County Fair and Consumption

Arg! I write one Tombstone ficlet, and bronchitis descends on my lungs like a vulture. Because, apparently, I can't properly do justice to the source material unless I'm coughing my lungs out. My mom is all concenred and, "If this doesn't go away in a few days you need to get a doctor's appointment," and I'm like, "It'll go away in a month or so. It always has before."

This weekend was St. Mary's County's county fair weekend, and my mom and I went yesterday afternoon to pick up her entries in the jam competition (she won five ribbons, including a first place for peach jam, which is a big deal in St. Mary's--it's almost as popular a flavour as strawberry) and to ride the Ferris wheel and the Scrambler and see the cows (and goats, and sheep, and antique tractors, and the sewing and quilting entries, which always make me feel deeply untalented, because I can't sew my own prom dress and have it come out looking like something from J.C. Pennys). And get funnel cake, because no fair day is complete without something deep fried and covered in powdered sugar.

Tombstone ficlet: Not My Fate

This thing has been sitting half-completed on my hard drive for months waiting for me to finish it and give it a title. Now, here it is for your reading pleasure (in all it's AU-ish, character-death-laden glory):

( Not My Fate )

Anyone who knows which line in the Iliad the title comes from gets massive geek brownie points.