hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-07-02 04:21 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-07-02 04:21 pm
Round and round it goes.
I’m a bit miffed as I realized that the long desert island piece I wanted to write has in fact written itself out in lots of different pieces: Miracles, Metamorphosis, and this bit that I called ‘Lockdown.’
*
At first, Lex thought it would be enough just to get out of the plane alive. After all, he was alone and quite obviously abandoned in the middle of the ocean; not drowning was key.
Then he thought it would be enough just to last through the night without being eaten by Jaws. Lex refused to be traumatized by memories of larges cages and the Great Barrier Reef, but that was touch and go with lots of scrabbling for debris thrown in.
When daylight arrived, and the only noises Lex heard were his own raspy breathing and the sound of water lapping against the wing of the plane he was floating on, Lex pulled himself, and what remaining rags of clothing he had, together.
By some quirk of fate, or perhaps destiny, Lex still had the compass Jonathan Kent had given him as a wedding present. Plus, it still worked. Mr. Kent hadn’t mentioned it being waterproof, but Lex wasn’t about to start questioning his most recent game of Russian Roulette.
So, Lex found north, and imitating surfers the best way he knew how, he started paddling. After a few hours, the piece of wing grew too hot to lie upon, so Lex flipped it over and kept going. True, it probably slowed down his travel time considerably, but Lex had no idea how long it would take to reach land. He could be at sea for days, plus the Dead Man’s Float wasn’t conducive to sleeping.
So, Lex kept the bit of plane and focused very hard on not thinking about all those specials he’d see on National Geographic about how sharks mistook surfers for seals.
By the time Lex spied land the sun was high overhead, the skin on his scalp was tight, and the bit of plane underneath him was ensuring he got an even tan. Without a second thought, Lex pushed off the wing and swam for it.
The island was a lot further away than it looked.
When Lex finally felt sand under his feet, it was all he could do to stagger far enough onto the beach not to drown when the tide came in.
Maybe he’d let himself die tomorrow instead.
*
It could’ve been really good if I’d put it together, but I tend to say that about a lot of stuff, and look what’s happened to that. It’d be nice to write something long, but I just don’t have that kind of dedication. If it’s not done by the time *I’m* done then it gets tossed. I don’t have WIPs, but I have a whole lot of trash.
In a other fandom news,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wootsauce made me art which some how translated to this...
Harry Potter
I: Git
Feckless
Harry sits on a pier at the edge of the world, throwing rocks over the side. The pebbles make no sound, disappearing into silence, and the water below falls away to nothingness.
Apparently, Blackpool pier marks the end of the world. Except that Harry’s never been to Blackpool and the idea that the world just stops existing at the end of said pier is quite disconcerting. So, instead, Harry concentrates on the pile of pebbles in his lap and a gray sky that stretches into infinity, blocking out the sun.
He can’t remember the last time he saw the sun.
Harry should be preparing for war, but he’s not, and the pebble in his hand is smooth and pale. It sits in the palm of his hand, and if he concentrates hard enough...
The creak of wood disrupts Harry’s thoughts and the scent of lavender and black tea wafts across his senses. He tosses the pebble over the edge and wonders why the Muggles haven’t put up a Hazard sign of some sort. Surely they don’t want their children falling off the end of the world. Perhaps they know that there are worse things, and Malfoy's bones crackle in complaint as he sits down next to Harry.
He never did mend properly after that mid-air collision in sixth year.
Malfoy’s hair reflects sunlight that isn’t there, and out the corner of his eye, Harry takes note of the new haircut. It’s choppy and uneven as though Malfoy let a Blast-Ended Skrewt burn it off.
Harry picks up another pebble, a gray jagged one this time, and he makes a show of studying it intently. “Miss me, feckless?” he says, looking past the rock and into the void.
He blinks when Malfoy reaches over and bats the pebble out his hand. It falls away, and Harry wonders if Malfoy ever considered being a Beater. “Like a case of the Scabies, Potter.”
They've had this conversation before.
