SUSAN TIPPETT BRAITHWAITE

Today’s word is dreich. Dreich is a great word, it means so many things. In weather in means dull, generally crappy weather. It also means dull, bleak, boring, uninteresting, lacking normal intelligence slow to repay debts, depressed. And, it means long-drawn-out, tedious, slow–kind of like this definition section ?. You get the picture.

Here’s my response to today’s prompt (a wee snippet taken from Running The Asset):

Adam spruntit, skitin roon the gushet. Grainger wis at heez caur, nae ower far aheid, there wis time yet. He cuid stoap him; git the witten fae him. Grainger caucht sicht o him an smirked as he stertit the ingine.

Het. Flams. The bane-jaggin gurl. The pluff rivet throu the air, swashin Adam uncannie tae the grun. He tried tae git up bit heez veesion wiz daein a dreich birl tae the relentless tinglin in heez lugs.

Adam didnae need tae see the bouchery tae ken thit heez ainly wice, thit heez laist feckin kyle tae pit fae nuclear wappins fae faain intae the wrang hauns wis noo a modren airt gallery’s weet drame.

And now in English.

Adam sprinted, sliding around the corner of the building. Grainger was at his car, not too far ahead; there was still time. He could stop him, get the intelligence from him. Grainger caught sight of him and grinned as he started the engine.

Heat. Flames. The bone-shaking roar. The blast ripped through the air, knocking Adam hard to the ground. He tried to lever himself off the ground, but his vision was doing a slow spin to the relentless ringing in his ears.

Adam didn’t need to see the carnage to know that his only lead, that his last fucking chance to prevent nuclear weapons from falling into the wrong hands was a modern art gallery’s wet dream.