I have always been a writer. My mom is a writer, my grandmother is a writer... my sister, my brother, my son... all writers... love it.
This is a fanfic I wrote for Big O back in 2006... short. Very short. But if you know the anime, then you will probably catch on. Originally posted on FF.net.
Patience:
Carefully, she smoothed the wrinkles from the comforter. She moved in silence, her mind dutifully focused on the task before her. Everything needed to be perfect. Her eyes flickered across the room, taking in all of the elements of her work. Bedding, curtains, desk, bureau, lamp, chair, rug, flowers… all in place, all perfect, meticulously dusted or cleaned or placed just so…
He had been avoiding her for weeks. She supposed it was natural; after all, unpleasant truths were seldom accepted graciously. She knew that it would take a considerable amount of time to adjust to the cold truth she had expressed to him. Her pale lips curved upward slightly in a faint impression of a smile. She straightened suddenly, her eyes falling on the dresser top, where her few belongings were placed with care. She walked slowly to the dresser and stood before the large mirror.
Her gaze was critical as she watched herself. She took in everything, from the shape of her eyes, to the angle of her chin, to the fall of her hair… She broke gaze for a moment, reaching down to pick up her brush. She carefully pulled the brush through her hair, regarding the sight of her hair flowing in soft sheaves with detachment.
Just as carefully, she replaced the brush and frowned. Her hands reached out and settled on a pack of matches lying to the side. She struck a match, and used it to light the candles displayed on her bureau. Points of light in varying heights and brilliance sprung to life under her ministrations. She turned her eyes back to the mirror, and smoothed the chemise over her hips. Black – it had to be black, after all – silk, mere wisps of straps, cut low here and high there.
For a few more moments, she was lost in her reflection, thoughts and imaginings of seeing him in her doorway, crossing the room to her bed, closing the space between them with a kiss dominating her mind. A bitter sigh escaped her lips and she turned in anguish from her mirror. Her brow was knit and her jaw set as she went to her bed. Carefully, she pulled back the comforter and slipped into the sheets.
Falling into the softness of the bedding, she lowered her eyelids fractionally.
He would return. He would rage within himself, full of anguish and uncertainty, but eventually he would see reason, as he always did. Then he would come back. Back to her, though he had never been hers to begin with…
She would wait. She had time, she had all the time in the world to wait for him. On this night, she would stay alert until the last candle burned low, and she would wait for him.