Day 287, and a million and 1 more to go.

Joined: 30 Dec 2007 Posts: 1

A tiny escape of breath through parted lips signals the life of a new day. She lay still in her cocoon of comforters and pillows, enjoying the simple pleasures of the crisp linen against her cheek, for her this was the meaning of white. Day 287 of her new life. Rousing her senses one by one she took in the day about her. The scent of damp leaves and coffee mingled in the air in a somber little dance that had greeted her nearly every morning this week, she missed the scents of sunshine and spring pushed out as autumn had tip toed in. The city chickens cooed and warbled at her windows as the distinct clickity-clack of nails on hard wood voiced Finn�s presence to her, followed abruptly by the noozling of a cold damp nose to her own. A smile crested her elfin features, bringing with it a welling feeling of warmth and comfort, today was going to be okay.

Twelve steps. She ticked them off one by one out of much used habit to reach her closet, fingers dancing over the dangling garb by touch alone looking for her chilly day sweater. The slip of the wool under her hand was confirmed by the little tag upon the top of the hanger as she slipped it free, leaving a space to either side to ease the task of later returning it to it�s proper home. Fur brushed her bare calf drawing a started jerk out of her, a hand falling to the familiar bristle of the warmed coat the spirited inflection to her tone lifting with its usual vivacious verb. �I know Finnegan, breakfast before shower and coffee after breakfast.

Her fingers trailed the texture of the wall down the hallway, each bit of the plaster known to her touch. One, two, three, she counted the cracks as she passed, more out of habit than need, her fifty-seven steps landing her on the cool terra-cotta tile of the kitchen floor. Red should be warm, was her only thought as she slipped to the point on the counter where his food was kept. She waltzed through her morning ritual, lulled by the gentle snores still sounding from the far room where Vivian slept the morning hours away. Coffee brewed by the autotimer, creamer in the cupboard above, three jars from the left and a pass of her thumb over the dotted label just to be sure just as it had always been. An hour passing found her curled up in her favorite chair, drizzle kissed from a morning stroll with Finn a towel still settled about her slender shoulders long since forgotten as she faced out toward the occasional peeking ray of sun, a keyboard on her lap. Long damp tresses of a pallid gentle hue, much like spun gold drifted down over her brow as her face dipped away from the window and to the task at hand. Silky soft fingers glided to the keys, slipping over the raised bumps to find their poise as her mind came alive with the craft of her art. Two little voices whispering in her ear like angelic muses unseen by the mortal eye, the bubbling of giggles and quiet whispers rising her smile a thousand fold.

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The grandtabulous chronicles of Chloe and Leo � The hunt for the F-Gecsp.
Authored by � M. Hawthorne-Fost
Illustrated by � Vivian Herrington

One set of wide sparkling blue eyes popped up bright with wonder in the starry moon light as it crept across the foot of the bed to tickle at little cheeks like tiny firefly kisses. From under the covers a finger crept as the little boy with hair the color of ginger snaps leaned close to his sister, prodding her just once between the eyes as he whispered in a voice that promised grand adventures to come. �Chloe.. wake up! It�s time!�

A mischievous smile danced across the face of the little girl with hair the color of sun beams, her eyes squeezing shut tight as she pretended to slumber.

Sparkling blue eyes crinkled up as he drew back his fingers, wiggling them like spindly spiders ready to pounce. �Ohhhh Chhllooooee!!! Wake up! It�s time to hunt the F-Gecsp!�

�Leo! Shhhhh you�ll wake the sleeping lions slumbering in the cave.� Chloe pressed a finger to her lips with great care as she cast her hazel eyes to the door across the hall where their parents slept, sharing a secretive little giggle with her brother.

The grand hunt was afoot! But first they needed supplies for such a long and dangerous voyage, after all what hunter would be caught without a net! Slow and easy they creepity-crept down the hallway one foot over the other, left foot right foot, left foot right foot past the cave of the sleeping lions.
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The sounds of movements behind her drew Magdalena from her story, causing her head to tilt in an angling manner of question to the patter of foot falls. A hand smoothed across her ruffled hair, long since dried from her stroll in the mid winter mists gave hint to the familiar figure. �Afternoon Viv.�

�Afternoon? Magdalena dear it�s evening and you are going to be late for the service at the shelter if you keep dawdling.� The motherly voice chided and scolded as any parent would an arrant child. �I laid out your clothes for you in the bathroom, you have about half an hour.�

She slid to her feet, story and keyboard forgotten under the reaches of obligation and urging for what was to come. Sadness, even the greatest the world may offer could often be put aside in the simple passing of joy and giving. A steamy shower, and careful dressing passed her few lingering moments with haste finding her battered heart both eager and aching. The sounds of children�s laughter a balm as the days drew closer to that fateful number on the calendars bold face, just seventy-seven more days till triple d-day, and then the world would start all over yet again, year two.

Joined: 01 Dec 2007 Posts: 331

Very good! Bravo! -wolfwhistles at the blind chick!-