An unfinished fic
Jun. 3rd, 2007 02:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arqueeteIt's 3 am. I has the tireds. However, about an hour ago, I was just wandering past Lauren Pritchard's MySpace when a song on it, Run, that I hadn't really listened to before started playing, and somewhere in it I got struck with something. I kept replaying the song the entire time, it isn't even my favorite of hers on her MySpace and I'm a little sick of it now XD
This isn't proofread or anything, and the sentences in brackets indicate where I started on another tangent of thought but then abandoned it to finish my initial thought, and may or may not return to it. Writing is like that...
I thought some people might appreciate this, however. Will be polished eventually, however, it is Script Frenzy and I've neglected to start yet (thanks a lot Moritz, I wanted to do that tonight).
It's the place he goes when he's not sure where else to turn. It's a big tree with roots like fingers reaching into the lake, and the way the branches jut out he can climb up into them and sit there, like a big chair, and look over the water.
It seems like there should be some kind of romance to the moment, a bit of the fantasy that lingered over this place when they were children playing out here. A little poetry, a little art.
Now, though, his body doesn't fit so nicely in those branches anymore, and the warm days of spring are rudely interrupted today by the harshness of the wind. With the clouds hanging over him, grey and ominous, it's almost like those empty feelings he hoped to escape from here are only amplified, carried by the wind across the landscape, which looks a little too dull and familiar today.
He hears the snap of a branch, footsteps. He leans over the branch and looks out behind the tree, expecting Melchior's looming form. He's disappointed, however. It's a feminine form and bright eyes that gaze up at him, hands pressed against the tree bark. “Moritz Stiefel,” she says.
“Yes. Anna.” Her name is drawn easily with her face, but it's foreign to his tongue. In her face is a sort of stillness, something that belongs too well to the town up the path, a kind of domesticity. Anna was never one of the people Moritz was wont to befriend, and that awkwardness seemed to linger around them.
“I just spoke to Melchior Gabor on the way down here,” she explained, and Moritz could see how she enunciated those words, how she smiled a little -- that she was fond of Melchior. [It was a striking sort of realization, not something that Moritz ever really considered. He certainly admired Melchior – with a fervor.] She went on, “He was looking for you.”
“Ah,” he managed to articulate, the corners of his mouth spreading in a quick, winced sort of smile.
He's not sure how that conversation ends. Anna just steps back from the tree, her footsteps fading, and he isn't really sure how that palpable awkwardness translated into such a transition.
Moritz rolls over, staring out at the lake again. He feels self-conscious now, as though those bright eyes of Anna's had caught him here, in some unsavory act, leaving him bare and childish.
However, the loneliness is still there. That's a feeling he recognizes.
Melchior probably won't come down this way, if he even cares so much to look that far. Moritz isn't sure when that happened – when some line was crossed that put this spot behind them, stealing it's magic and being replaced with more respectable places to waste time away. He isn't sure why he doesn't see that transition as well as Melchior has, that he's left here between these branches feeling like he doesn't belong there anymore – yet, he's here.
It's just, this was the last place, and he's a little frightened now. What do you do when there's no where left to run to that lets you get away?
This isn't proofread or anything, and the sentences in brackets indicate where I started on another tangent of thought but then abandoned it to finish my initial thought, and may or may not return to it. Writing is like that...
I thought some people might appreciate this, however. Will be polished eventually, however, it is Script Frenzy and I've neglected to start yet (thanks a lot Moritz, I wanted to do that tonight).
It's the place he goes when he's not sure where else to turn. It's a big tree with roots like fingers reaching into the lake, and the way the branches jut out he can climb up into them and sit there, like a big chair, and look over the water.
It seems like there should be some kind of romance to the moment, a bit of the fantasy that lingered over this place when they were children playing out here. A little poetry, a little art.
Now, though, his body doesn't fit so nicely in those branches anymore, and the warm days of spring are rudely interrupted today by the harshness of the wind. With the clouds hanging over him, grey and ominous, it's almost like those empty feelings he hoped to escape from here are only amplified, carried by the wind across the landscape, which looks a little too dull and familiar today.
He hears the snap of a branch, footsteps. He leans over the branch and looks out behind the tree, expecting Melchior's looming form. He's disappointed, however. It's a feminine form and bright eyes that gaze up at him, hands pressed against the tree bark. “Moritz Stiefel,” she says.
“Yes. Anna.” Her name is drawn easily with her face, but it's foreign to his tongue. In her face is a sort of stillness, something that belongs too well to the town up the path, a kind of domesticity. Anna was never one of the people Moritz was wont to befriend, and that awkwardness seemed to linger around them.
“I just spoke to Melchior Gabor on the way down here,” she explained, and Moritz could see how she enunciated those words, how she smiled a little -- that she was fond of Melchior. [It was a striking sort of realization, not something that Moritz ever really considered. He certainly admired Melchior – with a fervor.] She went on, “He was looking for you.”
“Ah,” he managed to articulate, the corners of his mouth spreading in a quick, winced sort of smile.
He's not sure how that conversation ends. Anna just steps back from the tree, her footsteps fading, and he isn't really sure how that palpable awkwardness translated into such a transition.
Moritz rolls over, staring out at the lake again. He feels self-conscious now, as though those bright eyes of Anna's had caught him here, in some unsavory act, leaving him bare and childish.
However, the loneliness is still there. That's a feeling he recognizes.
Melchior probably won't come down this way, if he even cares so much to look that far. Moritz isn't sure when that happened – when some line was crossed that put this spot behind them, stealing it's magic and being replaced with more respectable places to waste time away. He isn't sure why he doesn't see that transition as well as Melchior has, that he's left here between these branches feeling like he doesn't belong there anymore – yet, he's here.
It's just, this was the last place, and he's a little frightened now. What do you do when there's no where left to run to that lets you get away?
