Advent challenge fic
Title: Summer’s warmth rejected
Author: fredsmith518
Beta: millstone1005
Rating:tame
Disclaimer: Nothing owned.
Summary: Challenge fic using the words, blue, curve, maelstrom. Melancholy and whip. Thanks to overnighter and ctoan for organisation.
A/N: This is somewhat random, which fits, I think…Much thanks to Millstone for the helpful beta. I added after… trying to post...try 5...
Summer’s warmth rejected
Ten minutes on her front, ten minutes on her back, liberally apply sun-cream, drink plenty of water - despite Marissa’s efforts to win her over to the Vodka - repeat. This pattern seemed to epitomize her summer. Once more, Summer was stretched out on the sun bed besides the pool chatting idly with Marissa, listening to her best friend try and make herself believe she’d been okay with Ryan going back to Chino to support Theresa, that she understood why he’d felt he had to stay and since it had been Ryan who’d left her, what did it matter that she was making out with DJ, right? Right? Summer did a really good sympathetic ear and agreed with Marissa that she’d done nothing wrong. She truly didn’t mind being a supportive friend because Marissa always returned the favor when she needed to vent her own ongoing rage against Seth. The jerk! If anyone had let anyone down it had been Seth. At least Ryan had had a reason for leaving beyond sulking.
It had all turned out so differently from her expectations. The four of them should have had good times - it should have been the sort of summer that you remember your whole life, special, a bench-mark to measure the future years by. Sure, she’d have spent time with Marissa - she always did, but it should have been leavened with goofy, sexy Cohen. She and Seth should have grown closer, gotten to know each other better without the demands of school. They should have spent the summer around the beach and introduced Ryan to the joys of chillin’, learned to surf maybe. They should have hung around the diner and tried to get Ryan to give them free food, because he would so have gone to get his old job back. Cohen would have made noises about finding employment too, but would have had to decide against it because he’d have been too busy spending time with her. He could have taught her to sail. She’d been working on a way of suggesting it, casually, ever since he’d told her the name of his sailboat. ‘The summer breeze’, so pretty, so appropriate, so flattering, so annoying.
So Cohen. He’d just had to go wreck everything by throwing his hissy fit. He’d ruined the summer break. More than that though, he’d upset her, more than she cared to admit, even to herself. Each time she thought of his betrayal, she was livid. How dare he mess with her? Again! She should never have trusted him after the Anna fiasco. The boy couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted. He was so spoiled. She’d dressed up as frickin’ Wonder Woman for him. She’d more than met him half way with his stupid comic book obsession. What more had he wanted from her? What had he done for her, really? He couldn’t even stay around long enough to say good-bye. It seemed highly likely what he’d wanted, needed was for Ryan to have stuck around. And that he’d wanted, needed that more than he wanted to be with her. What was that all about? Of course, he’d put his needs above hers - hell, hers didn’t even seem to register on his radar. Bastard! Didn’t he know she had abandonment issues? Was he so stupid he couldn’t work that out. Hello, motherless here. She had to get over him quickly, to get past letting him affect her, because right now? He was still interfering with her life. One of her school assignments even. How sad was that? Everything seemed to reference her sorrow, when it should be about her anger.
Summer enjoyed creative writing. She always had, ever since she’d first started to scrawl about the adventures of Summer and Marissa. Seth drew, she wrote. This year’s class promised to be interesting as the new teacher was young, just out of college and seemed to think himself hip. For the latest assignment, he’d asked the class to contribute words, just shout them out, chosen five and then set the task. The students could use the words however they liked, produce a poem, a story, a newspaper article, anything, free range as long as the specific words appeared.
The words had spoken to her immediately. A poem based around them started forming in her mind while she’d still been sitting in class. Summer thought that poetry was perhaps the most fun way to play spontaneously with words and make something cool. Of course stupid Seth Cohen had inserted himself there too, traipsed on her creativity with his size 10 feet when he’d quoted back her ‘Mermaid’ poem to her, making it about him, his reactions, rather than her need for expression. That was so Seth. At times, she pure hated him.
The words arranged themselves on the page with little effort when she arrived home. No way could she submit that poem, though, which was beyond annoying because Summer was kinda pleased with it. It was real. But, oh no, because of Cohen she had to come up with something meaningless and light, frivolous, to present to the class. She wouldn’t she read her work and reveal so much about herself. She never wanted to make herself vulnerable again - especially not in front of him.
However, each alternative sucked, each new draft she tried, was less successful in her mind than the last. Nothing was remotely as shaped as her first thoughts, and that irked her. She was determined to come up with something at least vaguely pleasing - to herself, if not to anyone else. Because who cared what anyone else thought? She wrote her herself. Summer pondered and let the pen wander across the words, seeing where they would fall.
