FIC: Light, G
Saturday, September 17th, 2005 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seraiAn oldie for y'all!
This is a fic I wrote a few years ago. It's not related to LOTR, but it's one of my favorites of the things I've written. I hope you enjoy it.
Light
The bus was late.
Tightening her grip on her cane, she leaned over, craning her head to look up the street again. No, no sign of it yet. A breeze slipped a sharp finger into the collar of her coat, and she pulled it up closer to her neck, delicately, wishing for the millionth time that she could do it fast and hard, the way she used to. She coughed, and instantly regretted it. The pain flared up, a hot splinter behind her clavicle, which she rubbed absentmindedly. Oh well, at least the air isn’t too bad today, she thought wryly.
The rent. Sitting there, waiting, her thoughts insisted on going back and gnawing at her problem. Next month, the landlord had announced. Next month the rent was going up, and how would she manage it? She couldn’t squeeze one more cent out of her check, she was sure of it. Already it had been three years since she’d been to a movie, a year since she’d had a hamburger out, six months since the last video. Her books and her cat were all she had left now. How would she do it?
Closing her eyes, she tried to center herself, but it was hard going. Her mind, ever tricky, kept circling the problem, and she could feel its voice rising, the fear creeping in. Breathe, she told herself sternly, just breathe. But it was running away from her now, her breath, and she struggled to pull it back, pull it back down to calmness. The pain, which had faded, came back again, hot, growing, and she curled herself around it, resigned to its presence. The unwanted guest. A tear fought its way out of her squeezed eyelids and stepped hesitantly onto her cheek. Then, quite suddenly, just as she was about to cry out, the pain snapped off, her breath backed down in a rush, and in the ensuing quiet, she opened her eyes and looked around.
The sun was heading towards the horizon, and the light slanted between the buildings, creating flashing highlights on windows, bus benches, bits of glass in the street. There were several people standing at the stoplight by her bench, about ten feet away, and her eye was caught by the man who stood with his back to her at the edge of the loose-knit group.
He was tall, but then all men were tall to her, and always had been. Slender, too, a real drink of water, his shining dark hair a sharp contrast against his white suit. A white suit! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a man dressed completely in white, down to his boots, no less. He stood with his hands in his pockets, very still, and when the light changed and the others began to cross the street, he stayed where he was. After a long moment, he turned towards her as if he had forgotten something, and was about to retrace his steps.
For a moment, her mind went completely blank, shocked into silence by the pure beauty of his face. Framed by the shadow of his hair, his skin glowed a dark gold with the sun’s light reflecting off his clothes. His features seemed mythical, ancient, like something out of El Greco or Caravaggio, not modern at all. Eyes down, a tiny smile playing around his soft lips, he seemed to float on the surface of her vision, still as a Pieta, so distinct from the ordinary world around him. Then thought flooded back into her mind, and she recognized him with a start.
Oh, my god, she thought, it’s him! How long had it been since she’d thought of this man? Ten years, twenty? Like a long-forgotten perfume, the sight of him sent her reeling back through time, back to when her heart had been so wrapped in his face, his form, his voice, his art… She felt again, though muted, the longing, sweet and painful, thick and sharp, that had prisoned her desire then. So crazy she had been, like a teenager. The last flush of her heart’s youth.
But how did he come to be here, now? She frowned to herself. And so young, too. Look at him! It can’t be him. How could it? And as she was chewing on that, he lifted his gaze, looking straight at her.
The sunset flamed in his eyes, turning them to jewels, to copper, to earthfallen stars. Recognition filled them, recognition at the sight of her, and when he smiled, bright and sweet with a sexiness that awakened everything she had thought long dead, she realized suddenly who this was, who this had to be. As he stepped towards her, she felt a wave, a warm wave of relief and gratitude. At least this one prayer had been answered.
“Mari?” he asked. After a moment, she nodded, fear tickling the edges of her senses. He pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out to her. She looked at it, at its elegant fingers and smooth young skin, and she opened her mouth to speak, but found no words at the ready. He waited, smiling. Then he said, “It’s time to go.”
His voice was deep and whispery, like a quilt of breath, full of the day and the dawn, of night and light and the half-light. He carried volumes in that voice: everyday life, and untold riches, and strange secrets, and mundane things, and poetry. That voice that had echoed in her soul, and that she now heard only in dreams. It loosened her locked limbs, and she reached up and took the hand. Firm but gentle, it closed around her swollen fingers, and pulled to help her to her feet. Looking up into his face, all the questions she had seemed to gather together, into one unspoken word. He shook his head.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, and pulled her close. Stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers, he bent his lips to hers, and the touch of them was colors, spiralling slow tendrils of fog and ivy and seawater and vein. He closed his eyes (oh yes, she remembered that) and she hers, feeling the sun’s light begin to grow around her, pooling the shadows and overwhelming the grey reality of her life. His arms, deep and warm, closed with the strength of an entire world around her, all the length of him pressed sweet and eager against her, and her body grew light and tenuous along with his, shifting and fading like mist. And just as it all slipped away, he pulled back to look in her eyes, all and everything in his gaze, and murmured the words that she had so longed, so long ago, to hear...
And here's the pic that inspired it: Angel
This is a fic I wrote a few years ago. It's not related to LOTR, but it's one of my favorites of the things I've written. I hope you enjoy it.
