Semi-Orginal Fiction! Squee!
Apr. 1st, 2003 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ekaterinnFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bejiin, who knows what I'm talking about:
*
Toraiko is walking on a beach. It is not just any beach, though he couldn’t say how he knew that. But it is dark and gray and ravens screech as they fly past him. He thinks he remembers once being told that the tale is the map that is the territory but he can’t remember why that was important. He can’t remember if he’s supposed to be full of murderous rage or coldly, insanely patient, or just bumbling around, trying to do the right thing.
The sand gets between his toes and Toraiko realises he’s barefoot. He rubs his toes together and feels the grains of sands crunch against each other. If he tries really hard not to think at all, he can see brightly-coloured hair moving in the wind, leaving him behind. Inevitably, he will reach out for it. A raven will swoop too close to his face and all he will see is black feathers. The bird will smell funny too but it won’t be until later that he identifies it as the smell of death.
He starts to remember names. Dracul. Emit. Looking for the other, he asks - I do not know whether a man or a woman but who is that on the other side of you? And gets no response.
He remembers places too. Another beach, that one warm and sunny with seagulls instead of ravens. Two or three castles, he can’t keep track. The last one stands out though, so dark and dense. Full of byzantine intrigues, yet the feeling he remembers is that of being under siege. And if Denmark’s a prison, then all the world be one.
Toraiko shivers and wonders why he didn’t feel the cold until now. The waves crash on the beach and he will forget how the wind tastes like salt and fear until he tries not to inhale. He’s too full of tales already.
He had love in his name and she did in hers, but it didn’t mean the same. The other voices in his head have stilled and he doesn’t believe he’ll remember anything ever again.
He walks instead.
It gets colder and colder.
The sand feels rough against his feet.
He stops, and amongst the sand and the feathers and the wind, catches a name. And Toraiko stands on the edge of the water and whispers, “Aida.”
*
Words I Stole:
“The tale is the map that is the territory.” – Neil Gaiman, American Gods
“I do not know whether a man or a woman/ - But who is that on the other side of you?” – T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
“Denmark’s a prison.../Then all the world be one.” – William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Also...HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEN! *hugs*
bejiin, who knows what I'm talking about:*
Toraiko is walking on a beach. It is not just any beach, though he couldn’t say how he knew that. But it is dark and gray and ravens screech as they fly past him. He thinks he remembers once being told that the tale is the map that is the territory but he can’t remember why that was important. He can’t remember if he’s supposed to be full of murderous rage or coldly, insanely patient, or just bumbling around, trying to do the right thing.
The sand gets between his toes and Toraiko realises he’s barefoot. He rubs his toes together and feels the grains of sands crunch against each other. If he tries really hard not to think at all, he can see brightly-coloured hair moving in the wind, leaving him behind. Inevitably, he will reach out for it. A raven will swoop too close to his face and all he will see is black feathers. The bird will smell funny too but it won’t be until later that he identifies it as the smell of death.
He starts to remember names. Dracul. Emit. Looking for the other, he asks - I do not know whether a man or a woman but who is that on the other side of you? And gets no response.
He remembers places too. Another beach, that one warm and sunny with seagulls instead of ravens. Two or three castles, he can’t keep track. The last one stands out though, so dark and dense. Full of byzantine intrigues, yet the feeling he remembers is that of being under siege. And if Denmark’s a prison, then all the world be one.
Toraiko shivers and wonders why he didn’t feel the cold until now. The waves crash on the beach and he will forget how the wind tastes like salt and fear until he tries not to inhale. He’s too full of tales already.
He had love in his name and she did in hers, but it didn’t mean the same. The other voices in his head have stilled and he doesn’t believe he’ll remember anything ever again.
He walks instead.
It gets colder and colder.
The sand feels rough against his feet.
He stops, and amongst the sand and the feathers and the wind, catches a name. And Toraiko stands on the edge of the water and whispers, “Aida.”
*
Words I Stole:
“The tale is the map that is the territory.” – Neil Gaiman, American Gods
“I do not know whether a man or a woman/ - But who is that on the other side of you?” – T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
“Denmark’s a prison.../Then all the world be one.” – William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Also...HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JEN! *hugs*