“That much, really?” Harry rests his hands in his lap, on top of his pile of pebbles. He barely bats an eyelash when Malfoy reaches over and pilfers several of the stones. Instead, he turns and watches as Malfoy appraises each stone as though considering a fine gemstone or a lethal potion.
“More,” Malfoy says before swallowing a stone. “Much more.”
Malfoy offers Harry a stone. “I’m touched,” Harry says, taking the blue-gray pebble and swallowing it. It slides down his throat like a rose petal and rests easily in his stomach.
He turns back to Malfoy expectantly, studying his features intently. The pinched nose and thin lips are the same, as are the gray eyes and white hair, which now hangs in Malfoy’s face like a curtain.
Malfoy laughs as Harry reaches out and pushes an errant lock of hair behind Malfoy’s ear. “I’ve been saying that for ages, Potter.”
“Yes, well you’ve got a massive gob, and you're a git. I’m not surprised.” Harry rolls his eyes and looks down at his lap. The rocks are gone, and there’s a faint plopping sound coming from somewhere, apparently the end of the world is a bit noisier than he thought.
Harry doesn’t remember throwing the rocks away. He does remember something else though.
“I’m not sorry yet,” he says, grabbing hold of straw-like hair and pulling on Malfoy until he’s close enough to snog. Their lips meet harshly, and it’s not much of a kiss. Too violent, too dry, and Harry can taste the dirt from the pebbles they’ve swallowed.
When Harry pulls away Malfoy’s mouth is wet, and his top lip is split, showing a small crack of blood. “Don’t worry,” Malfoy says, leaning forward and nipping at Harry’s bottom lip. “You will be.”
Harry breathes against Malfoy’s mouth, and his words are muffled by Malfoy’s tongue. “I’m not worried,” he says.
“You should be. You should be fucking petrified,” Malfoy says, leaning away from Harry and falling off the end of the world.
Harry doesn’t hesitate in following, and it’s only when he cracks his head against a wall that he wakes up. The room is silent except for Ron’s snoring and Neville’s snuffling, both of which Harry knows are being feigned. No one has slept for weeks and at day break they go to war.
Tomorrow is the end of the world, and Harry wonders what Malfoy is doing.
*
At first, Lex thought it would be enough just to get out of the plane alive. After all, he was alone and quite obviously abandoned in the middle of the ocean; not drowning was key.
Then he thought it would be enough just to last through the night without being eaten by Jaws. Lex refused to be traumatized by memories of larges cages and the Great Barrier Reef, but that was touch and go with lots of scrabbling for debris thrown in.
When daylight arrived, and the only noises Lex heard were his own raspy breathing and the sound of water lapping against the wing of the plane he was floating on, Lex pulled himself, and what remaining rags of clothing he had, together.
By some quirk of fate, or perhaps destiny, Lex still had the compass Jonathan Kent had given him as a wedding present. Plus, it still worked. Mr. Kent hadn’t mentioned it being waterproof, but Lex wasn’t about to start questioning his most recent game of Russian Roulette.
So, Lex found north, and imitating surfers the best way he knew how, he started paddling. After a few hours, the piece of wing grew too hot to lie upon, so Lex flipped it over and kept going. True, it probably slowed down his travel time considerably, but Lex had no idea how long it would take to reach land. He could be at sea for days, plus the Dead Man’s Float wasn’t conducive to sleeping.
So, Lex kept the bit of plane and focused very hard on not thinking about all those specials he’d see on National Geographic about how sharks mistook surfers for seals.
By the time Lex spied land the sun was high overhead, the skin on his scalp was tight, and the bit of plane underneath him was ensuring he got an even tan. Without a second thought, Lex pushed off the wing and swam for it.
The island was a lot further away than it looked.
When Lex finally felt sand under his feet, it was all he could do to stagger far enough onto the beach not to drown when the tide came in.
Maybe he’d let himself die tomorrow instead.
*
It could’ve been really good if I’d put it together, but I tend to say that about a lot of stuff, and look what’s happened to that. It’d be nice to write something long, but I just don’t have that kind of dedication. If it’s not done by the time *I’m* done then it gets tossed. I don’t have WIPs, but I have a whole lot of trash.
