virtually have three hands. He swallowed and waved a finger at her, grimacing. “Katzschen, mold? Vhen I’m eating? Vith our luck, your mold vill eat the whole fridge or sometheeng…”
“Oh, come on, Kurt,” the brown-haired girl pouted at him, “be nice and come here.”
“Fine, fine.” The boy disappeared with a bamf and sulfurous smoke, before reappearing at the refrigerator. Kitty rolled her eyes and waved her hand idly in front of her face.
“There, see, that thing.”
“Ew… vat vas that?”
“Dunno, actually.”
My writing's so bad and awkward. I need to write more. D:
Sitting in his living room, Adachi picked nervously at the band-aid across his cheek. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
He’d been clumsy, like usual. He didn’t even remember why he’d wanted ice cream in the middle of winter – but he had gone to get it, and that’d turned into a disaster. The boy, wincing, remembered how he’d tripped over the broom that his mother had left out on the floor. He’d cartwheeled for balance but tipped, smashing face-first into the glass cabinet that’d been hanging off the wall for as long as he could remember. Nice.
The wide gouge on his cheek had required stitches. The hospital orderly had winced as he’d told them he was an actor, asking if anything else could be done. It couldn’t.
They had a performance tomorrow.
His cheek was throbbing and his mind raced. There was no real way to disguise it; even if he took off the gauze, the audience would see the stitches and he’d been told to keep it covered in the case of infection, anyway. Eiji couldn’t go out there with his band-aid, and then a beat up face under that. This wasn’t something that could be covered with makeup. At a loss, Adachi brooded. He’d called Ueshima, but the man had been out. Adachi hated his long, clumsy legs. It was his fault.
“Osamu?” That was his mother. Upon seeing the blood and her sheepish son sprawled in the middle of what looked like a murder scene, the woman had almost shrieked her head off.
“Yeaaah?”
...and...
Kitty poked a finger into the plastic container, sending it skittering a fair distance over the refrigerator rack. She gazed at it suspiciously, and then turned to look over her shoulder. “Kurt, d’you think this is growing mold?
“Vhat?” He examined the sandwich clutched in his hand, then peered at her. “Vhat’s growing mold?”
“My science… thing,” she huffed, “It doesn't look any different, but it’s supposed to get all moldy after I kill it with this solution.”
Kurt shrugged, mouth stuffed with ham and lettuce. His tail was busy with a pencil over his Chemistry homework, and many of the students were, at times, actually jealous of the German boy’s ability to virtually have three hands. He swallowed and waved a finger at her, grimacing. “Katzschen, mold? Vhen I’m eating? Vith our luck, your mold vill eat the whole fridge or sometheeng…”
“Oh, come on, Kurt,” the brown-haired girl pouted at him, “be nice and come here.”
“Fine, fine.” The boy disappeared with a bamf and sulfurous smoke, before reappearing at the refrigerator. Kitty rolled her eyes and waved her hand idly in front of her face.
“There, see, that thing.”
“Ew… vat vas that?”
“Dunno, actually.”
My writing's so bad and awkward. I need to write more. D: