This? Is a great meme...

[e_juliana]

Invent a memory of me and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something that's never happened. Then, of course, post this to your journal and see what people would like to remember of you, only the universe failed to cooperate in making it happen so they had to make it up instead.


Now I have to go make up stories for everyone else.....

Comments

Memories

[calligrafiti.livejournal.com]

I think my favorite memory is of when I came to visit you up in MN. Yeah, I grew up in MI, but you warned me about February and I really should have listened. Still, the company was well worth the weather. You were very kind, letting me drag you around the "Emma Bull" tour, looking for all the places where scenes from War for the Oaks would have taken place. Still, Hennipen Ave. at 2 am in mid-winter? Not for the faint of heart or thin of coat.

[helvirago]

You won't remember, but I saw your last performance at the Sydney Opera House. My seat was so close to the front that I went home spattered with paint and numb with emotion.

Juliana an Deborah

[redwright.livejournal.com]

I spent the last two nights sittin’ in front of the kitchen stove fire, scratching your names in a piece of dark gray slate. The light weren’t good. But I tried t’make the writin’ neat.

Juliana

Deborah

It weren’t hard work. The slate were soft … almost like the clay it come from. But, oh my, so smooth and silver with moisture. Made m’ cheek cool when I brung it up to rest it there. It felt real good.

Tomorrow I will git on up afore the sun just like I allus do. Check the stock, git them eggs outta the hen nests whilst I still can. Then I’m gonna walk a piece over to the Coffee Tree.

Remember? Remember sittin’ there with me afore you left? An’ me sayin’, "Don’t you fret - I will not forget you two gals ever. Cross my heart." An I ain’t neither. Forgot, that is.

I wished you could’ve stayed on. I miss the way ya’ll smiled an’ talked to me when I brung over yer supper. I still scratch the letters in the dust outside the doorsill ever day. Jist like I promised I would.

I remember.

Sittin’ under that messy ol’ tree. Pickin’ up the seeds offa the ground. And the two of ya’ll a sayin’ that them seeds was cooked and used for coffee in the olden days. But raw, them seeds was pure poison. An’ then a lookin’ at me so serious like. I jist smiled an pretended I dint hear right.

Well, I’m takin’ this here rock to the tree. An’ I’m puttin’ it face down below them branches. So only I’ll know that ya’ll were there once. With me. And mebbe that’ll bring you on back here someday. I hope its soon, but prob’ly not.

This time, ya’ll could stay right here with me.

I’m all alone now.

[theodosia.livejournal.com]

I'd nearly have been trampled by that enraged bull moose if you hadn't stood your ground armed only with a red flag and a determined expression. I guess Alaska toughens a girl up.

[jonquil.livejournal.com]

I remember the time you shot four shots into the knothole in a plank, each shot landing clean in the hole made by the last.

The bartender never tried to short your double tequila again.

[smonsterbite.livejournal.com]

I was cursing your name in several languages when you dragged me out of bed at ass crack o' clock to go for that run. But man, the sunrise over the lake was like nothing I'd ever seen, and the breakfast crepes I made were the best thanks I could offer.

Let's do it again.

Chapter One: Drinks

[briandmage.livejournal.com]

It was, what the natives called 'the cooling hour'.
On Kautos 4, the second sun rises almost as soon as the first one sets. Either would make Kautos an unbearable desert planet, but their combined forces ensured that only the thickest skinned inhabited the dusty wasteland.
The natives never knew any other way. The cooling hour was the time in which to get things done. Having only an hour a day, they might accomplish the simplest of tasks. Insofar as making cultural and scientific advances, they were, literally, left in the dust.
Of course, not having what some would call 'night', the natives never looked to the stars. Never dreamed of what lay beyond the scorching suns that beat down upon them, or rather, which beat them down.
The visitors...those from other planets, who knew of places far from Kautos where there was cool grass, endless ocean and the chill of darkest night...they knew only too clearly the hell that they lived in. But, for most, it was more desirable than the hell they were running from.
Juliana looked up from the bar. The cool blue of her eyes lit past the dark of her painted lids, nearly blinding the barman. He was relieved when she narrowed them to slits. 'Another drink'.
A hand grabbed the barman's arm before he'd reached the bottle. "That'll be all for the little lady..."
Juliana spun around, hissing. "who the fuck...?"
If it were possible in the Kautos heat for her blood to run cold, it surely would have. If it weren't that the barman had been watering her drinks, she'd blame the booze. But she was not crazy, not drunk, not dreaming.
"Who the fuck, you ask?" He said, twisting the barman's arm until it shattered. "I the fuck."