Reflections

Here's my take on the Don't Panic Picture prompt.  I went with the idea of reflections.  So, this is a short bit out of my Camp NaNoWriMo project I just finished.

By the time they were done with opening statements the judge decided it was time to recess for lunch.  Shawn followed Major Wade out.

“Aside from this court martial stress, how are you doing?” Major Wade asked as they walked toward the mess hall.

“About as well as can be expected.  They’re still trying to save my back and ribs.”

“What do you mean?”

“The docs are concerned the damage to my ribs and upper back was too extensive to repair all of it.  There’s the possibility that at best it’ll hurt for the rest of my life.”

“And at worst?”

Shawn studied Major Wade for a moment, “I’ll have significant nerve damage affecting sensation and muscle control from the shoulder blades down.”

Major Wade whistled, “Man.  He messed you up pretty good.  Don’t worry, though.  Black Ops takes care of their own.  You’ll be in good hands regardless of what happens.”

“I just don’t know if I want to live like that.  On the worst case end of it I wouldn’t even be able to walk without a cane or something.  At best I’d be in constant pain?  That’s a nasty way to live.”

Major Wade didn’t answer right away.  Shawn knew it was because there was no answer.  What did someone say to news like Shawn just gave the Major?  They ate lunch and talked of inconsequential random things.  Shawn didn’t want to venture back into territory related to his injuries or the possibility he’d never return to service.  From the looks of it Major Wade didn’t seem to want to contemplate that either.

A Walk On The Beach

So, here's this week's prompt from Write On Edge -

In honor of the first full week of summer here in New England, I gave you 450 words to write about sand.

Now I'll admit, I went a tiny bit over.  But, again, this is an exerpt from my Camp NaNoWriMo story and I didn't get back to try to edit it as I'm frantically typing trying to finish enough words to "win".  I know there are a few spots that could be tightened a little but hopefully it isn't too bad.  Let me know what you think!

He queried the mainframe for information about the judge and how to submit a case to her.  It took him a bit but he found it.  There were several petition forms to fill out to get the case on the schedule.  Shawn completed the forms and submitted them as instructed by the mainframe.  Now it was back to a waiting game.  Again.

What do you expect?  It is the military.  Hurry up and wait, chimed in the little voice.

Shawn cracked a sarcastic grin at that.  It was true.  It didn’t help make the wait any better but it was so very true.  He wandered around his flat for a little while, looking for something to do.  Shawn couldn’t find much.  So he decided to take a walk outside.

Shawn walked without any real goal in mind.  The movement was what he needed, not the destination.  He found himself at the ocean after a while.  Miles of white sand speckled with black like pepper flakes amongst the salt stretched out in either direction.

Feeling impulsive, Shawn peeled off his boots and socks, rolled up his pants and started out onto that beach.  The sand felt both hot and cold at the same time.  The grains themselves were rough on his feet, but all together they were soft, shifting with every step he took.  Closer to that line where the surf pounded away in fruitless fury, the sand grew damp, sticking to his feet.  The scratchiness felt good.

It wasn’t his lake back home, but the roaring heartbeat of the waves as they washed away any trace of human habitation in the sand in a never ending cycle felt familiar.  And, right now, familiar meant calming.  Only Dani could bring him true peace, he knew that without a doubt.  But she was out of his reach right now.

Maybe forever unless I get damn lucky, he thought as he walked.

As the sun began to set, turning the waves brilliant shades of gold and orange, Shawn turned back.

The waves had done their jobs well.  Not a trace of his passage was left in the sand.  It got him thinking.  Were the things he’d done that easy to erase as well?  He’d made so many mistakes in his life.  It would be so nice to erase those mistakes just as thoroughly as the ocean had obliterated his tracks.

But if wishes were apples we’d all be eating apple pie every day, the voice in his head pointed out.

Shawn made his way back splashing through the edges of the waves to where he’d left his boots.  Wiping the sand from his feet, he donned his socks and boots to begin the trek back to his flat.  Small grains rubbed his feet as he walked, remnants reminding him there is no such thing as doing things over.

Fate Gets Ironic

Once again, I am a little early getting this up.  But, this week's prompt worked so well into my Camp NaNoWriMo piece, I couldn't help but use it.  Especially since I'm behind on my Camp piece and am trying frantically to catch up.  Anyways, here's the prompt:

This week, write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece where fate plays a prominent role. You can write from the position of a complete belief or absolute disbelief in the role of fate in our lives or the lives of our characters.
You have 400 words to play with; come back Friday to link-up!