Light
The bus was late.
Tightening her grip on her cane, she leaned over, craning her head to look up the street again. No, no sign of it yet. A breeze slipped a sharp finger into the collar of her coat, and she pulled it up closer to her neck, delicately, wishing for the millionth time that she could do it fast and hard, the way she used to. She coughed, and instantly regretted it. The pain flared up, a hot splinter behind her clavicle, which she rubbed absentmindedly. Oh well, at least the air isn’t too bad today, she thought wryly.
The rent. Sitting there, waiting, her thoughts insisted on going back and gnawing at her problem. Next month, the landlord had announced. Next month the rent was going up, and how would she manage it? She couldn’t squeeze one more cent out of her check, she was sure of it. Already it had been three years since she’d been to a movie, a year since she’d had a hamburger out, six months since the last video. Her books and her cat were all she had left now. How would she do it?
Closing her eyes, she tried to center herself, but it was hard going. Her mind, ever tricky, kept circling the problem, and she could feel its voice rising, the fear creeping in. Breathe, she told herself sternly, just breathe. But it was running away from her now, her breath, and she struggled to pull it back, pull it back down to calmness. The pain, which had faded, came back again, hot, growing, and she curled herself around it, resigned to its presence. The unwanted guest. A tear fought its way out of her squeezed eyelids and stepped hesitantly onto her cheek. Then, quite suddenly, just as she was about to cry out, the pain snapped off, her breath backed down in a rush, and in the ensuing quiet, she opened her eyes and looked around.
The sun was heading towards the horizon, and the light slanted between the buildings, creating flashing highlights on windows, bus benches, bits of glass in the street. There were several people standing at the stoplight by her bench, about ten feet away, and her eye was caught by the man who stood with his back to her at the edge of the loose-knit group.
He was tall, but then all men were tall to her, and always had been. Slender, too, a real drink of water, his shining dark hair a sharp contrast against his white suit. A white suit! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a man dressed completely in white, down to his boots, no less. He stood with his hands in his pockets, very still, and when the light changed and the others began to cross the street, he stayed where he was. After a long moment, he turned towards her as if he had forgotten something, and was about to retrace his steps.
For a moment, her mind went completely blank, shocked into silence by the pure beauty of his face. Framed by the shadow of his hair, his skin glowed a dark gold with the sun’s light reflecting off his clothes. His features seemed mythical, ancient, like something out of El Greco or Caravaggio, not modern at all. Eyes down, a tiny smile playing around his soft lips, he seemed to float on the surface of her vision, still as a Pieta, so distinct from the ordinary world around him. Then thought flooded back into her mind, and she recognized him with a start.
Oh, my god, she thought, it’s him! How long had it been since she’d thought of this man? Ten years, twenty? Like a long-forgotten perfume, the sight of him sent her reeling back through time, back to when her heart had been so wrapped in his face, his form, his voice, his art… She felt again, though muted, the longing, sweet and painful, thick and sharp, that had prisoned her desire then. So crazy she had been, like a teenager. The last flush of her heart’s youth.
But how did he come to be here, now? She frowned to herself. And so young, too. Look at him! It can’t be him. How could it? And as she was chewing on that, he lifted his gaze, looking straight at her.
The sunset flamed in his eyes, turning them to jewels, to copper, to earthfallen stars. Recognition filled them, recognition at the sight of her, and when he smiled, bright and sweet with a sexiness that awakened everything she had thought long dead, she realized suddenly who this was, who this had to be. As he stepped towards her, she felt a wave, a warm wave of relief and gratitude. At least this one prayer had been answered.
“Mari?” he asked. After a moment, she nodded, fear tickling the edges of her senses. He pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out to her. She looked at it, at its elegant fingers and smooth young skin, and she opened her mouth to speak, but found no words at the ready. He waited, smiling. Then he said, “It’s time to go.”
His voice was deep and whispery, like a quilt of breath, full of the day and the dawn, of night and light and the half-light. He carried volumes in that voice: everyday life, and untold riches, and strange secrets, and mundane things, and poetry. That voice that had echoed in her soul, and that she now heard only in dreams. It loosened her locked limbs, and she reached up and took the hand. Firm but gentle, it closed around her swollen fingers, and pulled to help her to her feet. Looking up into his face, all the questions she had seemed to gather together, into one unspoken word. He shook his head.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, and pulled her close. Stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers, he bent his lips to hers, and the touch of them was colors, spiralling slow tendrils of fog and ivy and seawater and vein. He closed his eyes (oh yes, she remembered that) and she hers, feeling the sun’s light begin to grow around her, pooling the shadows and overwhelming the grey reality of her life. His arms, deep and warm, closed with the strength of an entire world around her, all the length of him pressed sweet and eager against her, and her body grew light and tenuous along with his, shifting and fading like mist. And just as it all slipped away, he pulled back to look in her eyes, all and everything in his gaze, and murmured the words that she had so longed, so long ago, to hear...
And here's the pic that inspired it: Angel
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: Sunday, September 18th, 2005 04:10 am (UTC)your descriptions are so sensual and poetic, makes me swoon!
no subject
Date: Sunday, September 18th, 2005 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Sunday, September 18th, 2005 03:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, September 20th, 2005 02:42 pm (UTC)