Wondering Love
Oct. 19th, 2009 12:49 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tigerstriped86.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Wondering Love
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom: Original
Rating: R
Disc.: The thought processes of the end part of a short novel I wrote years ago. The characters names are friends of mine, you should presumed changed to protect the innocent. Original story idea, not lifted from anyone that I am aware of.
Author's Note: Have a kleenex handy for this one, even though its shorter than my usual stuff. Ask for an expansion if you'd like one.
Summary: The one thing you fear is dying alone, and without him is alone. Its a good thing that you had nothing to fear.
You don't feel so alone and really, that is all you ever wanted. Blood is seeping everywhere, though luckily not across your brow. Amusingly enough, you're losing too much strength to brush away his own stream as though it was a lost strand of hair. This was the way you always wanted it.
“Can we say goodbye now?” It's not cold, thank God. You like the cold, but all you really want is warmth. The only thing keeping you from shivering besides the heat is having him so near. For just a moment, you were very afraid that you weren't going to get a goodbye.
“No,” he whispers softly, “I'm right behind you. There's no reason to say goodbye.”
You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes because of the tears brimming in his from the pain. “Thing is, I'm not sure we can go to the same place.”
“Hey, stop that, alright? You've been a wild sheep, but you're good.”
You stutter, the blood beginning to make you feel light-headed. You force yourself to concentrate on the warmth and wonder of his eyes, his touch. “Please tell God that I'll never fight him, never hurt him, will try, have tried....”
“You're just delirious from the blood is all....”
Memories. You can't stop the memories that pass by like shadows. Most of them are horrid choices you've made, some good memories dotted in. Watching the dog in the crisp Indiana snow drag his house around while you tobaggon off of the useless slide in the backyard.
The Halloween dance where Mom helps you dress as a kissing booth and misunderstands the costume when you have to run out and buy actual Hershey kisses.
The first time you saw John Barrowman. You remember that it was three in the afternoon on Hbo but you're still wearing your pajamas. Your feet kick the abandoned couch. You're watching John sing “Marry Me a Little” upside down and you're wondering why he's so handsome.
The feeling of dread you get when you watch Matt towel off after gym class. His skin is soft, nearly hairless with a Greek tan. He plays basketball after school and you dream about a day when you'll look like him.
Shopping at the Goodwill for pink basketball shorts because you're so proud of joining the Free Love Christian basketball team that plays like the Harlem Globetrotters but without talent. Because it means Gary accepts you again.
The thanksgivings: tri tip and salmon one year, pineapple upside down cake instead of pumpkin pie, Dodger wolfing down a pie and a half.
Troy, Troy fills up your memory. The way you were never jealous of Jackie because he loved her. The way he called together Gary and Colin with him to give you that intervention. How you cried as you walked home, feeling miserable because you weren't good enough to spend Thanksgiving with him even though Ben wanted you at his house.
Taking pictures of him that one weekend when you were kind of let in the circle. Afternoon at the beach. At the river as he rubs his dog's tummy. Arms spread out, looking as though he's going to fly away with the wind as you watch from below the rock he scrambled up.
The week before, where you were when the world ended. When the President declared an end to the Christian religion in America. It was so shocking because then peace was declared. Running from work to find him in his room, darkened except for slats of light and praying.
Last night begins to fade from your mind even before you see the picture. You wonder if he's thinking about it. His shoulders turned down as he leaves Jackie to help with the last refugee caravan out of the city. The way he doesn't refuse your sleeping bag next to his. Waking up at three thirty to find yourself watching him watching you sleep while you watch him pretending to be asleep. Wondering if he wonders why you love him. The way he seems to exude moonlight off his young almost silver hair even in a darkened room.
He never let you burrow into his side.
He always corrected you whenever you called someone hun.
He looked at you with such intrigue when you couldn't believe no one else showed up for the healing circle.
The way he made you feel when you cried in the kitchen.
Just the wonder of it all, the emotion and regret and wasted time on what-ifs and fears and things that couldn't be farther from mattering less.
But in the shadow of death, you are held by the only person you consider a best friend. Others have gotten close, but none of them matter as much. None of them are him.
The church is silent and you remember how you wanted to sing at his funeral, like in Rent except that he's the farthest thing from a drag queen imaginable and how you're more like Angel than either of you want to admit.
Karoake nights. Nicole. In N Out burgers. Lost Sundays in the dining hall. Bomberman tournaments. Playing Halo with Britney and not even being able to aim. The memories are flashing and your pupils are so dilated. They won't be able to tell where the blood ends and the blood red carpet begins. They won't care. You were just young.
They could never know how, in the shadow of the valley of death, he loved you the way you loved him. And God looked down and was pleased.