Here's my take on it...

Quicker than a subspace transmission, he pounced.  Shawn was a little surprised when his stalker fought back with a substantial amount of skill.  However, Shawn had a good six inches in height and reach on his attacker.  Plus, Shawn’s training came from Eli and Eli was among the best hand to hand combat practitioners Black Ops had ever produced.  As a result, Shawn wasn’t far behind Eli for skill and that was enough to subdue his attacker.

“Who,” Shawn took a deep breath, “are you?  What do you want?”

“Let go of me!” a feminine voice demanded in response.

The shock of her voice was enough for Shawn to loosen his pin on her for just a moment.  She jerked into a curled position on her left side disrupting his balance.  Kicking out she shoved him off of her and leapt to her feet.

“Nice move.  Still not gonna get you out of here without answering my questions,” Shawn rolled to his feet in one smooth motion, careful to remain positioned between her and the door.

Snarling, the woman pulled the utility cap and balaclava off.  Shawn couldn’t breathe.  This was the ultimate sucker punch.  It was Dani.

“You weren’t suppose to know I was here.”

“What,” Shawn was still scrambling to pull his thoughts together, “What are you doing here?”

“I was sent to keep a covert eye on you.  Make sure you were really going to finish this mission,” Dani stuffed the utility cap in her back pocket and balaclava in a thigh pocket rather viciously.

“Who sent you?  Major Wade?”

“No,” she turned to look out the window.

“Then who?”

They stood as if frozen long enough that Shawn was beginning to wonder if Dani was going to answer him.

“General Howard.”

Her reply was so soft he strained to hear her.  But the bitterness in her voice was loud and clear, even if the volume wasn’t.

This whole situation just got weirder, Shawn reflected as he processed the new information, As if it wasn’t weird enough.  I haven’t seen Dani again since that transport years ago.  Now it’s like I can’t get away from her.  And she’s working for the man who just recently was trying to torture me to death.  What the hell is up with that?

Several commenters have expressed quite a bit of interest in Shawn and his story.  His story actually starts back in my first NaNoWriMo piece - Tattoos.  You can find it on Smashwords.  It does still need a little more editing, which I hope to do after finishing Shawn's story.  I'll let ya'll know when Shawn's story goes up there as well.

Thanks for stopping by!

Write On Edge: To the Moon

This week's prompt from Write On Edge: I gave you have 500 words to write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, which includes the phrase “to the moon.”

Let me put one minor disclaimer on my take on the prompt this week.  I'm attempting to do Camp NaNoWriMo this month as well.  So, this is an exerpt from Shawn's story - which is what I am working on for Camp.  That being said, please bear in mind that this is not very polished yet.  With that, please enjoy another snippet in Shawn's life.

Shawn got clearance and eased out of the launch bay.  Once he was clear of the space station, he set a course to the moon.  On the way, he explored some of the finer capabilities of his new fighter.  All too soon he was requesting landing clearance from Makeb hanger.  Upon landing, Shawn secured his fighter and headed for the Nor’Wind Bar.

“Hey, handsome, looking for a little company tonight?” a gorgeous brunette caressed Shawn’s arm within seconds of him setting foot in the bar.

“Thanks, but I’m looking for someone,” he tried to disentangle himself from her.

“I can be her.  I can be anyone you want.”

“Trust me on this one.  You look like you’re an amazing woman.  But I’m not looking for that kind of company at this particular moment.”

“Let me know if you change your mind, but don’t wait too late.  I’m not the type to wait forever,” she sauntered away.

Shawn was convinced she’d done it to rub in what he was missing.  And she was fine.  But he needed to find Kristiana.  This was the last place he knew she’d been working.  He hoped she was still here.

He made his way through the crowded lounge area to the bar that spanned the entire length of the building.  Scanning the faces behind the bar, he spotted her on the far end.

“As I live and breathe,” she looked genuinely surprised as she caught sight of Shawn pulling back one of the stools., “What in the bloody blazes are you doing back here?”

“Lookin’ for some intel if ya got any.”

“If you ain’t careful ‘round here, you’ll be lookin’ for more than that.  I’m off in an hour.  We can talk then.”

Shawn nursed a couple of Bakarin beers while he waited for Kristiana.  An hour and a half later she joined him at the corner table where he’d secluded himself.  Looking around first, she slipped him a memory chip.

