Steel Etto
04-14-2003, 10:43 PM
It had taken a eight weeks to write. Four thousand words, the story, and then PC had packed up. So the only way he could get it ready to send of, was by writing it out, by hand. He didn’t know whether she’d appreciate being asked for her comments, and was nervous. But he knew she wrote fiction herself, and her opinion would be invaluable. So it was, into the plastic cover, nice strong envelope, carefully addressed – and into the post box. Handle with care, in big letters……
Mistress Sara was pleasantly surprised, when on a wet Wednesday morning, she checked the mail, and found a large package. She’d not had the best of weeks, her rug had gone missing, and the rain and wind was making it a pain, getting out. Apart from anything else, what with things as they were, she was treading dirt into the house on a regular basis. And then there was a whole bunch of girl friends coming over that evening, too – which would be more mess, and a good week before a tongue would be available to come clean it all up. Life was a bitch, sometimes.
The contents of the envelope turned out a bit disappointing, at first. Some guy, sending a story. A note, asking what she thought, explaining that he was sensitive to criticism, but that he trusted her… Like she cared. Like she didn’t have other stuff to be doing. It wasn’t till later in the day, on the way out to pick up some fresh made cakes, she saw it, where it had been chucked in the corner, and…
It looked a bit untidy, at first, once she’d scattered it all round by the door. It wasn’t the pages in themselves – because as it happened, the writing was pretty neat. It just looked like someone had emptied a trash bin… But, needs must. For one night, it would do. Save the floor, if nothing else.
It was still raining, when she got back. Sara approached the door, pissed off about it all, and having forgotten the provisions she’d made before she left. The heels of her black boots clicked on the step as she tapped her foot, impatient with the world in general, looking for the damn key. Finally.. and then she was in.
It looked a lot better, this time round, the paper all over the place. It had landed quite nicely, all things considered. Spread out enough to be able to move round, but close enough together to be able to tread on the pages without having to leave any wet marks on the floor itself. One piece of paper crumpled and ripped, when she wiped her boots on it – but there was one underneath, so it worked out fine. And it got most of the crap off, so, all in all, it was a pretty good idea. Saved taking the thing straight out to the trash, anyway.
It could stay there, for the day. The girls would understand, it might not look much, but it’d be something to clean their shoes on. Even without wiping, even just walking on the sheets, quite a lot of dirt and shit came off, and most of the wet got absorbed – of course, once it had been trampled by all of them, it’d end up mush, and probably have to be kicked aside, for the cleaner. But, it would do, for now.
Probably enough time, come to that, to pop upstairs and write something decent…..
Each day, he checked the post. He hoped she wouldn’t be too critical. He imagined, being a writer herself, she’d be gentle, with what she had to say. A month went by, and still nothing. The post, probably. Damn. He’d have to write it all out a second time, send it of again. It was too important, not to have her opinion…
(Mistress Sara – hope you’ll forgive me this one. I just couldn’t resist.)
Mistress Sara was pleasantly surprised, when on a wet Wednesday morning, she checked the mail, and found a large package. She’d not had the best of weeks, her rug had gone missing, and the rain and wind was making it a pain, getting out. Apart from anything else, what with things as they were, she was treading dirt into the house on a regular basis. And then there was a whole bunch of girl friends coming over that evening, too – which would be more mess, and a good week before a tongue would be available to come clean it all up. Life was a bitch, sometimes.
The contents of the envelope turned out a bit disappointing, at first. Some guy, sending a story. A note, asking what she thought, explaining that he was sensitive to criticism, but that he trusted her… Like she cared. Like she didn’t have other stuff to be doing. It wasn’t till later in the day, on the way out to pick up some fresh made cakes, she saw it, where it had been chucked in the corner, and…
It looked a bit untidy, at first, once she’d scattered it all round by the door. It wasn’t the pages in themselves – because as it happened, the writing was pretty neat. It just looked like someone had emptied a trash bin… But, needs must. For one night, it would do. Save the floor, if nothing else.
It was still raining, when she got back. Sara approached the door, pissed off about it all, and having forgotten the provisions she’d made before she left. The heels of her black boots clicked on the step as she tapped her foot, impatient with the world in general, looking for the damn key. Finally.. and then she was in.
It looked a lot better, this time round, the paper all over the place. It had landed quite nicely, all things considered. Spread out enough to be able to move round, but close enough together to be able to tread on the pages without having to leave any wet marks on the floor itself. One piece of paper crumpled and ripped, when she wiped her boots on it – but there was one underneath, so it worked out fine. And it got most of the crap off, so, all in all, it was a pretty good idea. Saved taking the thing straight out to the trash, anyway.
It could stay there, for the day. The girls would understand, it might not look much, but it’d be something to clean their shoes on. Even without wiping, even just walking on the sheets, quite a lot of dirt and shit came off, and most of the wet got absorbed – of course, once it had been trampled by all of them, it’d end up mush, and probably have to be kicked aside, for the cleaner. But, it would do, for now.
Probably enough time, come to that, to pop upstairs and write something decent…..
Each day, he checked the post. He hoped she wouldn’t be too critical. He imagined, being a writer herself, she’d be gentle, with what she had to say. A month went by, and still nothing. The post, probably. Damn. He’d have to write it all out a second time, send it of again. It was too important, not to have her opinion…
(Mistress Sara – hope you’ll forgive me this one. I just couldn’t resist.)