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the symbol for intensity is intensity

tiferet in boxofwrong


Title: Untitled
Author: Azalais (tiferet)
Rating: Not for children
Words: 416
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Bobbi
A/N: This is an excerpt from some stuff I'm doing on Dreamwidth that's all locked down until I'm happy with it.

It was very hot that day, and her hair was a shade of red that splintered the sunlight. She was lying on a folding chair across the lawn, naked except for the lower half of a bikini. I didn't realize that she was only bored. She was smoking a cigarette. I asked her how she could stand the flood of voices. She had the television on inside the house, the radio outside, and she was reading a battered Harlequin. It seemed to me like she went to a lot of trouble not to listen to the single voice inside, like she had drowned it out entirely in a flood of words that no wall of sound could keep in.

I had been working all day on the farm in the heat. I was cutting school. They were giving me pills at school, but I'd stopped taking them because I didn't like the way they slowed me down. That teacher was frustrated with me; she said she knew I could do so much better than what I was if I would just slow down and concentrate. She didn't know how far ahead of them all I was. She didn't need to know. I wanted to be someone, sure. But I wanted to be someone else. I did not want to sit up in front of the others and be made much of back then. When I made it, I'd already made up my mind, no one was going to come back to this house and say "that's where he came from." No one was going to know about any of the things that happened on that farm.

That girl with the long red hair made me think that maybe there was one thing there on the farm that I wanted to take off with. I don't know why I thought she wouldn't disappoint me. When he brought her home I thought she would make us dinner and keep the place clean. Not that I think that's what women are good for but that was what they did on TV, except for Lieutenant Uhura and Emma Peel, and nobody else was doing it. I was a dumb kid, falling in love with the smell of her over the cigarettes and that awful Love's Baby Soft.

When I flowchart the major vertical fucks of my life, they almost always start right there. Right up against that wall with the ugly cheap siding and the peeling paint on the windowsill.


May 2010

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