“So what kind of intel are ya lookin’ for?”

Shawn palmed the chip as he picked up his beer, “What’s the state of things on Delarin III station?”

“I can tell ya things ain’t good.  I hear more ‘n’ more complaints comin’ from those assigned there.  Yer name’s come up recently.”

Shawn paused, beer half way to his mouth when he heard that.

“Someone purty high up’s got somethin’ of a hard on for ya.  Seems ya did somethin’ a while back that really put his dander up ‘n’ he’s been lookin’ for a way back atcha since then.”

Taking a slow drink to buy himself some time to think, he set his beer down before speaking, “Heard anythin’ else?”

“Yeah.  Sounds like this guy’s got some plan to getcha now.  Seems he’s been braggin’ ‘bout finally bein’ able to put you outta his misery.  Not much more than that comin’ outta Delarin Station.  Least ways nothin’ beyond the normal bull.”

A New Perspective

Write on Edge Prompt: This week we’re going to play Victor/Victoria. If you typically write from the male perspective, switch it up to the female. And if you generally write female, go for the male.

We’re going to keep it short. As difficult as that can be for the more verbose of us, myself included, it makes it far easier to visit the more links and share our thoughts and opinions. So, let’s go for a nice, easy 300 words.


Here's my take on this week's prompt.  Now I know it isn't quite what the prompt said, but I wanted to do something a little different.  I frequently write from both male and female points of view - but I usually do so from an adult perspective.  So I decided that, rather than changing just the gender point of view, I shifted the age as well.

And yes, it will all fit into Shawn's story in the end.  I promise.

He looked up when shadows tumbled into the room.  The man standing in the front door was huge, like the soldiers on his Saturday morning vids.  Eyes wide, he dropped the toy fighters and ran into the back room.

“Mama!”

“What is it, Kier?” she looked up from the washing machine.

“Der’s a soldier man at the door,” he whispered.

The powder scoop slid from her hand, soap falling like snow.  Her face paled.  Kieran’s eyes widened even more, his lower lip trembling.  A single fat tear crept down his cheek.

“Oh!  I’m sorry, baby!  It’s ok.  Mama’s just surprised.  Let’s go see who he is,” she gave him a quick hug.

Kieran sniffled and nodded.  He was careful to hide behind Mama’s leg as he followed her back out.  He watched the soldier and Mama talk, thumb creeping to his mouth, a fierce grip on Mama’s leg.  He didn’t understand their words.  He saw the soldier was bleeding and Mama sounded angry.  Kieran tried to tuck himself even further behind Mama while watching the soldier.

His movement did the unthinkable - the soldier noticed him.  His piercing blue eyes struck Kieran.  Trembling, he buried his face in Mama’s leg, clutching her with both arms, hoping he couldn’t be seen.

Mama untangled him and gently pushed him forward.  Kieran tried to resist, but Mama was insistent.  He looked up, pleading with silent eyes.

 “It’s ok.  He isn’t going to hurt us.  His name is Shawn.  Can you say hi?”

Hi,” Kieran was almost inaudible.

Shawn crouched down meeting Kieran’s eyes, “Hi, Kieran.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Mama’s hand on his back kept Kieran from fleeing to safety behind her.  He tried to hide anyway.

“I’d like to be friends.  Will you be friends with me?” Shawn hadn’t moved.

Yep. I must be Crazy.

The title of this particular post says it all.  I am attempting to participate in at least the June edition of Camp NaNoWriMo.  I haven't decided on attempting August's yet.  Why is this so crazy?  Well, in case you missed a few of my earlier posts, my first child is due in August.  The dear hubby and I are in the process of tearing most of our house apart to get ready for the big event.  We're only about half done and August is no longer that far away.

But I have this character, Shawn, roaming around my head.  He's getting pretty demanding looking for a way out.  I'm either gonna have to give in and write his story or go even crazier - if that's possible.  So, here's to my attempt at clinging to the last vestiges of sanity and getting a draft of his story on paper so to speak.

And good luck to any of the rest of you tackling Camp NaNoWriMo this year!

Write On Edge: Location, Location, Location

Here's what Write On Edge had for us this week:

The prompt for this week is to use setting to deepen the development of your story. You can use it to give insight into a character or a conflict or simply to evoke an emotional mood from your reader.

