SLPAT23 C1: SurvivorsChapter One: Survivors
It's tough being a survivor.
Oh, I know you've heard it all before. The only ones who can read this are the only ones who're left, after all. The crazies. The mutants. The freaks who didn't get the disease, and didn't rot to pieces, and don't lie in a mass grave 'cause too many people were dying to bury them separate.
We're the ones who watched our friends die and our families die and our cities die and the whole fucking planet die. We're the ones that stayed together, when everyone else fell to pieces.
We're the survivors. And it's tough.
A lot of people used to say, back when there were still people to say it, that "That which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." I'd just like to go ahead and say that that's complete bullshit. The disease didn't kill me, the disease didn't touch me. So I really don't feel much stronger then I did before. I've asked around, and it seems no one knows why some people survived and some didn't.
Not that there are a lot of peop
English Drabble 25September"Margarite!" Vivian screeched at me as she came backstage, her boa and dress flapping around her. "Come now, darling, you're hardly dressed! Make-up, hair --get into those stockings, you know they slim your legs down." Viv patted my tush and tsked at me. "You really do need to gain some weight to fill out your curves --how do you ever expect to make it as a girl?"
"Sorry Vivi." I ducked my head apologetically and shimmied into the pale green dress I was wearing for tonight's dance. As I grabbed my wig and began pinning it to my real hair, Vivian coated my face briskly in powder and make-up.
"Don't forget your earrings!" she hissed at me, pressing the gaudy pearls into my hand as I ran to stage left where I make my entrance. I clipped them on, then gave myself a quick shake, making sure my breasts were firmly attached and my garters were high enough on my legs. As the opening strains of "Anything Goes" began, I twirled out on stage and Posed, perfectly balanced on my four inch stilettos
Greas-sassins Part FourByck stared moodily down at the stage, adjusting lights to fully illuminate the scene below. He was rapidly trying to figure out how exactly he was expected to run two spotlights at once, not to mention the lights board AND all the music. Light in place, he flopped down and began watching, eavesdropping on the actors side conversations.
Zangara was hissing something loudly to anyone who would listen, the moment Byck heard the word "capitalist" he tuned out. Moore was studying John critically, when Czolgosz saw what she was doing, he shook his head in disgust.
"Again!" barked the Proprietor. As one, the cast returned to their places, groaning loudly, For all their complaining though, not one dared to leave the stage.
The Proprietor tilted his face up towards the catwalks, and Byck felt an unwelcome chill shoot down his spine. "Samuel. Are the lights ready now?" The impatience in his voice made Byck shudder, he steadied his grip on the cats and leaned through the bars.
Greas-sassins Part ThreeGreas-sassins part III
"This sucks." Moore took a long drag on her cigarette, and passed it to Czolgosz, who nodded empathetically. "I mean, even if I only had the one role to play, this would still suck."
"How many roles ARE you playing?" Czolgosz passed the cig back to Moore, his face blank.
"Five." She took another sullen drag and began counting on her fingers. "Patty, Jan, Rizzo, Marty, and Frenchie, all at different points. Every fucking female in the show except the bratty lead, the bitchy teacher, and the dancer."
Czolgosz took the cig back from her. "Why doesn't he just cast Oswald or Guiteau or Hinkley as girls? They're all femme enough."
"He seems to enjoy casting Guiteau as my love interest, more." She made a sour face, and Czolgosz chuckled, handing her back the cig. "Anyways, you boys have it way too easy. I wish he WOULD crosscast some of you."
"Noooo thank you." Czolgosz took the cigarette back for one more long drag, then ground it out on the edge of the stag