Comments Posted By Jen Sullivan
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I was sitting at the bar — for all the world like one of those girls you see sitting at bars in movies, in the short black dress and the high black heels and the hose with the seam up the back.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 05.16.2012 @ 6:12 pm
She touched her sunglasses, and stared out over the beach. Images flickered and spun, overlaid on the sunbathers. She pursed her lips. _That one’s not really divorced. That one doesn’t want to leave his wife, but he’s watching the girl in the white bikini and wondering if he should want to. And that one knows the girl in the white bikini was worth leaving his wife for._
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.18.2012 @ 7:36 pm
She coiled her tongue around it, teeth locking gently. Tugging. “Not too hard,” I whispered. “Not any harder than that.”
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.17.2012 @ 7:35 pm
She held up the vial. “Come on.” Her voice was slow, warm; I knew where this story was going. “It’ll wear off in twenty-four hours. And then you’ll know.”
It was the _knowing_ that bothered me, really; I wasn’t sure I wanted to. After all, _she_ wasn’t the one drinking it.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.14.2012 @ 7:37 pm
The sound cut through the desert air, spooking the horses and sending everyone’s nerves just one touch higher. It reverberated, softly, menacingly. The rocks bounced it around and made subtle changes in the sound, leaving it directionless; sourceless.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.13.2012 @ 2:03 pm
It was the festival, and he was very very drunk. There was a cap and bells upon his head, and they jingled in what he felt must positively be a fetching manner; not to mention the motley that rendered him bright and merry. He was the very life of any party he chose to enlighten, and he had enlightened many parties indeed on that long night of Festival.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.11.2012 @ 7:35 pm
The puddle was round, and flat; there was an irregular sheen of oil on the top of it, which is what had drawn her attention. The rainbow shift and dance of the oil slick was hypnotic. She paused, and crouched down to look more closely at it.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.10.2012 @ 7:40 pm
She closed her eyes and waited for the pain. “And two and three.” And there it was, long and sharp and silver, piercing her flesh. She couldn’t hide the quick inhalation of surprise and pain, but by the time she was done breathing in it had been placed.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.09.2012 @ 6:46 pm
Every piece of this quilt, she’d told me, is a memory. I could remember her fingers, narrow and spidery with the cancer that was devouring her, stroking each square. Every piece is a piece of me.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.08.2012 @ 6:30 pm
Evangeline was always a willful child.
Everyone knew that if there was a screeching sound of brakes outside the picture window followed by the howling sound of someone’s darling letting loose with a most unchildish flow of obscenity, a bare glance would show a head of dark brown curls untamed by any brush.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.05.2012 @ 7:35 pm
“Hush.” Eileen was shaking my shoulder; her face was pale and drawn. “Sirens.”
In the distance, now, I could hear them: the low-high wail of the air raid sirens in the city over the hill.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.04.2012 @ 6:28 pm
She waited, holding her breath, and watched the king. She could feel the lash on her back, the sword at her neck. She could see the old queen’s death playing in front of her eyes as she watched him consider.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 04.02.2012 @ 6:23 pm
There is a moment, when you can take it all back. There is a moment — not a long moment, but it is there, and it is always there — when you stand on the precipice of decision, and any one action can send you tipping one way or another.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.28.2012 @ 6:02 pm
She looked at me over her shoulder, and then she ran. It wasn’t much of a head start — ten feet or so — but it was enough for my feet to tangle around each other and slow me down while I sprawled headlong onto the grass.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.27.2012 @ 6:42 pm
_He had the scent._ The world blurred around him, as he inhaled slowly, something that was more than just an aroma finding specialized receptors, triggering a response that was as visceral as it was pleasant.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.23.2012 @ 6:33 pm
He studied the cards. Seven. Two. Nine. Not such a hot set of numbers, really. Not given the work he’d put into them. The middle judge – the Two judge – was glaring at him over her glasses.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.20.2012 @ 5:59 pm
Six stars on her crown. She counted them again, and lifted it up to watch the light dancing off of them. One-two-three-four-five-six stars on her crown. They sent little rainbows arcing around the backstage, the spotlights just bright enough to reflect.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.19.2012 @ 6:27 pm
The world was grey, and greyness lay across it. There was nothing but the same endless, featureless, expanse of cloud. Once upon a time, children lay on their backs and looked for patterns in summer wisps of white on blue. Once upon a time.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.15.2012 @ 6:27 pm
It hung on the last branch before the forest ended; the rope frayed and dangerous-looking. The tire was grey and flaking with age, a microcosm of insect life spawning in the dull stale water in the bottom. It hadn’t drained in years.
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 03.07.2012 @ 10:22 am
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“pony up, girl.” He lowered his head and stared over the cards at me. “It’s a man’s game.”
I wasn’t playing. I laid my hand down and stood up, giving him a solid stare. “You made the deal. Now it’s my turn.”
» Posted By Jen Sullivan On 02.11.2012 @ 5:09 am