Child of the Sun and drabbles

[louiselux]

baranduin has made a fantastic collection of Mary Renault book covers - nearly a 100 of them. 

I particularly like the cheesy 70s Popular Library one that makes Fire From Heaven look like something by Lance Horner. Talking of whom, do any of you remember a book called Child of the Sun, by him and Kyle Onstott?  It was about Heliogabalus and his hunky, bronzed lover. It was probably terrible, but I have fond memories of reading it about the age of 10 and being amazed that it had men kissing and having sex.  In one memorable scene Antoninus, having fallen desperately in love, sits next to his unconcious, bed-ridden amour and cannot resist pulling back the sheet to check the size of his penis.  He's relieved that it's an healthy specimen.  After that touching scene, I cannot recall a thing except that it had a tragic ending.

I recently finished the snippet meme that began in, er,  April, so now roll on the next one!  I meant to do this ages ago, like everything else. I want your drabbles.

Leave me a drabble. It can be about anyone -- one of your characters, one of mine, someone else's, no-one's. Anyone. Then I'll write one for you.

Comments

[daegaer.livejournal.com]

“Help, O Lord.”

Offer me something good to win the battle.

“Whoever comes out my door first upon my return!”

Crowley considered. Jephthah was fated to win anyway; it wasn’t like he’d actually have to work. Very well.

When the conquering hero came home the doors flew open and a girl rushed out, dancing round Jephthah and singing her father’s praises. Jephthah sank to his knees, wailing.

“Alas, daughter! Why must you grieve me so? I have vowed unto the Lord and cannot retract it!”

“To the Lord, Father?” she asked, not yet understanding.

Sometimes Crowley really hated his job.

[louiselux.livejournal.com]

Oh, that's so sad. I felt for Crowley here. Well, I felt for them all. This seems to capture the cruelty inherent in much of the Bible and I like the irony of Crowley's actions being no worse than many other things that happen within its pages.


****

A letter fell to the doormat, the name and address smudged and splotched: the work of an impatient hand.

Crowley ripped it open, curious. Reading it, he laughed, a high-pitched breathless sound of disbelief.

'You were surprising easy to find. It took me only an hour. Take more care ...'

Holmes had warned him on that warm night in Paris: 'I shall keep one eye fixed firmly on you, always.'

But it didn't matter, did it? Holmes would soon be gone.

His stomach twisted, remembering what it felt like to be the focus of such brilliance, examined minutely.

Found wanting.