Blue curves,
Neat swerves,
Maelstrom of melancholy,
What absolute folly,
Life should be so jolly.
Some potential there maybe?
Whip? That didn’t fit. Damn.
Okay, new start.
She bunched the paper into a ball and flung it at the wastebasket. She missed and the paper bounced off the wall, uncurling in the process, fragments of words mocking her efforts. She frowned and balled up her determination. She would not be beaten by a bunch of crappy words for a school assignment.
Blue, you
Curve, swerve
Whip, ship
Melancholy, folly
Maelstrom, maelstrom, what the hell rhymed with maelstrom? And plus, whip, ship? So much not going there.
In desperation, she wondered out of her room to find her father to ask him to take a look at the words to see what he would come up with. Perhaps she hadn't fully considered the affect his age and gender would have on her request. He made her smile, though.
There was a young lady in blue,
Whose melancholy just wouldn’t do,
She drove fast around a curve,
To whip up some verve,
A maelstrom of dirt did ensue!
As tactfully as possible, Summer explained that writing styles had evolved past the limerick. Her dad grinned and stated the limerick was timeless in its appeal…to boys. Perhaps he should spice it up some? He had some good ideas. Summer grinned back at him and began to feel better. He suggested then that they spent the evening together. It was been nice. Her dad could always pick up on her mood and at least he tried to help. They went out for dinner and caught a movie. When they got back, she felt inspired and dashed off another draft. It wasn’t great, but it was adequate, and most importantly it gave no clue as to Summer’s actual frame of mind. It moved from ‘Life shouldn’t be so melancholy’ to hope.
Summer read out her poem with absolute conviction in front of the class. She pinned her smile tightly in place. She’d had lots of practice over the years.
*************************
There was a special box on her dressing table, where she kept her memories, a precious photo of her parents holding her as a chubby, smiling baby - the only one she knew had survived her father’s purge - promises she and Marissa had written down and sealed with lip gloss kisses to be best friends 4eva, concert tickets. Into this, she carefully placed her original poem, written on a slip of mauve, scented paper with a silver gel pen, the words in angry slashes across the page.
Deep blue horizon curve,
Too painful to contemplate,
A maelstrom of emotion whips,
Self flagellation,
Desperate hurt, bone deep,
Penetrating melancholy,
Glacial cold.
Summer’s warmth rejected, denied.
credit to the husband for the limerick. I don't do limericks.
Author: fredsmith518
Beta: millstone1005
Rating:tame
Disclaimer: Nothing owned.
Summary: Challenge fic using the words, blue, curve, maelstrom. Melancholy and whip. Thanks to overnighter and ctoan for organisation.
A/N: This is somewhat random, which fits, I think…Much thanks to Millstone for the helpful beta. I added after… trying to post...try 5...
Summer’s warmth rejected
Ten minutes on her front, ten minutes on her back, liberally apply sun-cream, drink plenty of water - despite Marissa’s efforts to win her over to the Vodka - repeat. This pattern seemed to epitomize her summer. Once more, Summer was stretched out on the sun bed besides the pool chatting idly with Marissa, listening to her best friend try and make herself believe she’d been okay with Ryan going back to Chino to support Theresa, that she understood why he’d felt he had to stay and since it had been Ryan who’d left her, what did it matter that she was making out with DJ, right? Right? Summer did a really good sympathetic ear and agreed with Marissa that she’d done nothing wrong. She truly didn’t mind being a supportive friend because Marissa always returned the favor when she needed to vent her own ongoing rage against Seth. The jerk! If anyone had let anyone down it had been Seth. At least Ryan had had a reason for leaving beyond sulking.
It had all turned out so differently from her expectations. The four of them should have had good times - it should have been the sort of summer that you remember your whole life, special, a bench-mark to measure the future years by. Sure, she’d have spent time with Marissa - she always did, but it should have been leavened with goofy, sexy Cohen. She and Seth should have grown closer, gotten to know each other better without the demands of school. They should have spent the summer around the beach and introduced Ryan to the joys of chillin’, learned to surf maybe. They should have hung around the diner and tried to get Ryan to give them free food, because he would so have gone to get his old job back. Cohen would have made noises about finding employment too, but would have had to decide against it because he’d have been too busy spending time with her. He could have taught her to sail. She’d been working on a way of suggesting it, casually, ever since he’d told her the name of his sailboat. ‘The summer breeze’, so pretty, so appropriate, so flattering, so annoying.