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom: Original
Rating: R
Disc.: The thought processes of the end part of a short novel I wrote years ago. The characters names are friends of mine, you should presumed changed to protect the innocent. Original story idea, not lifted from anyone that I am aware of.
Author's Note: Have a kleenex handy for this one, even though its shorter than my usual stuff. Ask for an expansion if you'd like one.
Summary: The one thing you fear is dying alone, and without him is alone. Its a good thing that you had nothing to fear.
You don't feel so alone and really, that is all you ever wanted. Blood is seeping everywhere, though luckily not across your brow. Amusingly enough, you're losing too much strength to brush away his own stream as though it was a lost strand of hair. This was the way you always wanted it.
“Can we say goodbye now?” It's not cold, thank God. You like the cold, but all you really want is warmth. The only thing keeping you from shivering besides the heat is having him so near. For just a moment, you were very afraid that you weren't going to get a goodbye.
“No,” he whispers softly, “I'm right behind you. There's no reason to say goodbye.”
You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes because of the tears brimming in his from the pain. “Thing is, I'm not sure we can go to the same place.”
“Hey, stop that, alright? You've been a wild sheep, but you're good.”
You stutter, the blood beginning to make you feel light-headed. You force yourself to concentrate on the warmth and wonder of his eyes, his touch. “Please tell God that I'll never fight him, never hurt him, will try, have tried....”
“You're just delirious from the blood is all....”
Memories. You can't stop the memories that pass by like shadows. Most of them are horrid choices you've made, some good memories dotted in. Watching the dog in the crisp Indiana snow drag his house around while you tobaggon off of the useless slide in the backyard.
The Halloween dance where Mom helps you dress as a kissing booth and misunderstands the costume when you have to run out and buy actual Hershey kisses.
The first time you saw John Barrowman. You remember that it was three in the afternoon on Hbo but you're still wearing your pajamas. Your feet kick the abandoned couch. You're watching John sing “Marry Me a Little” upside down and you're wondering why he's so handsome.
The feeling of dread you get when you watch Matt towel off after gym class. His skin is soft, nearly hairless with a Greek tan. He plays basketball after school and you dream about a day when you'll look like him.
Shopping at the Goodwill for pink basketball shorts because you're so proud of joining the Free Love Christian basketball team that plays like the Harlem Globetrotters but without talent. Because it means Gary accepts you again.
The thanksgivings: tri tip and salmon one year, pineapple upside down cake instead of pumpkin pie, Dodger wolfing down a pie and a half.
Troy, Troy fills up your memory. The way you were never jealous of Jackie because he loved her. The way he called together Gary and Colin with him to give you that intervention. How you cried as you walked home, feeling miserable because you weren't good enough to spend Thanksgiving with him even though Ben wanted you at his house.
Taking pictures of him that one weekend when you were kind of let in the circle. Afternoon at the beach. At the river as he rubs his dog's tummy. Arms spread out, looking as though he's going to fly away with the wind as you watch from below the rock he scrambled up.
The week before, where you were when the world ended. When the President declared an end to the Christian religion in America. It was so shocking because then peace was declared. Running from work to find him in his room, darkened except for slats of light and praying.
Last night begins to fade from your mind even before you see the picture. You wonder if he's thinking about it. His shoulders turned down as he leaves Jackie to help with the last refugee caravan out of the city. The way he doesn't refuse your sleeping bag next to his. Waking up at three thirty to find yourself watching him watching you sleep while you watch him pretending to be asleep. Wondering if he wonders why you love him. The way he seems to exude moonlight off his young almost silver hair even in a darkened room.
He never let you burrow into his side.
He always corrected you whenever you called someone hun.
He looked at you with such intrigue when you couldn't believe no one else showed up for the healing circle.
The way he made you feel when you cried in the kitchen.
Just the wonder of it all, the emotion and regret and wasted time on what-ifs and fears and things that couldn't be farther from mattering less.
But in the shadow of death, you are held by the only person you consider a best friend. Others have gotten close, but none of them matter as much. None of them are him.
The church is silent and you remember how you wanted to sing at his funeral, like in Rent except that he's the farthest thing from a drag queen imaginable and how you're more like Angel than either of you want to admit.
Karoake nights. Nicole. In N Out burgers. Lost Sundays in the dining hall. Bomberman tournaments. Playing Halo with Britney and not even being able to aim. The memories are flashing and your pupils are so dilated. They won't be able to tell where the blood ends and the blood red carpet begins. They won't care. You were just young.
They could never know how, in the shadow of the valley of death, he loved you the way you loved him. And God looked down and was pleased.