You have 250 words, so make them count!

Once again, I went back to visit Shawn's world.  If I can get my act together enough I am going to write his story for Camp NaNoWriMo this year.  I'll let ya'll know how it goes.  But, in the mean time, here's another glimpse into Shawn and his life.

Shawn caressed the worn, tattered photograph.  That it was paper and not electronic was almost unheard of anymore.  But it was the image that captured his mind.  He closed his eyes and sighed.

He could hear the inexorable wooshing against the slate grey rocks.  He always believed it was her heartbeat – steady, soothing.  Small pebbles like drops of blood dotted the shore.  He loved the occasional discovery of those semi-precious gems, even though it’d been years since he’d been there.  Shawn could smell the dampness, feel the crisp air against his skin, even though he was currently on a different planet.  He remembered the icy bite against his skin when he waded in despite the heat in the air.  It was a beautiful greenish blue.  Not the turquoise of the tropics, but darker, more fitting with the woodlands of the north.

Staring at the photo, he remembered how deceptive that serene calm was.  She’d get angry in winter.  That gentle, steady heartbeat became ferocious, beating against the immovable shore.  The greenish blue transformed into a turbulent grey mimicking the storm clouds above.  She was lethal at those times.  Many an old sailing ship went down on her, all hands on deck, when her mood went that way.

Shawn tucked the old photo back into an inner pocket.  There was no use daydreaming about a place he’d never see again, a time he’d never get back.  He stood up, shouldered his pack, and slung his rifle.  It was time to go.

Choices

Here's this week's Write On Edge prompt:

For this week’s prompt, you were asked to write a story or memoir which relates to choices and/or consequences. Because of the 400 word limit, you may choose to focus just on the choice, or just on the consequence, if you like.

Once again, this brought me back to the same character, Shawn, and some of his back story.  I figure I'd better write his story pretty soon.  If anyone is interested other pieces to his back story are here and here and here.

Any feedback on Shawn's character would be great.  I'm not sure if any of these pieces will actually make it into the story but they do help define how he ends up the person you meet in his story.

Shawn looked up from studying the burn scars on his hands.  Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, reflected the wild pounding of his heart.  She was screwed, and they knew it.  The only question left was whether or not they could do anything about it.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice broke.

“Rachel.  Enough.  I get it.  We need to figure out what the hell to do.  Command is gonna get wind of this.  You’ll be lucky to get the brig and not the firing squad.”

Any last vestige of color drained from Rachel’s already ghostly face, “You think they’ll shoot me?”

“They could consider this treason, Rachel.  What do you think?”

Shawn paced the length of the cockpit.  He knew they were two of the best drop pilots Command had which might buy her a slim chance.  Running with her wasn’t an option.  They’d send Black Ops specialists after them.  He’d never heard of anyone ever surviving a hunt order once it was issued.  He just couldn’t find another option.

“Can’t we explain to them what happened?  That it was a mistake and won’t happen again?” her quavering voice intruded.

“Command don’t work that way and you know it.  They’ll want someone’s ass.  This is too big to overlook.”

“I can’t face a court martial,” Rachel whispered into the leaden silence.

Each word pierced him like thorns.  Not only would Rachel’s screw up cause her a world of hurt, their relationship would come out in the process.  That would end up crucifying them both.  Fraternization was forbidden.  If all Command did was kick them out, which they would be insanely lucky to get off that easy, he had other options.  She had nothing, and he didn’t have the option to help her on the outside.

It was that last thought that forced his decision.  It wasn’t smart and he knew it, but it was the only option he could live with.

“Leave the cockpit.”

His terse words pummeled her, “What?  Why?  What are you doing?”

“I’m solving the problem.  Now go.”

“Shawn.  Are you sure about this?”

“It’s the only way to keep the fallout from spreading further than it needs to.”

She looked back as the hatch slid closed, “Thank you.”

“Let’s hope they don’t decide to shoot me,” he whispered to the emptiness.  He didn’t miss that all she showed was relief at his words as she left.

Write On Edge Prompt: Body Language

Here's this week's prompt from Write On Edge:

This week, we asked you to focus on dialogue and body language to set a scene or move a story forward, limiting your use of narration.
We gave you an opening line: His crossed arms answered her question before he spoke.

I'm not sure if this scene will ever end up in the longer work, but the male character's story has been kicking around my mind for a while.  I'm at least attempting to set up some back story for him in this scene.  Let me know what you think of him.