So Cohen. He’d just had to go wreck everything by throwing his hissy fit. He’d ruined the summer break. More than that though, he’d upset her, more than she cared to admit, even to herself. Each time she thought of his betrayal, she was livid. How dare he mess with her? Again! She should never have trusted him after the Anna fiasco. The boy couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted. He was so spoiled. She’d dressed up as frickin’ Wonder Woman for him. She’d more than met him half way with his stupid comic book obsession. What more had he wanted from her? What had he done for her, really? He couldn’t even stay around long enough to say good-bye. It seemed highly likely what he’d wanted, needed was for Ryan to have stuck around. And that he’d wanted, needed that more than he wanted to be with her. What was that all about? Of course, he’d put his needs above hers - hell, hers didn’t even seem to register on his radar. Bastard! Didn’t he know she had abandonment issues? Was he so stupid he couldn’t work that out. Hello, motherless here. She had to get over him quickly, to get past letting him affect her, because right now? He was still interfering with her life. One of her school assignments even. How sad was that? Everything seemed to reference her sorrow, when it should be about her anger.
Summer enjoyed creative writing. She always had, ever since she’d first started to scrawl about the adventures of Summer and Marissa. Seth drew, she wrote. This year’s class promised to be interesting as the new teacher was young, just out of college and seemed to think himself hip. For the latest assignment, he’d asked the class to contribute words, just shout them out, chosen five and then set the task. The students could use the words however they liked, produce a poem, a story, a newspaper article, anything, free range as long as the specific words appeared.
The words had spoken to her immediately. A poem based around them started forming in her mind while she’d still been sitting in class. Summer thought that poetry was perhaps the most fun way to play spontaneously with words and make something cool. Of course stupid Seth Cohen had inserted himself there too, traipsed on her creativity with his size 10 feet when he’d quoted back her ‘Mermaid’ poem to her, making it about him, his reactions, rather than her need for expression. That was so Seth. At times, she pure hated him.
The words arranged themselves on the page with little effort when she arrived home. No way could she submit that poem, though, which was beyond annoying because Summer was kinda pleased with it. It was real. But, oh no, because of Cohen she had to come up with something meaningless and light, frivolous, to present to the class. She wouldn’t she read her work and reveal so much about herself. She never wanted to make herself vulnerable again - especially not in front of him.
However, each alternative sucked, each new draft she tried, was less successful in her mind than the last. Nothing was remotely as shaped as her first thoughts, and that irked her. She was determined to come up with something at least vaguely pleasing - to herself, if not to anyone else. Because who cared what anyone else thought? She wrote her herself. Summer pondered and let the pen wander across the words, seeing where they would fall.
Blue curves,
Neat swerves,
Maelstrom of melancholy,
What absolute folly,
Life should be so jolly.
Some potential there maybe?
Whip? That didn’t fit. Damn.
Okay, new start.
She bunched the paper into a ball and flung it at the wastebasket. She missed and the paper bounced off the wall, uncurling in the process, fragments of words mocking her efforts. She frowned and balled up her determination. She would not be beaten by a bunch of crappy words for a school assignment.
Blue, you
Curve, swerve
Whip, ship
Melancholy, folly
Maelstrom, maelstrom, what the hell rhymed with maelstrom? And plus, whip, ship? So much not going there.
In desperation, she wondered out of her room to find her father to ask him to take a look at the words to see what he would come up with. Perhaps she hadn't fully considered the affect his age and gender would have on her request. He made her smile, though.
There was a young lady in blue,
Whose melancholy just wouldn’t do,
She drove fast around a curve,
To whip up some verve,
A maelstrom of dirt did ensue!
As tactfully as possible, Summer explained that writing styles had evolved past the limerick. Her dad grinned and stated the limerick was timeless in its appeal…to boys. Perhaps he should spice it up some? He had some good ideas. Summer grinned back at him and began to feel better. He suggested then that they spent the evening together. It was been nice. Her dad could always pick up on her mood and at least he tried to help. They went out for dinner and caught a movie. When they got back, she felt inspired and dashed off another draft. It wasn’t great, but it was adequate, and most importantly it gave no clue as to Summer’s actual frame of mind. It moved from ‘Life shouldn’t be so melancholy’ to hope.
Summer read out her poem with absolute conviction in front of the class. She pinned her smile tightly in place. She’d had lots of practice over the years.
*************************
There was a special box on her dressing table, where she kept her memories, a precious photo of her parents holding her as a chubby, smiling baby - the only one she knew had survived her father’s purge - promises she and Marissa had written down and sealed with lip gloss kisses to be best friends 4eva, concert tickets. Into this, she carefully placed her original poem, written on a slip of mauve, scented paper with a silver gel pen, the words in angry slashes across the page.
Deep blue horizon curve,
Too painful to contemplate,
A maelstrom of emotion whips,
Self flagellation,
Desperate hurt, bone deep,
Penetrating melancholy,
Glacial cold.
Summer’s warmth rejected, denied.
credit to the husband for the limerick. I don't do limericks.