I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Saturday, June 2, 2007

Daddy's Little Girl

I'm typing in my pages of notes. Not the only thing I'm doing or did today, so the word count it low. I still have a few more pages to type in. Then a couple of random notes to fill out. The story is fairly well full in the notes, like a outline skeleton with muscles on it. I just need to add some organs and flesh it over. My guess is at the end, it'll be around 2500 words (one of my shortest stories yet). Word count tonight, 450. Most of them good. I think I need to do a lot of word smithing with this one. Get that prose thing going.

"A mild hysteria. It was only on the third night I realized that the crying wasn't from her room, but from the monitor. Buried in the confusion next to the nightstand, long forgotten and batteries drained away on empty air. The base station had been packed away for donation."

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