of grades and drabbles
I checked my grades today and I got an A in every class! :D! I am so happy! I never thought I'd get a 4.0 ever. Of course, the classes weren't that difficult (Intro to Computing = rocket science), so I guess it's not a major accomplishment.
In other news, I've got all three drabbles done and here they are! I hope you guys like them. (There is much more nervousness involved in writing something specifically for someone...) I would've had them out earlier, 'cept when my computer automatically restarted the other night, it ate the finished version of marumae's and I had to do it again. Computers are evil.
Title: Infanticide
For: marumae
Subject: Silent Hill 2: James introspection
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Notes: Introspection is such a broad category. It took me a while to think of something for James to think about. lol But I decided to have him ponder a minute part of the hospital that always bugged the hell out of me.
It was a strangled, desperate cry of struggle. James walked up to the fencing that went from floor to ceiling, blocking off the storage room. The wide hallway they were in only gave view to the left side of the area, and he tried to peer to the other side to see what was making the noise. It remained out of sight, but every few seconds, the piercing wail would recur, jarring him.
He pressed his face to the linked chain, entranced by the horrible noise. It sounded like…
"I… I was thinking… I want to leave James with a piece of both of us. Someone he can watch grow--"
"Mrs. Sunderland, I strongly advise against that. If we took you off treatment, who knows how long you- much less a baby- would survive?"
"You don’t even know how long she’ll last with the damn treatment."
"I understand your feelings, but I can’t imagine…"
"Thank you. I understand. … Oh, James…"
"James!"
He turned around. Maria was gesturing to the door impatiently.
He brought his hand up to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Sorry. Don’t know why I…"
The sound whined to life, only to die once more.
-------
Title: Thoughtcrime
For: elendraug
Subject: 1984: Syme/Winston
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 200
Notes: For some reason when I thought of Syme, I had forgotten that Winston asserted that the other man didn't like him all that much. So I had to revise after I reread the chapter. I hope I kept some semblance of his character.
It wasn’t just the Oldspeak. He could see it in Winston’s face, the precariousness of his loyalty. It was ridiculous, amazing that he wasn’t an unperson. Winston didn’t understand, but Syme understood. Syme was willing to make the effort. Doublethink wasn’t all that complicated, really.
One day Winston would be vaporized. It was written in his face.
Regardless, Syme found himself drawn to Winston just the same, perhaps because he did seem to show interest in Newspeak. For instance, at the moment it occurred to Syme that the other man would be tolerable company at the Chestnut Tree Café, or that perhaps he should ask Winston to come see the next hangings, that maybe he could help him somehow. Immediately after that thought, he mentally shook himself. Such unorthodoxy. He needed sleep.
And he dreamed, strangely, of heat and sweat and heavy hands. He dreamed of defying Big Brother with no reservations, no regrets, on the floor right in front of the telescreen. He dreamed of true freedom.
Syme’s eyes sprang open, and before he could stop himself, he uttered two syllables:
“Winston.”
His mind snapped awake, and he clapped his hands over his mouth. But it was too late.
-------
Title: Number Six
For: xelchan
Subject: Silent Hill 4: Alive!Walter and one of the victims
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Notes: I picked George Rosten, because the idea of being killed in a subterranean room is creepy as hell. Reminds me of back in the day when I wrote this excessively gorey horror story in which a friend and I were killed in my basement. I was a lovely child.
Children ran across the floorboards overhead. George Rosten stood before the altar, the only point of interest in the plain room. He prayed, begging God to tell him what had gone wrong.
Another clatter above. Rosten raised his head and gazed at the seal on the wall. He envied the children. They had been out with the sisters when Father Stone had been murdered. They hadn’t seen him. They didn’t have to move his body to keep the police out of Wish House.
More pattering of feet over the freshly scrubbed wood. He heard a sister’s muffled scolding voice. Then the front door creaked open, its rusty hinges grinding throughout the orphanage. The sister shouted again, this time in terror. The children screamed and their movements scattered everywhere. Underneath the panic, methodical footsteps moved across the room. Something metal dragged behind them.
Rosten grabbed onto the table, shaking it with his trembling. There was nowhere to run. The trap door opened with a clap, and then thump. thump. thump.
He stared at the parchment on the table.