In a other fandom news,
wootsauce made me art which some how translated to this...
Harry Potter
I: Git
Feckless
Harry sits on a pier at the edge of the world, throwing rocks over the side. The pebbles make no sound, disappearing into silence, and the water below falls away to nothingness.
Apparently, Blackpool pier marks the end of the world. Except that Harry’s never been to Blackpool and the idea that the world just stops existing at the end of said pier is quite disconcerting. So, instead, Harry concentrates on the pile of pebbles in his lap and a gray sky that stretches into infinity, blocking out the sun.
He can’t remember the last time he saw the sun.
Harry should be preparing for war, but he’s not, and the pebble in his hand is smooth and pale. It sits in the palm of his hand, and if he concentrates hard enough...
The creak of wood disrupts Harry’s thoughts and the scent of lavender and black tea wafts across his senses. He tosses the pebble over the edge and wonders why the Muggles haven’t put up a Hazard sign of some sort. Surely they don’t want their children falling off the end of the world. Perhaps they know that there are worse things, and Malfoy's bones crackle in complaint as he sits down next to Harry.
He never did mend properly after that mid-air collision in sixth year.
Malfoy’s hair reflects sunlight that isn’t there, and out the corner of his eye, Harry takes note of the new haircut. It’s choppy and uneven as though Malfoy let a Blast-Ended Skrewt burn it off.
Harry picks up another pebble, a gray jagged one this time, and he makes a show of studying it intently. “Miss me, feckless?” he says, looking past the rock and into the void.
He blinks when Malfoy reaches over and bats the pebble out his hand. It falls away, and Harry wonders if Malfoy ever considered being a Beater. “Like a case of the Scabies, Potter.”
They've had this conversation before.
“That much, really?” Harry rests his hands in his lap, on top of his pile of pebbles. He barely bats an eyelash when Malfoy reaches over and pilfers several of the stones. Instead, he turns and watches as Malfoy appraises each stone as though considering a fine gemstone or a lethal potion.
“More,” Malfoy says before swallowing a stone. “Much more.”
Malfoy offers Harry a stone. “I’m touched,” Harry says, taking the blue-gray pebble and swallowing it. It slides down his throat like a rose petal and rests easily in his stomach.
He turns back to Malfoy expectantly, studying his features intently. The pinched nose and thin lips are the same, as are the gray eyes and white hair, which now hangs in Malfoy’s face like a curtain.
Malfoy laughs as Harry reaches out and pushes an errant lock of hair behind Malfoy’s ear. “I’ve been saying that for ages, Potter.”
“Yes, well you’ve got a massive gob, and you're a git. I’m not surprised.” Harry rolls his eyes and looks down at his lap. The rocks are gone, and there’s a faint plopping sound coming from somewhere, apparently the end of the world is a bit noisier than he thought.
Harry doesn’t remember throwing the rocks away. He does remember something else though.
“I’m not sorry yet,” he says, grabbing hold of straw-like hair and pulling on Malfoy until he’s close enough to snog. Their lips meet harshly, and it’s not much of a kiss. Too violent, too dry, and Harry can taste the dirt from the pebbles they’ve swallowed.
When Harry pulls away Malfoy’s mouth is wet, and his top lip is split, showing a small crack of blood. “Don’t worry,” Malfoy says, leaning forward and nipping at Harry’s bottom lip. “You will be.”
Harry breathes against Malfoy’s mouth, and his words are muffled by Malfoy’s tongue. “I’m not worried,” he says.
“You should be. You should be fucking petrified,” Malfoy says, leaning away from Harry and falling off the end of the world.
Harry doesn’t hesitate in following, and it’s only when he cracks his head against a wall that he wakes up. The room is silent except for Ron’s snoring and Neville’s snuffling, both of which Harry knows are being feigned. No one has slept for weeks and at day break they go to war.
Tomorrow is the end of the world, and Harry wonders what Malfoy is doing.
no subject
Mesmerizing and the last few lines are unnervingly haunting.
Thank you so much for your kind comments, I'm glad you enjoyed the story.