something not NaNo related
So we had to do another writing exercise in class. So. Not NaNo related. But we had to look at a photgraph and write from the perspective of someone in the picture. Then we had to write from the perspective of someone else in the picture, but they had to be talking about the person I'd previously written about. So, the first person I wrote about was Annabel, and the second person was Molly. Molly's bit was about Annabel. Okay? Okay. The picture had four people, two men, two women, standing together in front of an old plane.
"This is it," he added lamely, into the silence. It didn't need any introduction, but we let him have it. This was a piece of personal history, all wrapped up and presented all pretty.
We kept quiet as we strained our necks to take in the entire thing. It was almost disappointing, really. This was the plane that made all the headlines. SOLE SURVIVOR, they'd said, screaming the heroism from the pages. It didn't look like the plane that'd carried him home. It was, for the most part, well-kept. Couple of panels had fallen off, but it looked unscathed. After a minute, I joined him as he turned his back to it. He rested against the hastily-erected fence - a flimsy barrier between past and present.
"You all right?" I murmured as our friends circled the aircraft. He shrugged.
"It looks pretty much the same." He lifted his hat off his head, running calloused fingers through thinning hair. "There's no use, really, in getting sentimental. Got me back alive. Moping about what happened won't change anything. It was an awful thing. But I won't apologize for living."
I reached out and took his hand, squeezing it briefly. I saw us as we were back then: Just kids, really.
And here's the second passage:
I pulled on Theo's arm, feigning interest on seeing the rest of the plane. "It's just a plane, Molly," he grumbled, but came along anyway. He'd given up fighting with me a long time ago.
"Let them have their weird litle moment," I hissed under the wind. Theo shrugged and made a slow pace around the fence. I matched his pace, looking over at Annabel.
What an oddball. She'd finally posed the question we'd been itching to ask (well, the one I'd been itching to ask. That would've been improper, though, so I got Annie to ask instead). And now that she was here - she had the chance! - she turned her back on it with him.
Maybe he was brooding, and she's comforting him, I told myself. There was no way she was so nonchalant about seeing this. It was such a tragic and inspiring event - to know someone who'd gone through the thick of it... None of us were getting any younger, and he just needed to accept it instead of playing off modest. Poor man, putting on a brave face, and Annie just let him. She'd always been hopeless, but this wasn't the kind of thing you could shrug off. She'd been a wreck, after all, trying to carry on her life while he was away.
"I'm okay, Molly," she'd insisted. "He's my best friend. I know him better than anyone: He can take care of himself."
But someone had to take care of her, and it had been quite a job. Maybe after today, after all the years and years, I could finally step back and congratulate myself on a job well done.
"This is it," he added lamely, into the silence. It didn't need any introduction, but we let him have it. This was a piece of personal history, all wrapped up and presented all pretty.
We kept quiet as we strained our necks to take in the entire thing. It was almost disappointing, really. This was the plane that made all the headlines. SOLE SURVIVOR, they'd said, screaming the heroism from the pages. It didn't look like the plane that'd carried him home. It was, for the most part, well-kept. Couple of panels had fallen off, but it looked unscathed. After a minute, I joined him as he turned his back to it. He rested against the hastily-erected fence - a flimsy barrier between past and present.
"You all right?" I murmured as our friends circled the aircraft. He shrugged.
"It looks pretty much the same." He lifted his hat off his head, running calloused fingers through thinning hair. "There's no use, really, in getting sentimental. Got me back alive. Moping about what happened won't change anything. It was an awful thing. But I won't apologize for living."
I reached out and took his hand, squeezing it briefly. I saw us as we were back then: Just kids, really.
And here's the second passage:
I pulled on Theo's arm, feigning interest on seeing the rest of the plane. "It's just a plane, Molly," he grumbled, but came along anyway. He'd given up fighting with me a long time ago.
"Let them have their weird litle moment," I hissed under the wind. Theo shrugged and made a slow pace around the fence. I matched his pace, looking over at Annabel.
What an oddball. She'd finally posed the question we'd been itching to ask (well, the one I'd been itching to ask. That would've been improper, though, so I got Annie to ask instead). And now that she was here - she had the chance! - she turned her back on it with him.
Maybe he was brooding, and she's comforting him, I told myself. There was no way she was so nonchalant about seeing this. It was such a tragic and inspiring event - to know someone who'd gone through the thick of it... None of us were getting any younger, and he just needed to accept it instead of playing off modest. Poor man, putting on a brave face, and Annie just let him. She'd always been hopeless, but this wasn't the kind of thing you could shrug off. She'd been a wreck, after all, trying to carry on her life while he was away.
"I'm okay, Molly," she'd insisted. "He's my best friend. I know him better than anyone: He can take care of himself."
But someone had to take care of her, and it had been quite a job. Maybe after today, after all the years and years, I could finally step back and congratulate myself on a job well done.