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skroberts*bounces*
I finally got my writing published in Prelude, my college's publication of poetry, short stories, and essays. I've submitted works for the past three semesters, and this is the first time they selected, not one, but two of my works. That totally makes my day! Roommate Laura is threatening to nab multiple copies of it to pin-up around the dorm room. *g*
If any of my non-campus friends are interested, the follow is what was published...
Title: Time
Author: Sarah Roberts
Note: This was originally a Stargate SG-1 drabble from Jack's perspective, though it actually stemmed from my own health problems at the time it was written. So it was free game for Real Life publication...
Tick tock.
The clock on the wall taunts me.
Tick tock.
It knows that time is the only thing keeping me here.
Tick tock.
I have to rest.
Tick tock.
I have to heal.
Tick tock.
I have to listen to that clock.
Tick tock.
I hate being hurt.
Tick tock.
I hate being in the hospital.
Tick tock.
I hate that clock.
Tick tock.
I want to get these electrodes and wires off me.
Tick tock.
I want to get out of this bed and into some real clothes.
Tick tock.
I want to go home.
Tick tock.
But time won't let me.
Tick tock.
Not yet, at least.
Tick tock.
Damn clock.
Title: War
Author: Sarah Roberts
Note: This was originally a SG-1 drabble about Jack and Teal'c, but I had to make a few alterations for it to work as non-fanfic. Basically, I just changed Teal'c to Murray and went with it. *g*
I'm cold.
Chilled to the bone.
I'm lying in the snow somewhere deep in a forest, fearing for my life.
I'm being pursued. My enemy is relentless. I can't seem to shake him for long. He'll find me soon.
He was once my friend -- the sort you're lucky enough to find once in a hundred lifetimes. But something happened, something to turn him against me. We fight each other now. We're rivals.
He's closing in. I can feel him.
Suddenly, movement catches my eye. I turn and raise my weapon, but I'm too late. A blow to the chest strikes me down. I lie on the ground, unmoving.
I'm cold.
-----
Murray roared with triumph as the snowball hit my chest. He ran off, knowing there will be retribution.
I lay still for a few moments, thinking the snowball fight was a bad idea. I shake it off and clear my mind. I must plan my retaliation.
Hmmm... Should I tackle him and make him eat that darn snowball?
No. Too cruel.
Should I pelt him with snowballs until he looks like a giant snowman?
Ah, ha! That sounds about right.
By the time I had my plan, my body heat had started to melt the snow on my chest, making it trickle down my sides.
Awe, man. Now I'm really cold.
But Murray will pay.
I smile wickedly.
-----
I manage to pull myself up and regain my bearings.
I retrieve my weapon: a single snowball. Some say that someone else is carrying a bullet for you right now and doesn't even know it. That the trick is to die of old age before it finds you. In this case, it's a snowball. It's meant for Murray. And it will find him before he reaches old age, I'll see to it.
I wait calmly and quietly for him to stir.
Movement in the distance betrays my friend's position.
He's mine now.
-----
I close in quickly. He can't escape his fate.
As I move from behind a tree, a white blur whizzes passed my head.
That was too darn close!
With refreshed resolve, I aim and fire -- just in time for another cold sphere to hit my chest. As I wipe the frigid substance from my jacket, I look to Murray. He just stands there, his face powdered white.
Oops. Guess it was 'make him eat it' after all.
"I don't want to play this game anymore, Jack," Murray told me.
"Come on, man. The hot chocolate's on me," I said back.
"I don't see any chocolate on your clothing."
"Don't make me get another snowball."
I finally got my writing published in Prelude, my college's publication of poetry, short stories, and essays. I've submitted works for the past three semesters, and this is the first time they selected, not one, but two of my works. That totally makes my day! Roommate Laura is threatening to nab multiple copies of it to pin-up around the dorm room. *g*
If any of my non-campus friends are interested, the follow is what was published...
Title: Time
Author: Sarah Roberts
Note: This was originally a Stargate SG-1 drabble from Jack's perspective, though it actually stemmed from my own health problems at the time it was written. So it was free game for Real Life publication...
Tick tock.
The clock on the wall taunts me.
Tick tock.
It knows that time is the only thing keeping me here.
Tick tock.
I have to rest.
Tick tock.
I have to heal.
Tick tock.
I have to listen to that clock.
Tick tock.
I hate being hurt.
Tick tock.
I hate being in the hospital.
Tick tock.
I hate that clock.
Tick tock.
I want to get these electrodes and wires off me.
Tick tock.
I want to get out of this bed and into some real clothes.
Tick tock.
I want to go home.
Tick tock.
But time won't let me.
Tick tock.
Not yet, at least.
Tick tock.
Damn clock.
Title: War
Author: Sarah Roberts
Note: This was originally a SG-1 drabble about Jack and Teal'c, but I had to make a few alterations for it to work as non-fanfic. Basically, I just changed Teal'c to Murray and went with it. *g*
I'm cold.
Chilled to the bone.
I'm lying in the snow somewhere deep in a forest, fearing for my life.
I'm being pursued. My enemy is relentless. I can't seem to shake him for long. He'll find me soon.
He was once my friend -- the sort you're lucky enough to find once in a hundred lifetimes. But something happened, something to turn him against me. We fight each other now. We're rivals.
He's closing in. I can feel him.
Suddenly, movement catches my eye. I turn and raise my weapon, but I'm too late. A blow to the chest strikes me down. I lie on the ground, unmoving.
I'm cold.
-----
Murray roared with triumph as the snowball hit my chest. He ran off, knowing there will be retribution.
I lay still for a few moments, thinking the snowball fight was a bad idea. I shake it off and clear my mind. I must plan my retaliation.
Hmmm... Should I tackle him and make him eat that darn snowball?
No. Too cruel.
Should I pelt him with snowballs until he looks like a giant snowman?
Ah, ha! That sounds about right.
By the time I had my plan, my body heat had started to melt the snow on my chest, making it trickle down my sides.
Awe, man. Now I'm really cold.
But Murray will pay.
I smile wickedly.
-----
I manage to pull myself up and regain my bearings.
I retrieve my weapon: a single snowball. Some say that someone else is carrying a bullet for you right now and doesn't even know it. That the trick is to die of old age before it finds you. In this case, it's a snowball. It's meant for Murray. And it will find him before he reaches old age, I'll see to it.
I wait calmly and quietly for him to stir.
Movement in the distance betrays my friend's position.
He's mine now.
-----
I close in quickly. He can't escape his fate.
As I move from behind a tree, a white blur whizzes passed my head.
That was too darn close!
With refreshed resolve, I aim and fire -- just in time for another cold sphere to hit my chest. As I wipe the frigid substance from my jacket, I look to Murray. He just stands there, his face powdered white.
Oops. Guess it was 'make him eat it' after all.
"I don't want to play this game anymore, Jack," Murray told me.
"Come on, man. The hot chocolate's on me," I said back.
"I don't see any chocolate on your clothing."
"Don't make me get another snowball."
no subject
Date: February 5th, 2005 08:22 pm (UTC)Thanks for the snuggles!