Abigail writes stuff

15minuteficlets

2005-11-29T18:19:40Z

Title: Some of my favorite things
original characters

Packages (tied up).

Rooms (of red).

My girlfriend's kisses, which taste like lemon sherbet and cherry candies. Sometimes, she starts to talk part way through, and it sounds like "Mmmph, muffle muffle, don't you think?" It's a terribly haphazard way of making conversation, as only Oopy could. Though the fact that she's mine and that we kiss, that is one of my favorite things.

My mental list keeps the dangerous smile on my lips, as I gaze at the salesman across from me. He's put his briefcase down dangerously close to my favorite shoes, his eyes have strayed repeatedly to my hemline, and he has no idea how thin the ice he's on has grown.

"As you can see you'll turn a tidy profit by switching to our glue. It's obviously more cost effective, don't you think?"

"No." I smile on and on, gliding towards the door. "Quality over quantity."

"The quality difference isn't THAT..." I stop him by gently inclining my head towards the door. "Well, I'll leave you my card."

15minuteficlets

2005-11-27T16:38:14Z

Circular logic impresses turkeys, turkeys and very young children that haven't learned to speak yet. Well, ok, it impresses turkeys, adorable babies, and a man named John Wellernot.

John Wellernot was slouched in a grimy diner booth, it was diner orange with great big black hand-prints spattered on the corners, and cancer stick burns peppering it's plastic surface. He was scratchin' his oily schnoz and whacking a newspaper article with the back of his hand.

"Oh you see?" He reached for has coffee, smearing grease on it's handle. "See? See? This is brilliant."

"No, it rather is not."

John glanced up, his mouth slack, then he grimaced and hunched down into the corner, jabbing the paper in front of his face as a shield.

"It is."

"In essence, it says you should because if you don't then you should."

Mr. Wellernot slouched his shoulders forward, "It's not like he could say 'Oh, just go on and do it because a Mr. Black has coffee at the diner, so be a doll, won't you?"

He sat up and crushed the paper under his elbow as he leaned forward. He gazed milkily at the empty, crumb-littered diner orange bench across from him. Then he added some sugar to his coffee and went back to reading.

daily15 word #252

2005-08-31T03:05:52Z

Start time: 10:41
End time: 10:56
Original Fiction: The fishwatcher
Rating: G

Pearl plodded through the hatchery, listening to the rain and the fish tanks. Rain and filters, water falls and fins, all chiming and waving hungrily at her ears as she passed. She had to pee, she always had to pee, even when she was home in her solid little futon drifting off to sleep she could feel the rocking of water against her dry skin and she'd have to run to the lav. Though once she was asleep she'd dream of dryads and mermaids and all the magic in a raindrop sized blessing dragon.

Somewhere in Pearl's mind was a running tally of things she looked fat in, and she rolled through them as she plodded on and on through her rounds. Heavy clothes added curves where she had no curves, wearing a scarf as a belt made her look like a fat toy that ate children, wearing khakis made her look like she had a huge package that bulged whenever she sat down.

And of course, she had the tally of things that she felt stupid for thinking about, and on that list was the list of things she looked fat in. It wasn't that she was actually small, or that she was actually a nudist, or that she didn't actually care how she looked, because obviously those things were not true. It was only that she had her lists, and on them she felt fat, or stupid, or slow, or like she stank like fish.

And, also, the list of reasons why she should be allowed to touch the fish, to feel their cool silky scales, to murmur to them that they were precious and beautiful.

15minuteficlets word #121

2005-08-29T11:17:25Z

Start: 6:51
End: 7:06
Original fiction
Rated G

"What is it? Men sweat and women glisten? Oh, no, it's perspire. We perspire. Anyway, it's too hot."

My cat inspected me from a distance, as standing up would have required her to gather her limbs inward, and as she was currently flattened flat as a cat could be that would have taken her a bit more effort then I was worth. She was oozing through the shadows, trying not to make contact with herself, as she was too warm and furry for the day.

"Well, I suppose you don't glisten or perspire, you just act snotty and kill things and stick your feet on my boobs when you're chilly. Though, you know, glistening wouldn't be so bad. I'm not, though, I look dusty." I held up my arm, as if inspecting it, then I let it flop downward like a dead thing.

"You're bad company, kitty." I got up and stalked around the shed. "Go break into the house and get my keys, ok?"

A moment of silence revealed that the cat was asleep.

"Pffft, it's too hot for this." I grouched to the ground, my head felt too big and heavy, my throat light-headed. No, my throat felt big my head light. My armpits dribbled dust, and I realized that this was the wrong place for me. This whole town and county was a great big rambling hot wrongness.

trying to organize

2005-08-26T16:26:15Z