… cleanse the world with my rage… the Blood of the Ten Sinners…
The heavy steps halted behind him. His heart stopped.
"Six."
In other news, I've got all three drabbles done and here they are! I hope you guys like them. (There is much more nervousness involved in writing something specifically for someone...) I would've had them out earlier, 'cept when my computer automatically restarted the other night, it ate the finished version of marumae's and I had to do it again. Computers are evil.
Title: Infanticide
For: marumae
Subject: Silent Hill 2: James introspection
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Notes: Introspection is such a broad category. It took me a while to think of something for James to think about. lol But I decided to have him ponder a minute part of the hospital that always bugged the hell out of me.
It was a strangled, desperate cry of struggle. James walked up to the fencing that went from floor to ceiling, blocking off the storage room. The wide hallway they were in only gave view to the left side of the area, and he tried to peer to the other side to see what was making the noise. It remained out of sight, but every few seconds, the piercing wail would recur, jarring him.
He pressed his face to the linked chain, entranced by the horrible noise. It sounded like…
"I… I was thinking… I want to leave James with a piece of both of us. Someone he can watch grow--"
"Mrs. Sunderland, I strongly advise against that. If we took you off treatment, who knows how long you- much less a baby- would survive?"
"You don’t even know how long she’ll last with the damn treatment."
"I understand your feelings, but I can’t imagine…"
"Thank you. I understand. … Oh, James…"
"James!"
He turned around. Maria was gesturing to the door impatiently.
He brought his hand up to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Sorry. Don’t know why I…"
The sound whined to life, only to die once more.
-------
Title: Thoughtcrime
For: elendraug
Subject: 1984: Syme/Winston
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 200
Notes: For some reason when I thought of Syme, I had forgotten that Winston asserted that the other man didn't like him all that much. So I had to revise after I reread the chapter. I hope I kept some semblance of his character.
It wasn’t just the Oldspeak. He could see it in Winston’s face, the precariousness of his loyalty. It was ridiculous, amazing that he wasn’t an unperson. Winston didn’t understand, but Syme understood. Syme was willing to make the effort. Doublethink wasn’t all that complicated, really.
One day Winston would be vaporized. It was written in his face.
Regardless, Syme found himself drawn to Winston just the same, perhaps because he did seem to show interest in Newspeak. For instance, at the moment it occurred to Syme that the other man would be tolerable company at the Chestnut Tree Café, or that perhaps he should ask Winston to come see the next hangings, that maybe he could help him somehow. Immediately after that thought, he mentally shook himself. Such unorthodoxy. He needed sleep.
And he dreamed, strangely, of heat and sweat and heavy hands. He dreamed of defying Big Brother with no reservations, no regrets, on the floor right in front of the telescreen. He dreamed of true freedom.
Syme’s eyes sprang open, and before he could stop himself, he uttered two syllables:
“Winston.”
His mind snapped awake, and he clapped his hands over his mouth. But it was too late.
-------
Title: Number Six
For: xelchan
Subject: Silent Hill 4: Alive!Walter and one of the victims
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Notes: I picked George Rosten, because the idea of being killed in a subterranean room is creepy as hell. Reminds me of back in the day when I wrote this excessively gorey horror story in which a friend and I were killed in my basement. I was a lovely child.
Children ran across the floorboards overhead. George Rosten stood before the altar, the only point of interest in the plain room. He prayed, begging God to tell him what had gone wrong.
Another clatter above. Rosten raised his head and gazed at the seal on the wall. He envied the children. They had been out with the sisters when Father Stone had been murdered. They hadn’t seen him. They didn’t have to move his body to keep the police out of Wish House.
More pattering of feet over the freshly scrubbed wood. He heard a sister’s muffled scolding voice. Then the front door creaked open, its rusty hinges grinding throughout the orphanage. The sister shouted again, this time in terror. The children screamed and their movements scattered everywhere. Underneath the panic, methodical footsteps moved across the room. Something metal dragged behind them.
Rosten grabbed onto the table, shaking it with his trembling. There was nowhere to run. The trap door opened with a clap, and then thump. thump. thump.
He stared at the parchment on the table.
… cleanse the world with my rage… the Blood of the Ten Sinners…
The heavy steps halted behind him. His heart stopped.
"Six."