Six Sentence Sunday

Another six from my WIP, Caliburn.


~*~


An angry voice shouted from across the warehouse . Gunter Rasmussen was well-known in the underground. He was known for grinding a fighter to dust before he build them back into unstoppable machines.



Many long-timers in the scene wondered when he’d get around to rebuilding Alejandra.



Santiago and Gen (and secretly, Gabriel) were convinced he never would. She was still winning fights, and Gunter liked his women powdery.

~*~

Enjoy others' Six Sundays. And hopefully I will be on time next week.

Six Sentence Sunday

And I am sooooooo late. Missed the posting deadline for the official Six Sunday. Work week tried to kill me, but here it is!

~*~

Alejandra Guitierrez headlined the spray-painted placard. It helped that the artist was trying desperately to get back into her good graces. He stood at the top of an impossibly tall ladder to hang the sign while people on the floor u-bolted chain-link fence to the I-beams.

At the base of the ladder, Gen held it steady, uncertainty clouding her blue eyes. Possibly because she was the only white woman in the building, but probably not.

She went to every one of Alejandra’s fights.

~*~

Enjoy others' Six Sundays. And hopefully I will be on time next week.

Six Sunday

Turned out his biker brothers knew where there was a really nasty fight going
down that evening. So that’s how Derek ended up in a temporarily
converted warehouse on the wrong side of Harry Hines.

That’s when Fate smacked him upside the head.

When the first fighter stepped out, he was shocked to see it was a
twenty-something Latina woman. The bigger shock came with the
certainty that this girl was his King.

And she was terribly broken.

Six Sunday

Al looked at the three-quarter empty bottle of bitter tea at her feet. "Did you just drug me?" she couldn't help the angry squeak in her voice, because the world was definitely taking on a distinct fuzz.

"I think this is the right spot," he murmured as he stopped rowing, his head up to look around.. He met her eyes for a moment, crow-black to velvet brown. "Sure did," he said as he capsized the boat.

Six Sentence Sunday

Derek shook his head with a sad smile. "Can't say you won't end up with bruised ribs, my way," he said. "I can tell you my way will quite possibly blow your mind."

She stared at his outstretched hand. She might end up raped and dead with him. But she wanted to take the risk, because the other chance was feeling *alive* again.

~*~

Hey! Did you know you can schedule these things?

Six Sentences!

I'm about three minutes late, but bear with me. I've been and the renaissance festival all day. You're lucky I'm upright.

~*~


She tilted her head as she studied him. “Do you live your whole life this footloose?” she asked, trying to hide the note of envy in her voice.

He just grinned. “I live my life for you, lady.”

She shook her head again. “You’re just nuts, man.”

Six Sentence Sunday

I should probably note that this isn't any sort of official Six Sentence Sunday, as I am not affiliated with the people who originated it. This is more of a motivator for me to get off my ass and write.

Rather than babble any more, six sentences from my WIP.

~*~


In all honesty, though they billed her by her full name, she much preferred to be called Al. Yes, like the Paul Simon song.

“Alejandra!”

She winced. Not that she could get her boyfriend to call her that. There was just something odd about her full name in a German accent.

Six Sentence Sunday

One of the guys told him about old man Hennessy. Nobody knew if that was his real name, but nobody really cared, either. They said he grew his stuff along with the rose bushes. Then he dried it all out on the same table. The roses went to some potpourri company, the pot sold to whoever he felt like selling to. Rumor was, the shit tasted like roses.