Your precious grandmother will have to roll one more time in her grave, spinning the Earth ever faster and us ever farther apart. Your leaving was a bitter pill, Josh, but learning to deal with the reality of - what's her face? - has taught me that I have a lot more strength in my gut than you'll ever see in a lifetime. Oh, Lord, what a tangled web we weave.

Josh--

I appreciate the blessing. Lord knows you weren't sensitive enough to request one from me. Good luck getting the ring. I swallowed it.

Killian -

Do what you like. I'm getting that ring back one way or another.

- Josh

***

By the way, Paul's been calling me everyday. Tonight, I'm returning his call. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

-K.

***

I think back to our time at the waterpark with a great knot of snakes coiled at the base of my stomach, writhing, writhing, suffocating me from inside out. Form must follow function, as you sooooo often remind me, and the twisted spiral of us is as the meandering curve of the water slide, perilously tossing its rider in a headlong drive towards the churning waters of finality. Your slide is my snake, my snake eating its own tail. If we are an Ouroboros, Josh, a snake consuming itself, tail-first, then I am the fangs and you, sir, are an ass.

Josh--

You are a Judas in your priestly robes. The sun now shines through but it mocks me; me, still the same middle school girl in braids and a plaid skirt thinking I'm sexy talking to the others, more grown up. You; you strictly concerned with business, the business of life destruction, the normality of the sadness of being. If I didn't feel such pity for you, surely you'd disgust me like your insectile automobile.

Killian -

...a simple "no" would have sufficed.

***

You're not a people like me. Dammit, I wish that could make me stop loving you.

***

I'm not bitter. In the pantheon of emotional taste, I'm more tangerine than grapefruit, mustard than horseradish, Ghirardelli chocolate than decaf coffee, black and burnt at the bottom of its orange-handled pitcher. People like me. People like me... like me.

But now you are one of the suburbanites in your tarrantula SUV. Cruising past the white pickets, broiled burgers saran wrapped on a Chinette plate, prepped and ready for the block party. Do you wish for pink fat babies just like the Jones? Do you push your poncho-enwrapped Stepford wife onto the couch, already asking for more before she's even finished?

Carboard cutouts we used to call people rush the streets every time a light changes, curse at enormous insectile cars that scuttle from the sodium-lit safety of city parking garages to the dubious safety of suburban driveways and streets. The city is alive, but barely, not like you, Josh. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat emanating from your cheeks like two great buttery rolls fresh from the oven. I'm hungry, Josh, for the old days and for your touch.

The Story Begins: Currently Untitled

Josh-

It's hailing here. I squint my eyes to try and discern some element of sunshine, but it's an exercise in frustration. My mind wander to the days when we would walk side by side in the pink time of day, the buildings awash in light and beauty. Now, they're just getting their sins washed off them.

More Rules and a Genre

5. Chapter breaks will be indicated by a line of asterisks: ***
6. No editing once a post has been made. If something goes wrong or wonky, we will attempt to integrate the mistake into the fabric of the larger piece.
7. No dream sequences, virtual reality or other forms of literary cheating. We are clever, clever people and in this our writing will be more akin to the difference between Eastern and Western archery. In Western archery, the only thing that counts is that the arrow hits the target. In Eastern, the way the arrow is placed on the bow string, the draw, the release and follow through are all equally important, so whether or not the arrow even lands near the target is relatively unimporant.
8. The first genre will be epistolary (letter-writing, for the unitiated, and I'm not talking to Brandi).

The Rules

Here are the rules.
1. Nothing you wouldn't want anyone else to read.
2. No more than four sentences per trade.
3. Agreed upon genre only.
4. While I believe that quotation marks are ugly, I'm willing to use them. I believe whoever begins with dialogue should set the pace.

What do you think?

Starting Out

Hi! If you're just reading this now, it shows that I've sent you the proper URL and everything is going just spiffy.

We should probably start out thinking about what we want to write and the general rules for writing it. What do you think?

I love the idea of basically posting stuff back and forth, like a kind of public email. To that end, and having given it about a second and a half's worth of thought, I would like to make the first rule: post nothing that you wouldn't want anyone to read. Be it fiction, fact or science (a mixture of both, according to the Creationists), we should feel comfortable with anyone reading our adventures. Excessive... well, WHATEVER... should be viewed as a no-no, at least until we get more comfortable with being literary exhibitionists.

We might also experiment with one post being in italic or bold while the other comes in a more ordinary flavor. We can rocks-paper-scizzors for which does which, unless you think it's more fun NOT to see. I suggest emphasis comes in the form of CAPS, and that we use quotes or non-quotes consistently, meaning that if we don't use the specific format of "quotes", we should agree on what form dialogue will take.

Boy, do I have a lot of thoughts for having no thoughts at all.

Lovely. -- Matt