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kungfuwaynewhoIt's TV premiere week! That means it's Fringe premiere week! Yay!
I did these a couple weeks ago for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fringeverse challenge community. Two drabble-length diary entries from the POV of two characters.
When I was eleven years old, I went through what I call my Poe phase. I read everything by Edgar Allan Poe, every short story and poem, and everything I could find that was written about Poe, as well. It wasn't just about the stories - it was the mood he was able to conjure up, that vague sense of unease that pervaded every word. Something in me responded to that feeling, craved it, sought out opportunities that would frighten me, unnerve me. When I'd reread Poe too many times to creep myself out anymore, I manufactured new experiences. I would wait till late at night, especially if it were overcast and the light of the moon was invisible, and then I would go down to the end of the backyard, right against where the cleanly mowed grass gave way to tangled undergrowth and gnarled trees. I would stand with my back to the woods and close my eyes, and imagine what could be coming after me. I would relish every tingle up my spine, every twist in my belly. It was though I needed it.
More than twenty years have passed, and it's been a long time since I've felt those old sensations from my Poe phase, longer since I've wanted to. There have been a few moments working cases that there's been the slightest memory of that time, more like the memory of a memory, but I'm an adult. I don't fear the shadows in the corners, the strange sound outside the window. Leaving all that behind is part of growing up. But here I am, feeling it all again. I walk into the lab, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. I'll be working on a piece of equipment and the feeling that someone (something) is watching me will be so strong that I can't think of anything else. Late at night, lying in bed, I remember looks, the tone behind certain words - a tone I've never heard before. I remember an odd shift of weight, or a shrug of the shoulders, and cold terror slowly works its way through my stomach.
There is something wrong with Olivia.
Monday
TO FINISH BEFORE 9AM
-Buy Gene’s food.
-Haul Gene’s food to campus, stop by maintenance to borrow hand-truck, get food down into lab, REMEMBER TO LOCK UP LAB, take hand-truck back to maintenance.
-Feed Gene.
-Milk Gene - Walter is NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DRINK RAW MILK.
TO FINISH BEFORE NOON
-Wash and sterilize centrifuge, beakers, test tubes.
-Bag whatever Walter was working on yesterday and take to Seeley for hazardous waste disposal.
-Buy lunch - Monday will be the third Monday of the month so Walter will want FISH STICKS - NO TARTAR SAUCE. Do not forget his root beer.
TO FINISH BEFORE 5PM
-File everything Walter pulled out of those boxes yesterday. Remember, first alphabetical, then by date, then by name of person with whom he might have worked.
-Lock the boxes up. HIDE THE KEY.
-Take pictures of chalkboard and dry erase board. Clean them.
-Walter is trying to remember the name of a fizzy drink he ordered in a bar “somewhere in Boston” in 1983. Research names of fizzy drinks.
-Cross-reference names and dates on file Olivia gave me yesterday. (This can wait till tomorrow if it needs to.)
TO FINISH BEFORE 11PM
-Drop off dry cleaning - Walter’s shirts MUST NOT BE STARCHED.
-The video store on Broadway has Walter’s movies ready to be picked up.
-Stop by Federal Building and pick up paycheck. REMEMBER TO AUTHORIZE DIRECT DEPOSIT so you don’t have to do this anymore.
I remember when my diary entries used to be about me.
My first love was a very complicated man. He was very, very rich, and also very, very handsome. So you can see how I was attracted, but also how he ended up being a very arrogant, self-centered person. Plus, there were ex problems, too. It was kind of a passionate, tumultuous thing that didn't last very long, but when it did? He was pretty much all I thought about.
When I was in first and second grade, I was in Camp Fire (which is kind of Girl Scouts, for those of you unfamiliar with it). One time we were making Mother's Day presents. We were supposed to draw a picture, write "Happy Mother's Day" on it, frame it in popsicle sticks, and tie on a ribbon bow to hang it from. I drew a picture of Scrooge McDuck, wrote "Happy Scrooge's Day" on it, and excitedly gave it to my mom. She did, in fact, hang it up, though she asked me why I couldn't have written "Happy Mother's Day" next to Scrooge's head.
