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Apr. 15th, 2011

Amélie - write

Trying to write again: prompt tables post

three different tables, two hundred and thirty-six stories to writeCollapse )

Dec. 10th, 2010

Amélie - write

[31_days] untitled

31_days  10: Why fuss over a pair of legs?


Position 1: standing.


“I didn’t realize you were so...tall.”

“Well.”

“But -- three inches? Really?

“I want to see what you guys see when standing.”

“I don’t think our point of view’s that much better, actually. A few inches hardly make a difference.”

“No but, oh look, piggy-backing is effortless.” She didn’t even have to tiptoe.

Position 2: clamped.Collapse )

Dec. 6th, 2010

Amélie - write

[31_days] an affair in four acts

[info]31_days 06: Of force and friction.
(A/N: somehow related to December 4.)


Act One. A challenge: can you keep up with me?

“Can I kiss you?”

She answers him by initiating it: a gentle push of lip on lip.

A second is all it takes to break away, two seconds to pull each other closer with mouths open, bodies warm with an insatiable hunger for more.

It doesn’t take a minute for his hands to find her legs, and then the space between them. She pushes harder. He pulls faster.

Both forget who challenged who, and how many laps it takes until they finish the race.

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Dec. 5th, 2010

Amélie - write

[31_days] sometimes even the false is tender

04: Subtle, sweet and totally overrated.
“sometimes even the false is tender” - Each From Different Heights, Stephen Dunn




“Is it recording? Is it working?”

She stares at the device on her hand. Too many buttons. “I don’t know.”

He grabs the manual from the table before settling down comfortably next to her. “That’s why they come with these,” he says, bending down to her right as he compares device versus illustration and skims through the instructions.

Faces inching together in proximity. Heat and a thousand invisible molecules stick to her skin, to his arms, to her face, felt but unseen, and for a few seconds she finds it hard to breathe. The sofa is soft, almost comfortable, but it is covered with leather and the curtains aren’t enough to keep the heat of the sun away.

“Hold this for a sec,” she says.

She stands up, walks across the room unaware of the gaze that follows the sway of her hips, until she reaches the corner where she bends down to turn on the air conditioner. High cool.


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Apr. 23rd, 2010

Amélie - write

the gaps remain to be unfilled



“Have you heard, Edward?”

He barely glanced away from the paper, eyes glued on the numbers in concentration and something else. “Hm?” After all, it had been a thousand and ninety-five days since he last looked at her directly in the eyes. The absence of his attentive gaze, a fading image in her memory, was her constant reminder of her brother’s estranged affections.

She smiled secretly, if not a little coyly. This little secret of hers, whose secrecy is in expiration -- she knows even before her brother did. What would he give the world to force the news from her should she keep the truth from him?

But what would she give the world for the forgiveness of her brother?

“Sean told me that the Viscount Bridport has come back.”

She was staring at him intently and she knew that the eyes that were lingering on the paper were now staring at something else -- something farther and more intangible. Something that even she could not and will never be able to completely understand.

His heart pounded strongly like the horse’s hooves on a race. Like a startled deer he turned his head to face the woman who lost him his friend.

For the first time in a hundred and forty-four weeks, Edward looked directly into the eyes of his sister.

“When?” The question was dropped in a volume almost inaudible but what sister would not understand the feelings of a brother?

Please, this time, forgive me. “This morning.” Love me again.

A smile broke his stoic face and she knew that smile was not hers to claim. “Thank you, Lucy,” he said with a gentleness that broke the heart, before leaving the room carrying with him an expression she could only describe as stupid and hopeful.

He had left the door open and Lucy laughed, deep and mirthful, for the first time in three years.

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