fic: no one writes letters any more

[tsuki_no_bara]

(well, harley does. :D )

Harley is sitting on the ground by the door to the stable, his back to the wall, writing to his dad. His knees are pulled up, a spiral notebook propped against his legs. A shadow falls across him and he looks up.

Comments

[crotalus_atrox]

See I think that title works.

[Me too, Harley thinks, and You said that already.]
Yeah. :< oh, sweetheart.

I liked this scene. Aw, Harley.

[tsuki_no_bara]

it totally works. thank you. :D i should ask you for titles more often.

harley loves his dad and is proud of him, but the very last thing he ever wants to talk about (or wants you to talk about) in any depth is his death. you can express sympathy once and that's fine, but it's a waste of breath to keep talking.

also, thank you. :D i think there's always going to be a little bit of melancholy underneath.

[embroiderama]

I love the quietness of your stories about these boys.

[tsuki_no_bara]

thank you. ^_^ it's a bit of a switch from the kind of stuff i've written recently. i don't have a cast of thousands, for one. :D

[tsuki_no_bara]

barrel racing is basically the ladies' event at a rodeo. you race your horse around barrels in a specific pattern. people board their horses at the stables where harley works, and some of said people compete in (probably mostly local) rodeos.

(the stables are owned by the larsens, and the girl was just looking for harley to deliver a message.)