pensnest | (no subject) (Reply)

When we went for our dancing lesson, the high street was closed off—police at both ends. As we scurried along (having parked rather a way away), we found there were people standing outside the shops, quite still, all looking the same way, and a large crowd near the church. Then a fighter jet scorched past overhead. It was the funeral of a young RAF lad who'd been killed in Afghanistan.

I've posted a new popslash challenge for March at

popsoundboard—write some ficlets from the prompts here. I've had *so* much inspiration from Fic_Requests, it seems a shame to let a bunch of perfectly good story prompts go to waste, so I'll make banners for a bunch of people who have a go at something.