The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!
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11.02.2012 , 06:32 AM |
Rochester walked into his apartment and did not turn on the lights. A storm brewed outside and the constant flashes of lightning were enough to guide him. He felt hollow and dead; and his limbs moved with a floating, far-away sensation. He looked around the rooms, picking up items and setting them down again. He wandered listlessly about, ignoring the storm as it screamed and lashed outside. A shudder ran through his body and he started, like a person woken from a dream. He gathered civilian clothing, soft furnishings: throw rugs and towels. Haphazardly he packed them into cases and boxes, before the pinch of his uniform drove him to distraction. He pulled at the collar, scratching himself on the pins and fastenings. At least he opened the collar and could breathe again. His legs gave out from under him and he landed heavily on the couch.
A book stared up at him from the coffee table.
Love of an Imperial Soldier
A knock sounded on his door. Broan wiped the tiredness from his face and reluctantly abandoned his research. Outside a servant stood, and bowed, holding an unmarked box.
"Who is this from?"
"Lieutenant Rochester left it for you, my Lord."
"Did he say what it was?"
"He did not, my Lord."
Broan took the box and dismissed the servant. He returned to his desk and placed the box atop it, rudely shuffling aside his slides and collected data. Inside was a blanket. Rochester had found it for him and, in turn, he had left it at Rochester's apartment. The blanket itself was light blue and geometric designs were picked out in a deep, chocolate brown. It had reminded them of the tattoos and designs of Mirialan culture. It was one of the few alien items available to the Imperial public.
Broan removed the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.
Really not sure if I'm conveying this correctly, but I've a few ideas for later. This weekend may prove... prolific.
Story Master Thread
"Forty-seven percent of all players are women..."