   His crossed arms answered her question before he spoke, “What do you think?”

   Tears pooled in her dark eyes.  She clutched her stomach as if it were her only lifeline, “I’m sorry.  I had orders.”

   He arched one eyebrow.

   She sat down and stared at the floor.  He could see she struggled to even look at him.

   ‘As well she should,’ he thought to himself.

   He watched her start to fidget under the intensity of his unrelenting gaze.  She glanced up several times but looked away immediately.

   “My orders were to come get you at 0545.”

   “And the LZ?”

   She flinched.  Her knuckles were turning white.  He was sure she’d end up with bruises on her sides.  He couldn’t muster the energy to care.  He hurt too much for that.  He tucked his hands into his front pockets.

   Tears splashed onto the cement hanger floor.  She wouldn’t even look up anymore.  It was answer enough.

   “Why?” his voice was soft and too steady.

   “I-,” she glanced up to see the stark white bandages covering most of his muscled, tawny chest including his Black Ops tattoo.  He should have been getting his blue Command stripe added to it right now.  He could see the guilt over the fact that he wasn’t squashing her down like clay.

   “I wanted to help.  I overheard on the link your mission hadn’t gone as planned.  I thought moving the LZ a little closer might make your extraction easier,” he strained to catch her words.

   “Did it ever occur to you that the LZ was positioned at those specific coordinates for a reason?”

   “Yes,” she folded in on herself a little further.”

   “And yet you, a damn drop pilot, decided to change those coordinates without authorization and not bother to fucking inform me before you just drop in?  Were you looking to kill me?” the tone in his voice was scaring her, which pleased him a little.  He was getting through to her.

   She looked up at him, pleading for his understanding in every line of her body, “I swear.  I just wanted to help.  The intel I had said the area was clear.”

   “Yeah.  Real clear.”

   He walked away feeling her eyes follow him to the door.  He paused at the door, listening.  He heard nothing.  Palming the door open he left her behind.

Write on Edge Prompt: Core

This week's prompt:

For this week, I gave you the word “core” and 450 words to explore any meaning of the word in a work of creative non-fiction/memoir or fiction.

When I read this week's prompt, I knew immediately the core I wanted to get to was one inside of us all.  Where is that line we all have that we would never let anyone cross?  Where is that heart in a person that will not break or give up ever?  It took a while for this scene to come together in my mind enough to write it.  I have to admit, I am somewhat fascinated by my female character here.  Let me know what you think of her!

            She couldn’t stop shaking.  God only knew how long she’d been chained up there.  She had no doubt it’d been way too long.  Was anyone even looking for her anymore?  She’d been blindfolded and moved several times.

            The heavy clanking of the ancient lock roused her enough to look up.  She remembered when that sound made her heart race and body tremble for an entirely different reason.  The harsh light coming through the door cut into her eyes like shards of glass.

            “So.  Have you changed your mind?” his voice a grating avalanche to her sensory deprived ears.

            She didn’t respond.  She knew he’d take her lack of response as capitulation from her but she couldn’t muster the energy to care anymore.  The pain and hunger gnawing on her like mice in a pantry needed to end.  There was nothing in her cell, not even clothes to cover her emaciated frame.

            ‘Not like anyone’s looking at me.  There are enough black and blue shades covering me to be an art class example.’

            “Good to see you’re not so bull-headed anymore.  I told Marcus you’d break eventually.”

            He yanked her to her feet and threw an old coverall at her.  Tears splashed on the filthy floor as it scrapped over her battered body.  Chains back on, he towed her to the cockpit.  He shoved her into the second seat and took his place at the controls.

            “What are those coordinates?”

            “Omega sector.  454 mark 295,” she whispered.

            His face lit up as he punched them in with relish, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.  I’m gonna take extra special care of you and that brat of yours.  Just you wait and see.”

            Setting the autopilot, he jerked her out of the chair back toward her prison.  His words echoed in her mind.  When he stopped to unlock that door, she struck.

Kicking his right knee out, she wrapped the chains around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling with a strength she didn’t know she had.  He struggled to stand, his leg giving out on him, sending him reeling.  He backed into the wall over and over trying to smash her into unconsciousness.  Somehow, she held on.

An eternity later, he collapsed.  She still didn’t let go.  A small crimson stream dripped out of his nose and mouth onto the pristine metal floor distracting her with the odd shapes it made as it pooled beneath them.