I did these a couple weeks ago for the
fringeverse challenge community. Two drabble-length diary entries from the POV of two characters. When I was eleven years old, I went through what I call my Poe phase. I read everything by Edgar Allan Poe, every short story and poem, and everything I could find that was written about Poe, as well. It wasn't just about the stories - it was the mood he was able to conjure up, that vague sense of unease that pervaded every word. Something in me responded to that feeling, craved it, sought out opportunities that would frighten me, unnerve me. When I'd reread Poe too many times to creep myself out anymore, I manufactured new experiences. I would wait till late at night, especially if it were overcast and the light of the moon was invisible, and then I would go down to the end of the backyard, right against where the cleanly mowed grass gave way to tangled undergrowth and gnarled trees. I would stand with my back to the woods and close my eyes, and imagine what could be coming after me. I would relish every tingle up my spine, every twist in my belly. It was though I needed it.
More than twenty years have passed, and it's been a long time since I've felt those old sensations from my Poe phase, longer since I've wanted to. There have been a few moments working cases that there's been the slightest memory of that time, more like the memory of a memory, but I'm an adult. I don't fear the shadows in the corners, the strange sound outside the window. Leaving all that behind is part of growing up. But here I am, feeling it all again. I walk into the lab, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. I'll be working on a piece of equipment and the feeling that someone (something) is watching me will be so strong that I can't think of anything else. Late at night, lying in bed, I remember looks, the tone behind certain words - a tone I've never heard before. I remember an odd shift of weight, or a shrug of the shoulders, and cold terror slowly works its way through my stomach.
There is something wrong with Olivia.
Monday
TO FINISH BEFORE 9AM
-Buy Gene’s food.
-Haul Gene’s food to campus, stop by maintenance to borrow hand-truck, get food down into lab, REMEMBER TO LOCK UP LAB, take hand-truck back to maintenance.
-Feed Gene.
-Milk Gene - Walter is NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DRINK RAW MILK.
TO FINISH BEFORE NOON
-Wash and sterilize centrifuge, beakers, test tubes.
-Bag whatever Walter was working on yesterday and take to Seeley for hazardous waste disposal.
-Buy lunch - Monday will be the third Monday of the month so Walter will want FISH STICKS - NO TARTAR SAUCE. Do not forget his root beer.
TO FINISH BEFORE 5PM
-File everything Walter pulled out of those boxes yesterday. Remember, first alphabetical, then by date, then by name of person with whom he might have worked.
-Lock the boxes up. HIDE THE KEY.
-Take pictures of chalkboard and dry erase board. Clean them.
-Walter is trying to remember the name of a fizzy drink he ordered in a bar “somewhere in Boston” in 1983. Research names of fizzy drinks.
-Cross-reference names and dates on file Olivia gave me yesterday. (This can wait till tomorrow if it needs to.)
TO FINISH BEFORE 11PM
-Drop off dry cleaning - Walter’s shirts MUST NOT BE STARCHED.
-The video store on Broadway has Walter’s movies ready to be picked up.
-Stop by Federal Building and pick up paycheck. REMEMBER TO AUTHORIZE DIRECT DEPOSIT so you don’t have to do this anymore.
I remember when my diary entries used to be about me.
My first love was a very complicated man. He was very, very rich, and also very, very handsome. So you can see how I was attracted, but also how he ended up being a very arrogant, self-centered person. Plus, there were ex problems, too. It was kind of a passionate, tumultuous thing that didn't last very long, but when it did? He was pretty much all I thought about.
When I was in first and second grade, I was in Camp Fire (which is kind of Girl Scouts, for those of you unfamiliar with it). One time we were making Mother's Day presents. We were supposed to draw a picture, write "Happy Mother's Day" on it, frame it in popsicle sticks, and tie on a ribbon bow to hang it from. I drew a picture of Scrooge McDuck, wrote "Happy Scrooge's Day" on it, and excitedly gave it to my mom. She did, in fact, hang it up, though she asked me why I couldn't have written "Happy Mother's Day" next to Scrooge's head.
