![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
36.3. "Yesterday is not ours to recover, but tomorrow is ours to win or to lose."
- Lyndon B. Johnson
Contains SPOILERS for Glee episode 2x03
Even though his trousers were slate grey Armani, and grass stains really weren't a look he wished to dabble in this millennium, Kurt sat on the neatly trimmed lawn, his legs crossed under him as he had a fleeting gladness that his moisturiser was SPF 15+ now the sun was beating down on his nose and cheeks. He had lost track of how long he sat there, but it came to a point that the time really didn't matter. Not right then. The grass sprawled smoothly out in front of him, coming to meet the base of a beautiful white marble headstone, and below it lay a bunch of perfect pink and white roses with baby’s breath to compliment the arrangement. Kurt had chosen to sit a few feet from the monument. It wasn't like he wanted to sit on his mom. He was too old now for that, even if he still had memories of how nice it felt to sit on her lap when he was a little boy. He drew in a shaky breath, his blue eyes sweeping over the name etched into the marble... Beloved wife of Burt and mother of Kurt. Sorely missed and loved forever.
( The end of his silk tie was woven between his fingers as Kurt toyed anxiously with the tip of it... )
Word Count | 894
- Lyndon B. Johnson
Even though his trousers were slate grey Armani, and grass stains really weren't a look he wished to dabble in this millennium, Kurt sat on the neatly trimmed lawn, his legs crossed under him as he had a fleeting gladness that his moisturiser was SPF 15+ now the sun was beating down on his nose and cheeks. He had lost track of how long he sat there, but it came to a point that the time really didn't matter. Not right then. The grass sprawled smoothly out in front of him, coming to meet the base of a beautiful white marble headstone, and below it lay a bunch of perfect pink and white roses with baby’s breath to compliment the arrangement. Kurt had chosen to sit a few feet from the monument. It wasn't like he wanted to sit on his mom. He was too old now for that, even if he still had memories of how nice it felt to sit on her lap when he was a little boy. He drew in a shaky breath, his blue eyes sweeping over the name etched into the marble... Beloved wife of Burt and mother of Kurt. Sorely missed and loved forever.
( The end of his silk tie was woven between his fingers as Kurt toyed anxiously with the tip of it... )
Word Count | 894
OOC | Episode 2x03
Oct. 6th, 2010 03:32 pmWow, this episode was amazing. I could rave over it forever. It touched me deeper than I could have even anticipated.
I've decided, though, that I won't likely be posting Kurt this week to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sixwordstories (or similar comms) in any capacity. I want to deal with this episode and his feelings more in some prompts rather than random RP. I think it deserves that, and with Kurt not exceptionally talkative in the episode, I want to respect that beyond it.
Not to mention that the show's concept was pretty heavy, as was the subject that instigated the concept. I don't really want to get into the whole religious debate via RP.
So, as a hommage to Kurt and his Dad for this fantastic episode, writing prompts only this week.
Catch you all on the flipside, likely after 2x04 ;)
I've decided, though, that I won't likely be posting Kurt this week to
sixwordstories (or similar comms) in any capacity. I want to deal with this episode and his feelings more in some prompts rather than random RP. I think it deserves that, and with Kurt not exceptionally talkative in the episode, I want to respect that beyond it. Not to mention that the show's concept was pretty heavy, as was the subject that instigated the concept. I don't really want to get into the whole religious debate via RP.
So, as a hommage to Kurt and his Dad for this fantastic episode, writing prompts only this week.
Catch you all on the flipside, likely after 2x04 ;)
WRITING SAMPLE #1 | For mckinleyrewind
Oct. 5th, 2010 11:39 pmSomewhere around the age of nine, Kurt discovered that his Dad's workshop had really awesome acoustics. Way better than the bathroom at home, even. Only, the first time he tried to belt out Aretha to the radio whilst tapdancing on top of the dinner table, Burt Hummel nearly had a heart attack and quickly set Kurt on donut duty so he wouldn't have to think too much on the scene he had just witnessed. Now, he liked Motown in small doses, but couldn't the kid start out with a bit of Marvyn Gaye or Stevie Wonder? Still, who could argue with acoustics? At least, that's what Kurt's argument was, and Burt just agreed in bewilderment and went back to warped wheel rim he had been working on.
Now, nearly eight years later, Kurt was cranking up the radio as loud as he could without landing the police on the doorstep for disturbing the peace. I Will Survive, by the fabulous Ms Gloria Gaynor. No way could Kurt just stand at the bench and pretend washing tools was his priority when one of his all time favourite songs was starting to filter through the radio. His Dad was on a lunch break, picking up lunch, and being a Saturday, there were no other workers around. With a covert glance around, the volume was flicked up and Kurt was singing his heart out into a wrench, indulging in how awesome the high notes sounded as they bounced off the cement walls of the workshop. He was just reaching the bridge, imagining himself dressed in sequinned spandex up on a stage in front of a million people when...
"Kurt?"
Kurt stopped abruptly and immediately dropped the wrench on his foot with a squeak of surprise. "Dad-- ow!" Wide-eyed, he stooped to pick up the wrench, fighting the temptation to start hopping around inelegantly to rub his throbbing toe. "I was just... the grease was a little tough to get off," he explained hastily, holding the tool up in his latex-gloved hand.
Burt scratched at his chin with a nod of understanding. "It does that." He gestured with his hand for a moment. "Love the electrics, son," he added after a moment, talking over the loudness of the music, and then disappeared again into the workshop's kitchenette with the lunch bags.
A smile played on Kurt's lips as he hugged the wrench to his chest. "Acoustics, Dad," he replied in amusement and then went back to the sink... even if the volume on the radio remained up.
Word Count | 423
Now, nearly eight years later, Kurt was cranking up the radio as loud as he could without landing the police on the doorstep for disturbing the peace. I Will Survive, by the fabulous Ms Gloria Gaynor. No way could Kurt just stand at the bench and pretend washing tools was his priority when one of his all time favourite songs was starting to filter through the radio. His Dad was on a lunch break, picking up lunch, and being a Saturday, there were no other workers around. With a covert glance around, the volume was flicked up and Kurt was singing his heart out into a wrench, indulging in how awesome the high notes sounded as they bounced off the cement walls of the workshop. He was just reaching the bridge, imagining himself dressed in sequinned spandex up on a stage in front of a million people when...
"Kurt?"
Kurt stopped abruptly and immediately dropped the wrench on his foot with a squeak of surprise. "Dad-- ow!" Wide-eyed, he stooped to pick up the wrench, fighting the temptation to start hopping around inelegantly to rub his throbbing toe. "I was just... the grease was a little tough to get off," he explained hastily, holding the tool up in his latex-gloved hand.
Burt scratched at his chin with a nod of understanding. "It does that." He gestured with his hand for a moment. "Love the electrics, son," he added after a moment, talking over the loudness of the music, and then disappeared again into the workshop's kitchenette with the lunch bags.
A smile played on Kurt's lips as he hugged the wrench to his chest. "Acoustics, Dad," he replied in amusement and then went back to the sink... even if the volume on the radio remained up.
Word Count | 423