Realizing he hadn’t moved in a long while, she inched the chains from around his neck and untangled her legs.  Rising to her feet, she studied him a moment longer.

“No one threatens my son,” she spit on him as she turned to the cockpit, “Ever.”

Character Sketch

So, this started out as a prompt from Write On Edge about the idea of an anti-hero.  The point was that an anti-hero is different than a villain.  My piece, started out as this, but evolved into more of a character sketch.

You see, I created this character as a supporting character for my NaNoWriMo 2011 work.  But in writing that story, I discovered this supporting character, Shawn, had a story I was itching to tell as well.  So, for the moment, I am still getting to know Shawn.  Hopefully I will be telling his story before too much longer in an organized piece.  There is an earlier bit about Shawn in the Romantic Things Happen prompt.  Until then, enjoy this snippet of character sketch about Shawn.

He watched, helpless, as she washed down a handful of pills with yet another cocktail.  He’d done everything he could think of to help her, even sending her to rehab three times on two different planets.  It never lasted long.  Someone would come around, link her or email her and she’d disappear.  Sometimes it was just for a couple hours.  More often it was for days, even weeks.  Every time she turned up after that, she was drunk, high or both and it would start all over again.

“Whad er you lookin at?” she demanded only half focused on him.

“Nothing, Rach, nothing,” he sighed

“Then go ‘way.  I’m shelebratin.”

“What now?”

“Mah new job.  It’sh on…”she nodded off as the pills kicked in.

He sighed again.  Nothing had changed.  He knew he should was his hands of her, walk away.  But he couldn’t.  They had too much history for that.

Instead, he settled her bar tab, roused her enough to get her on her feet and steered her out of the bar.  Once outside he picked Rachel up and threw her over his shoulder as he made his way back to her quarters.

‘Maybe I’ll find something about this latest job after I get her to bed,’ he thought.

Reaching her quarters, he palmed open the lock on the door.  He still couldn’t decide if it was prudent or pathetic that he had to program his print into her door lock just for situations like this.

He gently tossed her onto her bed and left her.  It was all he ever did to get her into bed anymore.  As he nosed around her computer for anything to tell him where she’d been for the last month or, just maybe, where she’s headed next, his link chimed.

He tapped open the line, “Yeah.”

“Where you been, man?  I’ve been waiting for almost an hour.”

“Sorry.  Meant to link ya.  Shit came up.”

“Rachel back around?”

“Don’t start.  I know what you think of this.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?  She’s messed up promotions for you twice now.  You’d have the blue ink if it weren’t for her.  She ain’t ever gonna change.  Not while you’re around.”

“And what am I suppose to do, abandon her just like everyone else has?”

“No.  Make her take care of herself for once since you two met.”

“Easier said than done.  You know my history with her.”

“Whatever.  This never gets anywhere with you.  So, you comin’ or not?”

“Yeah.  Give me a sec and I’ll be down.,” he thumbed the link closed.

Looking around, he sighed and headed out, palming the door lock on the way by.

Write On Edge Prompt: Romantic Things Happening

Things need to happen in a story. This we know, but sometimes the advice we get regarding exactly what needs to happen… well, it frankly sucks. Take this one, pulled from an unnamed source, and quoted in Marion Roach Smith’s The Memoir Project:

“Today’s fiction tip for writers: A good way to ‘liven up’ the plot of a novel is to give the characters some romantic interest. Wrong: Doreen entered the room. Right: Doreen entered the room and had sex with Roger.”

For Friday, we’d like you to take this advice with a grain (or a generous handful) of salt. Introduce a romantic interest or opportunity and see what happens.

Word limit: 450



This is more of a character sketch than a piece that will be included in an actual story somewhere...I think.  Either way, let me know what you think and please enjoy.

Shawn sighed as he wiped the blood from his face.  Rachel would kill him when she got her hands on him again.  And that was going to happen any minute.  That she was in love with him was a given.  The problem was that he didn’t know for sure how he felt about her.

Which was how I ended up on this mission getting my ass kicked, he thought to himself.

With a strip of relatively clean cloth from his undershirt keeping the blood from running into his eyes, Shawn ghosted his way back to the extraction point.  Nights were short on this planet because of the binary star system it orbited.  The first morning rays painted the way to the waiting spacecraft.  And her.

