Gingerbread 15; Orange 4
Author: Marina
Story: The Dragon World
Challenge: Gingerbread 15 (gold from straw), Orange 4 (never say die)
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Cherry (present tense + description), Fresh Blueberries (“If today, after the horror of 11 September, we see better, and we see further - we will realize that humanity is indivisible.”), Fresh Strawberries (picture of the damage to the Pentagon), Pocky
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Summary: September 11, 2009
Notes: My university (the one Aaron’s parents teach at) does a flag tribute to the victims of 9/11 every year. Today’s fresh fruit made me want to write about it. It’s beautiful-pictures don’t do it justice.
Marie wants to see the flags without the crowds there, so they go early, before the fog lifts. They start at the southern end of the display and walk slowly down the sidewalk, peering up at the wave of red, white, and blue dancing over the hill.
“How many are there?” she asks.
“Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-seven,” Aaron replies. “One for each victim.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
At the end, they turn around and watch as sunlight touches the sea of color with gold, clutching their coffee cups against the early morning chill. “Amazing,” she whispers. He can only nod.
Story: The Dragon World
Challenge: Gingerbread 15 (gold from straw), Orange 4 (never say die)
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Cherry (present tense + description), Fresh Blueberries (“If today, after the horror of 11 September, we see better, and we see further - we will realize that humanity is indivisible.”), Fresh Strawberries (picture of the damage to the Pentagon), Pocky
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Summary: September 11, 2009
Notes: My university (the one Aaron’s parents teach at) does a flag tribute to the victims of 9/11 every year. Today’s fresh fruit made me want to write about it. It’s beautiful-pictures don’t do it justice.
Marie wants to see the flags without the crowds there, so they go early, before the fog lifts. They start at the southern end of the display and walk slowly down the sidewalk, peering up at the wave of red, white, and blue dancing over the hill.
“How many are there?” she asks.
“Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-seven,” Aaron replies. “One for each victim.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
At the end, they turn around and watch as sunlight touches the sea of color with gold, clutching their coffee cups against the early morning chill. “Amazing,” she whispers. He can only nod.