Write about: the opening.
The Canucks opened their 2013-14 season tonight in San Jose with a 4-1 loss. Not an especially encouraging start to things.
But they've got a new head coach for the first time in seven years, as well as a few new faces in the lineup. We shall see if this version of the team ends up doing any better than the previous ones have.
I harvested a bunch of ornamental gourds this afternoon, in the hopes that people are getting ready to decorate for Thanksgiving or fall or even Halloween. Here's one of the crates I plan to bring to this weekend's market:
Mine:
"You want me to do what?" Olivia gave her husband of less than four hours a hard stare, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into.
"Come on, baby!" Bruce offered her his best grin and two upturned palms. "I thought you were open to exploring new things and having exciting new adventures with me!"
"Sure, with you. Not with you and my maid of honour!"
"I don't think you're looking at this from the right perspective, sugar. You've got to -"
And then Bruce was cut short by an opening of a different sort: his wife's open hand meeting the side of his face with enough force to rattle a few teeth loose.
3 comments:
Ah, is it hockey season already? That's cool :) I hope the Canucks do pick up after that though!
The gourds look fantastic, especially the pale ones. Will you sell any pre-carved closer to Hallowe'en?
Hmm, Bruce seems like an interesting character. I wonder how long his marriage will last? :-D
The opening
There's only a narrow crack in the wall; it's by the window where the last earthquake shook things hard enough to chase people outside. The surveyor looked at three years ago and said that it wasn't a problem; just fill it in and paint over it. Damon just never got round to it.
The bed's parallel to the crack, but a little way away. In winter it can get a little cold there, but never enough to challenge the central-heating system, so Damon's not had any incentive to fix it either.
He turns over in the bed, wrapping the sheet tighter around himself in his sleep. Something is bothering him, but not enough to wake him.
A long slender shadow slides from the edge of the crack across the wall. Behind it come more such shadows, and then a heavier patch of darkness. There's a skittering sound like a crane-fly batting itself against a lamp-shade and the shadow keeps growing and extending until it's nearly human sized but clinging to the wall.
It raises its haad and the street-lights from outside illuminate it. It's head is human, female, but as smooth as an egg, turning this way and that as it scents its prey with other senses.
Damon rolls over again in the bed, tying himself further up with the sheets.
The rip happened at 10:37 a.m. EST. It became a tear at 11:07. By Noon it would be called a split. No one saw it. How could they. They spend their days walking about looking at their shoes. They never look to the sky. Except, of course, during those moments when the sun hides behind a cloud.
At 1:34 p.m. it was completely torn asunder. Atoms were divided. Light escaping. The ozone shredded. Yet, they could not see. And they would not. Not until 3:49 p.m. when it became an opening and the first visitor slid through.
Greg - nah, I'm no good at carving pumpkins to begin with. Plus there's a vendor at the market who carves them on-site and he's super good at it. Not gonna waste my time competing with that :P
Aaaagh, so creepy. You're very good at this sort of scene, you know.
David - you've left me wanting to know what happens next! Really enjoyed the progression of this one.
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