RunningNekkid dot com catch up
May. 17th, 2013 10:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
celeste_noelaniI haven't been posting links to stuff over here like I said I was gonna. So here are some posts from the blog blog:
The Ghast (fiction): I creep through the corridor, fingers tight around the handle of my shingler's hatchet. The close walls are cool and damp; over the winter they'll be pelted with rain and hail and probably snow. The Assembly managed to find shingles to cover the slanting plywood roof, but there wasn't enough exterior paint in any of the neighboring houses. Just the satin interior kind that was good enough at first. It won't be good enough for much longer.
Mother's Day Recovery: The best Mother's Day gift we ever gave my mother was a bouquet of flowers sent to the hospital where she worked as a nurse's aide. The card read "Happy Mother's Day, love your ungrateful bastard children." Normally she would have been pissed that we hadn't come home for a big brunchy to-do, but because we sent her flowers! To work! We were at least a little bit forgiven. And she could show all of her coworkers the proof, in writing, that her children were indeed the ungrateful bastards she always said we were.
Left Of (fiction): She slid the flower behind her ear, its curling stem trailing down behind her earlobe. It tickled a little, but she didn't let him see her fidget.
Daughters of Silence: In the early years before we learned about sticking together, my mother's active abandonment pitted me and my sister against one another. We became invisible children, not quite furniture while the other sibling would be the temporary favorite. At first we naturally sided with our mother against that awful other, joining in her abandonment until some unknown atonement had been accepted.
The Ghast (fiction): I creep through the corridor, fingers tight around the handle of my shingler's hatchet. The close walls are cool and damp; over the winter they'll be pelted with rain and hail and probably snow. The Assembly managed to find shingles to cover the slanting plywood roof, but there wasn't enough exterior paint in any of the neighboring houses. Just the satin interior kind that was good enough at first. It won't be good enough for much longer.
Mother's Day Recovery: The best Mother's Day gift we ever gave my mother was a bouquet of flowers sent to the hospital where she worked as a nurse's aide. The card read "Happy Mother's Day, love your ungrateful bastard children." Normally she would have been pissed that we hadn't come home for a big brunchy to-do, but because we sent her flowers! To work! We were at least a little bit forgiven. And she could show all of her coworkers the proof, in writing, that her children were indeed the ungrateful bastards she always said we were.
Left Of (fiction): She slid the flower behind her ear, its curling stem trailing down behind her earlobe. It tickled a little, but she didn't let him see her fidget.
Daughters of Silence: In the early years before we learned about sticking together, my mother's active abandonment pitted me and my sister against one another. We became invisible children, not quite furniture while the other sibling would be the temporary favorite. At first we naturally sided with our mother against that awful other, joining in her abandonment until some unknown atonement had been accepted.
