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One of those weeks
Classes end Wednesday... ohboyohboyohboy...
After that, my only final is next Friday, nine days later, at 8 AM. Fucking shoot me.
Original
Title: Priorities Straight
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kay_willow
Rating: PG, cursewords, ooooh
Notes: Response to challenge #8 on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
beginnings -- "I can hardly see for all the snow settling on my eyelashes." Written in under 30 minutes, 370 words by my count. Melinda, second-gen Chicago.
Priorities Straight
She could hardly see for all the snow settling on her eyelashes. Melinda folded her arms over her chest and said impatiently, "Come on, it's cold and this is a clubbing jacket, not a snow-walking jacket."
"You're such a bitch," Wendy said as if it had never occurred to her before, staggering and leaning on a nearby car for balance. She rested her head on her folded arms and appeared perfectly willing to go to sleep there, never mind the snow a breath from her face. "Jus' gimme a minute."
"No shit I'm a bitch," she snapped back, but couldn't bring herself to say anything more. Anybody else would've gotten the full brunt of it, but in the middle of five siblings and two loving parents, sometimes Melinda felt that Wendy was all she had. Somehow, Wendy was all she had. It was a teenage thing.
So she watched her best friend -- only friend -- shove herself away from the car and stagger drunkenly down the slushy street, blending into all the other snow-dusted things.
"You're not really a bitch," Wendy told the night, sounding abstract, puzzled. The night froze around her words. "Kinda snippy."
"Whatever. Where's your car?" Melinda knew she was a bitch. She didn't like people. She liked being sarcastic and rude and making all those damn people flinch. Being a bitch was okay with Melinda.
Will I be able to reach her in time if she starts to fall over? Or can I use a spell? Couldn't use a spell; Wendy didn't know about magic. Melinda moved faster to catch up with her.
Wendy turned to give her friend a bewildered look as they drew closer, and then tripped on her fancy high-heeled clubbing-not-snow-walking shoe and stumbled straight into Melinda's side. Their trendy leather jackets, squashed between them, provided no warmth. They just shared the chill.
"Give me your car keys," Melinda said, exasperated and holding her up.
She was thinking bitchy thoughts. She certainly wasn't thinking about how much she wanted to kiss those silvered, chapstick-flavored lips, to hold those flushed cheeks in her hands and press that chilled body against hers.
Thoughts like that weren't worth the chance of losing her only friend.
After that, my only final is next Friday, nine days later, at 8 AM. Fucking shoot me.
Original
Title: Priorities Straight
Author:
kay_willowRating: PG, cursewords, ooooh
Notes: Response to challenge #8 on
beginnings -- "I can hardly see for all the snow settling on my eyelashes." Written in under 30 minutes, 370 words by my count. Melinda, second-gen Chicago.Priorities Straight
She could hardly see for all the snow settling on her eyelashes. Melinda folded her arms over her chest and said impatiently, "Come on, it's cold and this is a clubbing jacket, not a snow-walking jacket."
"You're such a bitch," Wendy said as if it had never occurred to her before, staggering and leaning on a nearby car for balance. She rested her head on her folded arms and appeared perfectly willing to go to sleep there, never mind the snow a breath from her face. "Jus' gimme a minute."
"No shit I'm a bitch," she snapped back, but couldn't bring herself to say anything more. Anybody else would've gotten the full brunt of it, but in the middle of five siblings and two loving parents, sometimes Melinda felt that Wendy was all she had. Somehow, Wendy was all she had. It was a teenage thing.
So she watched her best friend -- only friend -- shove herself away from the car and stagger drunkenly down the slushy street, blending into all the other snow-dusted things.
"You're not really a bitch," Wendy told the night, sounding abstract, puzzled. The night froze around her words. "Kinda snippy."
"Whatever. Where's your car?" Melinda knew she was a bitch. She didn't like people. She liked being sarcastic and rude and making all those damn people flinch. Being a bitch was okay with Melinda.
Will I be able to reach her in time if she starts to fall over? Or can I use a spell? Couldn't use a spell; Wendy didn't know about magic. Melinda moved faster to catch up with her.
Wendy turned to give her friend a bewildered look as they drew closer, and then tripped on her fancy high-heeled clubbing-not-snow-walking shoe and stumbled straight into Melinda's side. Their trendy leather jackets, squashed between them, provided no warmth. They just shared the chill.
"Give me your car keys," Melinda said, exasperated and holding her up.
She was thinking bitchy thoughts. She certainly wasn't thinking about how much she wanted to kiss those silvered, chapstick-flavored lips, to hold those flushed cheeks in her hands and press that chilled body against hers.
Thoughts like that weren't worth the chance of losing her only friend.
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