She was tall with long dark hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.  She was also the only woman he’d met in his career that stood a chance of beating him in hand to hand combat.  And she was the pilot on this mission despite everything he’d done to get away from her.  But she wasn’t watching his direction at that moment, giving him time to study her.

He’d known instinctively Rachel was a good woman, the kind he’d have thought about bringing home to meet his family before he lost them.  But there was also something about her that set his teeth on edge.  He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

His movement caught her eye and she turned to him.  He watched as relief was replaced by fear and anger.  She’d seen the blood.

“Shawn, baby, what happened?!” he could see the unshed tears as she ran to him.

“The mission.  Whadda ya expect?” he brushed by, head pounding too much to deal with her.

Shawn stepped onto the shuttle and froze.  A woman sat strapped into one of the passenger seats.  She was thin, too thin.  She had strawberry blond hair.  Shawn’s blood boiled when he saw the bruises on her uncovered skin.  He couldn’t tell much more about her since she wouldn’t look up at him.

He moved to the back of the cabin, dropped his gear, unloaded his rifle and secured it in the gun locker.  He noticed the woman jump when his pack hit the deck.  Shawn took a first aid kit and went to the head.  He winced as he pulled the blood crusted strip off his head and again when he cleaned the wound.

“That’s the best it’s gonna get,” he muttered.

Shawn put the kit away and turned to head to the cockpit.  As he looked up, he met the woman’s cloud grey eyes.  It was as if she was looking into his soul.

Write on Edge Prompt: Crossing The Line

Wow.  Life has gotten hectic lately.  I've had some drafts for the last few prompts but I wasn't able to get them done in time to post them.  Maybe I'll eventually get them up still.  Anyways, this week's prompt was quite interesting to me.  The instructions were as follows:

This week we’d like you to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about a time someone crossed a line, legally or ethically. Explore the motivation of your character and possibly the consequences of his or her actions.

The word limit is 450, so come back Friday and share what you’ve written.

My mind immediately went to a scene from the story I wrote for NaNoWriMo 2011 where my main character is struggling with an ethical dilemma.  No matter what he chooses, he has to violate some of his own ethical code.  Any constructive criticism is much appreciated, but please remember, this is a piece of a scene from a much longer work.  The word count is at 446 so I gave you as much of the relevent scene as I could.  I would love feedback on the realism of the characters, or at least what you can get from them in this little bit, and the flow of the dialogue.  Thanks and enjoy!

 “I am not going to like what you’re about to say, am I?” Shawn asked, his arms propped on his knees, still holding his shirt in one hand squinting up at Eli.

             “Not really.  I wish it could be different but I can’t change it,” Eli took a deep breath before continuing, “Shawn, I can’t do this.  I don’t know what the real agenda is with this mission, but it isn’t what they told us.  Everything I’ve found here so far goes against what the intel told us.  The more I think about it the more I realize so many missions seemed off but I never questioned them before.  I won’t be a party to killing anyone anymore.  Not like this.”

Shawn hung his head and sighed, “Damn, man.  You’ve always had a knack for doing something big when you decided to do it.  How are you planning on keeping Carlton ‘n’ me from getting caught up in this?  How are you planning on keeping yourself alive long enough to do anything about your crazy idea?  I assume that is where your mind is currently going on this subject.”

“I have thought about how to keep you and Carlton out of the mess.  If you didn’t like what I just said, you’re going to like this even less.”

“Shit.  Let’s hear it.”

“I plan on making it look like I went rogue, jumped each of you, beat the shit out of you and left you tied up for dead.  Then I’ll take off into the surrounding area and hide for a while.”

“What about your tracker?” Shawn asked, not even phased by Eli’s plan so far.

“I’ll have to dig it out.  I’m just really glad right now that they implanted them in our forearms rather than, say, the middle of our backs.”

“You’re certifiably crazy, you know that, right?” Eli just grinned as Shawn continued, “Check my room before you go.  You’ll find some things in there you might want.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me.  I’ll probably end up being assigned to hunt your ass down.  I won’t enjoy it, but I don’t have much of a choice.  I have got to stay in if I want to get out from under the bullshit that they pulled on me a couple of years back.”

“It’s messed up that the only way they’ll let you clear your name is to complete a term of service in a branch where you most likely won’t survive the service.”

“But it wraps it up in a nice, neat package, doesn’t it?  They don’t have to worry about me talking and I’ll get a nice hero’s funeral when I’m dead.”