Your life is a stone in you
For ar_drabbles challenge 32, breaking the rules. And because I promised bsg_aussiegirl romantic claptrap -- hope this fits the bill. If not, there's always part 2 (coming soon to an LJ near you). Working without a word limit was harder than I'd imagined.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back.
Willie Adama stepped on lots of cracks on his 11th birthday. His mother's back broke irrevocably.
Be a good boy, don't make it harder on your father.
His father didn't care, was too involved in grief and Graystones and Guataus. Uncle Sam followed the rules. Nothing bad happened to him. Willie could do the math; he'd rather be like Sam.
Viper jocks do it with a bang.
Bill was a good soldier. He knew how to follow rules. The few times he slipped, he paid for it. Raptor Talon.
The golden rule: Those who have the gold make the rules.
He wasn't above playing by the rules. If Carolanne could get him back into the fleet, let her. She could stay home, raise the kids, and he'd be out where he couldn't mess the boys up.
For the gods' sake, Bill Adama, can't you remember to leave the seat down
to not smoke in the house
to leave the remote by the vid
the boys' birthdays
my ambrosia?
Carolanne had so many rules. He couldn't remember them all; they kept changing. They made his head hurt. Military rules were simple and clear. He knew what he needed to do to get by, to get ahead.
Rules were good. The boys would thrive under Carolanne's rules. He might have, too, had he started with them earlier, but it was too late for him.
I just stopped trying to get these a long time ago.
Rules defined how far you could go, how fast. Rules were good excuses when you hit the glass ceiling. He couldn't change the rules in the fleet, but he could make the rules on his own battleship. Little things, like a lack of networked computers, meant nothing to anyone else but left him king in his own world.
The whole world's going mad.
The colonies destroyed. Pretty schoolteachers turn president. Superior officers have to be killed. The only price for an admiralty is the mathematical absurdity of survival. They give out promotions for anything these days -- punctuality, playing well with others, having the right parents. The people speak and their words are nonsense, but the rules demand obedience.
I've got people that want to get off the ship, move down here.
Soldiers don't abandon their posts, but these people don't know the rules. They didn't sign up to be soldiers. They were just attending a decommissioning and got thrust into power. Looking for money for dental school. Killing time while their wives whored around.
They broke rules with impunity and got second chances. All he's ever gotten is a fistful of sand. They dance and drink and smoke and he sits like a bump on a log.
You just had to take off your shoes and play in the alluvial deposits. How romantic.
Maybe there's a rulebook no one ever showed him. Maybe there's a rule for when you break the rules. If there is, he'd bet the cover is as red as Laura's outfit.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back.
Willie Adama stepped on lots of cracks on his 11th birthday. His mother's back broke irrevocably.
Be a good boy, don't make it harder on your father.
His father didn't care, was too involved in grief and Graystones and Guataus. Uncle Sam followed the rules. Nothing bad happened to him. Willie could do the math; he'd rather be like Sam.
Viper jocks do it with a bang.
Bill was a good soldier. He knew how to follow rules. The few times he slipped, he paid for it. Raptor Talon.
The golden rule: Those who have the gold make the rules.
He wasn't above playing by the rules. If Carolanne could get him back into the fleet, let her. She could stay home, raise the kids, and he'd be out where he couldn't mess the boys up.
For the gods' sake, Bill Adama, can't you remember to leave the seat down
to not smoke in the house
to leave the remote by the vid
the boys' birthdays
my ambrosia?
Carolanne had so many rules. He couldn't remember them all; they kept changing. They made his head hurt. Military rules were simple and clear. He knew what he needed to do to get by, to get ahead.
Rules were good. The boys would thrive under Carolanne's rules. He might have, too, had he started with them earlier, but it was too late for him.
I just stopped trying to get these a long time ago.
Rules defined how far you could go, how fast. Rules were good excuses when you hit the glass ceiling. He couldn't change the rules in the fleet, but he could make the rules on his own battleship. Little things, like a lack of networked computers, meant nothing to anyone else but left him king in his own world.
The whole world's going mad.
The colonies destroyed. Pretty schoolteachers turn president. Superior officers have to be killed. The only price for an admiralty is the mathematical absurdity of survival. They give out promotions for anything these days -- punctuality, playing well with others, having the right parents. The people speak and their words are nonsense, but the rules demand obedience.
I've got people that want to get off the ship, move down here.
Soldiers don't abandon their posts, but these people don't know the rules. They didn't sign up to be soldiers. They were just attending a decommissioning and got thrust into power. Looking for money for dental school. Killing time while their wives whored around.
They broke rules with impunity and got second chances. All he's ever gotten is a fistful of sand. They dance and drink and smoke and he sits like a bump on a log.
You just had to take off your shoes and play in the alluvial deposits. How romantic.
Maybe there's a rulebook no one ever showed him. Maybe there's a rule for when you break the rules. If there is, he'd bet the cover is as red as Laura's outfit.