Post by Kit on Feb 22, 2010 23:49:18 GMT 10
Title: Striving
Rating: PG
Length: 270
Competitor: Neal
Round: 1/D
Summary: Kel strives for something she cannot shape
I have seen a lot of death. And I know that it’s only a fraction of what I shall see, Of what others have seen. And yet it is always too much, still. So I have nothing I can say to you, because you have heard all. Know that I heard, though, Baird.
Jerel is not improving, but the health of New Hope seems to cling on because it knows it has no other choice. I wrote to My Lord—who has better luck with their Majesties than I do, Mithros knows—but there probably won’t be any new traffic here until after Midwinter, so we make do. Fanche has kept all the women away from the, “fainting blatherskite,” whatever a blatherskite is, and there has been remarkable patience with heavy objects. Gods be thanked, we haven’t had much need of the sharp ones in a while.
Sorry if this bores you at all. New Hope is my life, or close to it, and you have a very different one. But it seems sad to send this off with only a few lines, even if they were sent with love.
Your friend,
Kel.
Rating: PG
Length: 270
Competitor: Neal
Round: 1/D
Summary: Kel strives for something she cannot shape
The words are difficult. She is not used to a desire to shape them, change them into the best sounds and colours and forms—forms, what a word!—to make him see and feel and know that she read his letter and felt both fragile—strange—and also honoured: a feeling she never expects and always cherishes, still, no matter who bestows it.
She sits, moving slightly against the rhythm she can feel through her walls—Tobe taking drill. Up¬-back-forward-low-block-up. Again, and again, and again.
I have seen a lot of death. And I know that it’s only a fraction of what I shall see, Of what others have seen. And yet it is always too much, still. So I have nothing I can say to you, because you have heard all. Know that I heard, though, Baird.
Jerel is not improving, but the health of New Hope seems to cling on because it knows it has no other choice. I wrote to My Lord—who has better luck with their Majesties than I do, Mithros knows—but there probably won’t be any new traffic here until after Midwinter, so we make do. Fanche has kept all the women away from the, “fainting blatherskite,” whatever a blatherskite is, and there has been remarkable patience with heavy objects. Gods be thanked, we haven’t had much need of the sharp ones in a while.
Sorry if this bores you at all. New Hope is my life, or close to it, and you have a very different one. But it seems sad to send this off with only a few lines, even if they were sent with love.
Your friend,
Kel.