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witticasterMy first attempt to write Pushing Daisies fic did not go particularly well, but it might as well get posted anyway.
And yes, the realities of weather have been ignored somewhat in favour of attempting cuteness. Trying to write this while simultaneously watching Shortbus was not the world's brightest idea, nor was finishing it when I still have homework. >>
In the town of Coeur d'Coeurs, the weather tended towards the pleasant. Summers were very green, boasting wildflowers along the sides of country highways and lush front yards. Winters brought with them white Christmases and Hanukkahs, with just enough snow dusting the ground for the occasional snowman and just enough cold to make warm kitchens feel like rewards. And so when, one day in January--when young Ned was nine years, four weeks, three days, and eight hours old--the weather took a turn for the significantly less pleasant, it was something of a shock.
At the time the blizzard occurred, Ned was ensconced in his bedroom, staring at the homework he'd spread out on his floor. A sudden roar of wind brought his mind away from half-focusing on long division. He ran to his window and found that the view outside was a whirl of white, illuminated against the night. All the squinting in the world couldn't bring the world back into focus. He couldn't see the street below, let alone the Charles' house across it, where, he imagined, a girl named Chuck was also abandoning numbers in favour of staring out into the storm.
Struck with a small flash of brilliance, young Ned ran to his door, shut it, and turned off the overhead light. Now shrouded by the darkness that previously only pressed against the house, he carefully made his way back to the window, studiously avoiding trodding upon his arithmetic textbook. As his eyes adjusted to this new way of seeing the world outside his room, he noticed a pinprick of light through the swirling snowflakes, shining intermittently from where Chuck's bedroom would normally be visible.
Dot, dash, dash. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dash, dash.
Wow.
Smiling as he stood in the dark, Ned fumbled around for his own flashslight and began to flick his reply on and off into the night.
And yes, the realities of weather have been ignored somewhat in favour of attempting cuteness. Trying to write this while simultaneously watching Shortbus was not the world's brightest idea, nor was finishing it when I still have homework. >>
In the town of Coeur d'Coeurs, the weather tended towards the pleasant. Summers were very green, boasting wildflowers along the sides of country highways and lush front yards. Winters brought with them white Christmases and Hanukkahs, with just enough snow dusting the ground for the occasional snowman and just enough cold to make warm kitchens feel like rewards. And so when, one day in January--when young Ned was nine years, four weeks, three days, and eight hours old--the weather took a turn for the significantly less pleasant, it was something of a shock.
At the time the blizzard occurred, Ned was ensconced in his bedroom, staring at the homework he'd spread out on his floor. A sudden roar of wind brought his mind away from half-focusing on long division. He ran to his window and found that the view outside was a whirl of white, illuminated against the night. All the squinting in the world couldn't bring the world back into focus. He couldn't see the street below, let alone the Charles' house across it, where, he imagined, a girl named Chuck was also abandoning numbers in favour of staring out into the storm.
Struck with a small flash of brilliance, young Ned ran to his door, shut it, and turned off the overhead light. Now shrouded by the darkness that previously only pressed against the house, he carefully made his way back to the window, studiously avoiding trodding upon his arithmetic textbook. As his eyes adjusted to this new way of seeing the world outside his room, he noticed a pinprick of light through the swirling snowflakes, shining intermittently from where Chuck's bedroom would normally be visible.
Dot, dash, dash. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dash, dash.
Wow.
Smiling as he stood in the dark, Ned fumbled around for his own flashslight and began to flick his reply on and off into the night.
