We are the writers. Reinvented. Reinvigorated. (Another "R" word, too, but it escapes me at the moment.) Great piece, Jenny. It makes me think that you might not be loving your job all that much these days. Here's my it was that kind of day:
The rain came down in waves almost, spattering knee-high from the sidewalk. A battering, soaking rain. People started running for the tents, but these were mostly filled already. Barely able to see where he was going, Sanders ran with those around him. A willow tree was up ahead, and that's where he ran, already soaked to the skin. A dozen or more people were there already, watching those running yet, talking to each other in low tones. Sanders leaned over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. He wiped the rain out of his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. The rain on his skin was cold. The wind made it colder. The dangling limbs of the willow drifted back and forth in the strong breeze. The girl next to him asked if he was alright. Sanders said that he was. She had one of those glow-tubes wound around her neck. It flashed rhythmically, hypnotically. She had a concerned look in her eyes. Sanders knew that he must look bad, so he worked up a smile and said that maybe he should sit down. There on the ground, he felt a little better. He was still wet and cold, but he didn't seem to mind so much. The rain was slowing down, too. The sun was shining out from behind this dark bank of clouds, illumining the rim a blinding yellow-white. Sanders tried getting to his feet, tried standing up into the cool wind. He had to put his hand out to catch his balance. His hand connected with someone, and when he turned to say he was sorry, he was looking at Slim. The sunlight falling on her was almost orange, a warm, pale shade that caught in her hair. He said he was sorry, then he said this to her again. She said that once was enough.
Bob ;-)
No comments:
Post a Comment