Day 21 of 30 days of Fiction: 21) Write a scene with a drink(ing) of some sort.”
“Sit down.” Jasmine poured two finger-widths of the thick bluish drink into each of the tiny crystal cups; on the other side of her desk, her three most promising young relatives (a niece, a nephew, and a second cousin, twice removed, none of them old enough to drink, if the rule of law was still holding) sat like their strings had been cut.
“You know what the family has been doing.” It wasn’t a question. If they hadn’t known, they wouldn’t have been called here. Still, three heads nodded silently; the niece, Theresa, frowning while she assented. Interesting.
“You know that we have locations around the continent where we have been stockpiling supplies.” They barely bothered to nod to that one; it was common knowledge. “And that there are elders of the family, senior Planners, at each site.” Of course. This time, it was the nephew, Jonah, who frowned. The family elders, Jasmine included, were often considered hide-bound and too traditional, too slow to respond, by the younger generation. So had it been through human history. “This is why I need the three of you.”
All three faces lit up; she paused to hold their attention and sipped from her cup. Politely, they all did the same; only the cousin, Bauer, didn’t flinch at the thick fruity alcohol.
She took a second sip; so did they, more carefully this time. Impatient: Jonah’s foot was tapping. She set her class down.
“I need you to keep an eye on the elders.”
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Day 20 of 30 days of Fiction: “20) Write a scene with the opening line “I hate you; I just want you to know that.”
(Days 18 & 19 are waiting on kc_obrien to wake up)
“I hate you; I just want you to know that!” She shouted the last words as she headed for his bedroom door. Somewhere, she could go somewhere and get away, think for a while, get away from his smug smiling face for a while.
“Sit down,” he said, without so much as a frown or a raised voice. Unwillingly, without any choice at all in the matter, she sat, her ass thumping on the squishy carpet.
“I hate you,” she muttered, scooting towards her escape on her ass. Unhurried, he walked past her and leaned against the door.
“And Friday you thought I was such a nice guy,” he teased.
“That was before yesterday,” she retorted. She wasn’t getting out that way, and the underground room had no other exit; she stopped moving. “I hate you.”
“You’ll get over it in time. At least enough to see that you made the right choice.”
He was so damn self-assured. He had seemed like the best choice, when he and his friends had been bullying her in the hallway Saturday night. “Just pick one of us and it will stop,” they’d kept saying. When the short one with the fangs bit her, she’d made her choice. Now, now she didn’t want anything to do with him, and she was stuck. At least she could still hate him.
“You can’t change the way I feel!” Could he?
“Actually, I could.” He sank down to the floor, so he ws only towering over her by a foot or so. “I could order you to love me. But I won’t.”
He sounded as if he thought he was being so very generous. “Thank you,” she muttered. “I still hate you.”
“That’s okay,” he replied, the smile finally gone. “I understand.”
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