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a start on what our roleplay would be like as an actual novel.


Put Away Your Dreams

Elizabeth Slade and Roxanne Shark

Prologue
Amy’s Diary-February 10, 1990

"I fucking hate women like you who always seem to go for the wrong man!"
Fifteen words. So little and yet enough to haunt me for my entire life. Knowing he was right, knowing I should have fallen down on my knees and begged his forgiveness, or maybe tried to call him days later after we'd both calmed down. Something, anything, anything more than nothing.
I know I’ve said this so many times in almost two decades that even these pages must be sighing and telling me the horse is long dead. Yet I can’t let it go, let go of the idea that maybe I could have changed things. That if I’d said one word, made one step in a different direction, I’d be in his arms right now.
The water’s boiling, so I’d better go.
A.


1
A Silver Lining?

Amy Cale woke up at five to the sound of her phone ringing. Strange, the only people who called her were drunks or bill collectors, and they rarely called before seven, and anyway, she hadn’t performed last night so she doubted the boozers would be thinking of her. Groaning, she turned over and let the answering machine get it. It wasn't that she was tired, she slept like a log last night. But mornings and nights were the hardest. The idea of spending another day without James to help her through it, then going to bed and thinking that somewhere out there a beautiful boy or girl had him in their arms to chase away nightmares.
Just as she was falling asleep again, a loud meowing sounded from the kitchen. Sighing, Amy got up and shuffled out, stroking her Siamese cat on the head as she passed,
"Yes, yes your Majesty, I heard you", she grumbled, turning on the can opener and dumping the disgusting smelling meat onto a small plate. After Janis licked her fingers clean, Amy went into the living room and pressed a button on the answering machine to see who the hell had wanted to talk to her so early in the morning.
Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard James' voice. Of course it was markedly older, a little dry and tired, but she would still know it anywhere.
"Hey Am'. Umm, I've known you were in New York for awhile now, I've actually been living here for ten years, but I was too much of a coward to...well anyway, the doctors have pretty much decided there's nothing more they can do for me, and I was wondering if we could...if we could get together, maybe tie up some loose ends so there's not all this anger when it's over. My number's 2021-5678, call me so we can set up a time to meet."
That was it. Not even a goodbye. That didn't really matter, though. Amy wanted to tell herself it mattered, that she wouldn't call back because he'd been so rude just so she wouldn't have to see him and face the fact that her James...her beautiful, smart, funny, caring James, was dying. But it didn't matter, he hadn't been rude, so she would have to call back. Tonight, so she could have a few drinks to give herself some courage and maybe some nice poetic words. In the meantime, she had to get ready for work.

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A most peculiar mademoiselle

January 2011

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