31 Days: Day One
Mar. 2nd, 2010 03:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mindsplintersSo... This kinda sucks but it's writing, right? Right. I'm just going to ignore how I am shaming my beloved Neruda here.
Rolling onto her back, she drew a hand up to cover her face to block out the thought of the fresh day. She felt the wrinkles of the blanket beneath her, the scratch of the blanket above her. It was unusually warm, she thought, unusually quiet. She hoped no one had died during the intervening eight hours but, no, that would not account for the surrounding lack of sound. Pillaging made noise and the building she sat in featured tenants with shocking lack of reserve. She pressed down a bit harder with her hand until she felt her nose flatten beneath the weight of her palm. No sunlight filtered through the drab curtains but she knew, sure as the planets spun, it was officially time to wake up and face things.
There was a trick to facing things and she had yet to learn it.
On the other hand, she was very, very good at avoiding many other things. With a sigh, she lifted her hand away and levered herself upright. The blankets fell away and she rubbed absently at her sternum, eyes half-closed yet in the dim gloom of her temporary room. Temporary in that she would not be staying there again for at least another six weeks.
Nothing gold could stay.
Yawning now, she rubbed at her face before swinging her legs around to touch bare feet to the clammy floor. She was almost surprised to feel the solid tile beneath her toes. For a moment, she had expected to find a puddle, the ocean, something else entirely. But, no, that had been a dream. She shook her head, grimaced at the unsettled feeling, and put her hands to her temples. Pressure applied eased things only slightly and she gave up. It didn't dispell the dream, anyway, so there was no point. She knew that once the sounds settled into her sub-conscious, it was all over. She would be doomed to have the ocean in her ears all day.
With the ocean came the sensation of drowning, the suffocation of things ignored.
Angry now, she stood and began stripping out of her worn singlet and loose cotton pants. She did not have to follow that path anymore, she told herself firmly. She could ignore the call if she chose, dreams be damned. With expert hands, she quickly began winding the length of linen about her bust and she offered the wall opposite an absent snarl. Nothing kept her to that promise; everything was dead or asleep and further buried than the tiny room where she stood, now sorting out stockings and trousers from their tangled mess.
For a moment, she paused and stared at a hole in the heel of a stocking.
Then, rending it with a quick movement of hands, Vaiko dropped it to the floor and chose a new disguise. The ocean would go out on the tide eventually and, until then, she had blinders and muffs and masks. It would be enough until the sensation passed. It always was.
Rolling onto her back, she drew a hand up to cover her face to block out the thought of the fresh day. She felt the wrinkles of the blanket beneath her, the scratch of the blanket above her. It was unusually warm, she thought, unusually quiet. She hoped no one had died during the intervening eight hours but, no, that would not account for the surrounding lack of sound. Pillaging made noise and the building she sat in featured tenants with shocking lack of reserve. She pressed down a bit harder with her hand until she felt her nose flatten beneath the weight of her palm. No sunlight filtered through the drab curtains but she knew, sure as the planets spun, it was officially time to wake up and face things.
There was a trick to facing things and she had yet to learn it.
On the other hand, she was very, very good at avoiding many other things. With a sigh, she lifted her hand away and levered herself upright. The blankets fell away and she rubbed absently at her sternum, eyes half-closed yet in the dim gloom of her temporary room. Temporary in that she would not be staying there again for at least another six weeks.
Nothing gold could stay.
Yawning now, she rubbed at her face before swinging her legs around to touch bare feet to the clammy floor. She was almost surprised to feel the solid tile beneath her toes. For a moment, she had expected to find a puddle, the ocean, something else entirely. But, no, that had been a dream. She shook her head, grimaced at the unsettled feeling, and put her hands to her temples. Pressure applied eased things only slightly and she gave up. It didn't dispell the dream, anyway, so there was no point. She knew that once the sounds settled into her sub-conscious, it was all over. She would be doomed to have the ocean in her ears all day.
With the ocean came the sensation of drowning, the suffocation of things ignored.
Angry now, she stood and began stripping out of her worn singlet and loose cotton pants. She did not have to follow that path anymore, she told herself firmly. She could ignore the call if she chose, dreams be damned. With expert hands, she quickly began winding the length of linen about her bust and she offered the wall opposite an absent snarl. Nothing kept her to that promise; everything was dead or asleep and further buried than the tiny room where she stood, now sorting out stockings and trousers from their tangled mess.
For a moment, she paused and stared at a hole in the heel of a stocking.
Then, rending it with a quick movement of hands, Vaiko dropped it to the floor and chose a new disguise. The ocean would go out on the tide eventually and, until then, she had blinders and muffs and masks. It would be enough until the sensation passed. It always was.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-02 08:40 pm (UTC)PEE ESS. I don't think it shames Neruda at all. It has the same raw emotion that much of his work does. <333
no subject
Date: 2010-03-03 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-03 03:20 am (UTC)