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An alphabetical Love Story
weird, willy wonka
maccalla
X was hard. I was gonna do Xerox, but I discovered this awesome word instead. It's the cactus.

Can't find the cut, so here it is, out there, open, unashamed.

An approach! A monstrous hand soars through the sky and picks its prey delicately, locking the rest away.
A bite. Teeth clench and then tear through the soft skin. Juices squirt through the mouth. A rip and the chunk is torn away from the core and swallowed, unnoticed by the eater, who goes on to take another untasting bite of the peach he is not doing credit to. There are other things on his mind.
A cacophony! On the other side of the room, a book is dropped. A large book. A flat book. A large, flat, wide book with a lot of surface area to slap the landing pad with. From a height of ten feet, that is to say, the height of the eater’s friend, standing on a chair, holding the book above his head.
“A disaster!” Screams John Skeritt, the man in theoretical control of a room of stressed, disaster-happy, overheated, rebellious sixteen-year-old males, as he hurries towards the disaster, all his concentration focused on the dropped book.
An escape! Fast as he can, the eater, hereafter to be known as Luke, dives through the window, ostensibly open in an attempt to waylay the un-waylay-able heat, rolling on the ground and ducking sideways, beyond sight of his escape route.
A flight. Moving with all the speed his un-aerodynamic genes ever granted him, Luke races across the grass, aiming for the cover of the trees, planted for management’s boasts about environmental awareness.
A grove. Among the trees, Luke can slow, and puts his hands to his knees, surrounded on all sides by what passes for nature in the middle of a high school, in the middle of a city, in the middle of an unnatural world. He pants.
A hastening. Escape now forgotten, no longer thinking of where he is coming from but where he is going, Luke hurries forwards again, further into the nature and out the other side, hidden more by his green uniform than the negligible cover of the trees.
An intrusion! In his place of secrecy, Luke sits, and immediately stands. He reaches beneath himself and pulls out an empty bottle. He throws it away and sits again, watching intently at an angle from the way he came.
A jealousy. As the reason for his mission hoves into view, Luke wonders why it does – surely he is unworthy of such divine beauty? He has nothing to compare to it. But she comes, the object of his adoration, as he is apparently hers – with a smile.
A kiss. As she reaches him, she stands, and their lips lock in a long, lingering embrace, a kiss of intensity and forbidden love.
A loss. After a short eternity, made short by bliss and long by the dissolution of the world, Luke’s lips leave those of Kay, the girl he loves so much he burns with it. He wants more.
A meeting. Luke’s arms slip from Kay’s face to her waist, and hers slide around his shoulders, which she has told him are the most masculine in the five-thousand-strong school, despite much evidence to the contrary.
A need. Luke’s love flares up strongly and he responds in the way he knows. Kay’s breath escapes in a gasp as his arms tighten slightly, and Luke kisses her open mouth, almost lifting her from the ground in his intensity as she responds in kind.
An oaf. He releases his love, afraid he has overstayed his welcome within her, steps back, looks into her eyes, worriedly. The smile he sees there assures him he is wrong and reminds him of the times he has done this before.
A pause. Luke stands a moment, seeing Kay as if for the first time, and she smiles, reading his face with an ease that has grown over the years they have had together, escaping their teachers at school, writing at home and arranging holidays to meet. She asks what he sees.
“A queen,” He responds, dry mouth mangling and mushing the words monsyllabilistic as they are. She has progressed in his mind from a princess, a step from the uppermost tier. He regards her as the supreme creation of nature, above all else.
A reason. He must give a reason, or he will panic and look a fool. He attempts to find a way to cull his revelation to mere words but fails.
A seat. She pushes him to the ground and sits beside him, leaning on him. All his muscles tense to keep from being pushed over. She tells him he need not explain – she knows what he has thought. Feeling his tenseness, the weight eases.
A trespassing. The figure of John Skeritt looms suddenly, grabbing each of them by one hand and hauling them to their feet. A quick glance is all the lovers are allowed before they are hauled behind him towards the school proper.
An ululation. As students see the two of them hauled across the field, a cry rises, individual shouts lost in the clamour of derision, sorrow, support and encouragement.
A violence. John Skeritt is not gentle with those he sees as criminals, and as he hears what is interpreted by him as a cheer, he jerks the two close to off their feet and increases the pace of his march.
A weariness. The eyes of the principal project the crushing of a hope that this would not happen again, although it is unclear who he blames.
A xerophyte. While a long-ago-memorized lecture washes over them, the two take more notice of other things in the room – the moisture on John Skeritt’s upper lip, the edge of a hastily shoved away magazine under the principle’s desk, a cactus in the corner.
A yell. The shout of students breaks through the principal’s office, a moment before the students themselves, storming their way in, surrounding the Principal, the teacher and the lovers in a screaming mass, happy to be rebelling against the school that has held them down.
A zoo. Students mill about with no care for privacy. The cactus is toppled, and the magazine is yanked to reveal a brunette in a leotard on a matching car seat. Luke and Kay see none of it, lost once again in each other’s lips, as a gradual collective sighs steals over their audience.

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Great concept! I like this!

Also, I just realised I never finished reading your NaNo! I'll have to get to that sometime :)

Haha, wait 'til I finish and publish it.

The idea was to make up and do one writing exercise per day, but I already failed on that one...

And miss out on the bragging rights of, "Oh, psht, yeah, I read that when it was still on LIVEJOURNAL! Ha!"? lol

Already failed, or just not started properly, yet? :P

Me like-a the way you thinka

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