smokingboot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smokingboot) wrote2005-09-19 09:32 am
smokingboot) wrote2005-09-19 09:32 am
it's been nice...
...for a time quintessentially awful. The assorted company of paulbenwell, Lorna sans lj, cyanidemigraine, velvet_the_cat and Dan sans lj, evilwillow and bad_moon_rising and of course, the ever game larians saved the last few days from the power of the drab devil, so thanks to all:-) and special thanks to squintywitch for those fabulous Bakhana sashes. They look great!
However, I do need to escape into my head a bit, so I am going back to the imaginary house by the sea. From here on in, there's nothing much to follow.
That morning, the sun had burned the mist from the water, and something bright shattered the sky as it fell, a comet into the sea; and it rose to the surface and floated a while. So I took the boat out, to have a look.
He was white and long and his hair moved with the waves. It was long and thick, so much of it that I could wrap it around my knuckles like skeins of wool, and still it massed on the water, ropes of seaweed, bronze and gold. I pulled him towards me by his hair, and brought him to the side of the boat. Getting him on board seemed impossible, not just because of his great size, but because his wings were huge and waterlogged; I could not fold them in at all. In the end I tried to dive quickly beneath him and push up, only to nearly capsize the boat. I gave up the attempt and paddled to shore, towing him along by his hair behind me.
It must have been noon by the time we reached the caves beneath the cliff. I propped him among the green rocks and stalagtites and broke open some sea-urchins for him in case he might wake hungry. And of course I brought fresh water for him, and poured it into a curved hollow of stone by his side, but then I went away. I did not feel it wise to bring him into the house.
It has made no difference of course. Sometimes he can be heard at the top of the house, rattling around the roof, and once, turning back on the stairs I saw him looking straight down at me. I caught his gaze and felt it begin, then walked on down while I still could.
Since then, I have seen him at the bus stop that leads inland to the greater roads; he coils and stretches himself over the shelter, fluorescent light etching his shape. Perhaps he's lonely.
He talks to the people who find themselves there at midnight; drunks and bored teenagers and the lost. There are less of them than there were, but that's not my business. I just wonder why they don't see it, why they stay and don't run from his voice, those changing eyes, that sharp and widening smile.
paulbenwell, Lorna sans lj, cyanidemigraine, velvet_the_cat and Dan sans lj, evilwillow and bad_moon_rising and of course, the ever game larians saved the last few days from the power of the drab devil, so thanks to all:-) and special thanks to squintywitch for those fabulous Bakhana sashes. They look great!However, I do need to escape into my head a bit, so I am going back to the imaginary house by the sea. From here on in, there's nothing much to follow.
That morning, the sun had burned the mist from the water, and something bright shattered the sky as it fell, a comet into the sea; and it rose to the surface and floated a while. So I took the boat out, to have a look.
He was white and long and his hair moved with the waves. It was long and thick, so much of it that I could wrap it around my knuckles like skeins of wool, and still it massed on the water, ropes of seaweed, bronze and gold. I pulled him towards me by his hair, and brought him to the side of the boat. Getting him on board seemed impossible, not just because of his great size, but because his wings were huge and waterlogged; I could not fold them in at all. In the end I tried to dive quickly beneath him and push up, only to nearly capsize the boat. I gave up the attempt and paddled to shore, towing him along by his hair behind me.
It must have been noon by the time we reached the caves beneath the cliff. I propped him among the green rocks and stalagtites and broke open some sea-urchins for him in case he might wake hungry. And of course I brought fresh water for him, and poured it into a curved hollow of stone by his side, but then I went away. I did not feel it wise to bring him into the house.
It has made no difference of course. Sometimes he can be heard at the top of the house, rattling around the roof, and once, turning back on the stairs I saw him looking straight down at me. I caught his gaze and felt it begin, then walked on down while I still could.
Since then, I have seen him at the bus stop that leads inland to the greater roads; he coils and stretches himself over the shelter, fluorescent light etching his shape. Perhaps he's lonely.
He talks to the people who find themselves there at midnight; drunks and bored teenagers and the lost. There are less of them than there were, but that's not my business. I just wonder why they don't see it, why they stay and don't run from his voice, those changing eyes, that sharp and widening smile.