<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>GC on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/gc/</link><description>Recent content in GC on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 16 Jul 2002 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/authors/gc/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Commitment</title><link>/stories/2002/07/16/commitment/</link><pubDate>Tue, 16 Jul 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2002/07/16/commitment/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Story also appears in
Mummification section&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Clunk. Ears prick. Conscious struggles to return. It must be 6.00am.
Languidly I stretch. I wait. Engine sounds. I&amp;rsquo;m alone! At last! A thrill
shoots down my spine.  No, wait. What if the car returns? Fifteen
minutes more. Almost&amp;hellip; Engine. Door. Pause. Clunk. Engine. Gone. My heart
races. Two whole days to myself. I swing out of bed onto bare feet. I am
alert to every sound. In my heightened sensitivity I relish the different
textures underfoot as I pad softly around. Out comes my heavy bag. Now
the kitchen scissors, where else? Heart thudding I pace. I mustn&amp;rsquo;t leave
anything. Once begun there&amp;rsquo;s no stopping. I dither. Surely I&amp;rsquo;ve forgotten
something. I wrench myself out of my indecisiveness. That&amp;rsquo;s it. I cannot
dally anymore.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>