Post by Kit on Feb 20, 2010 14:38:42 GMT 10
Title: Soldier From The War
Rating:R. Not the fun sort of R.
Length: 720
Competitor: Baird
Round: 1/D
Summary: Neal keeps his dignity.
Note: Definitely influenced by jazzyjess's beautiful Per Perdere. I read it last night, and then found myself with these images
"This...is not good, is it? Awfully, supremely, perfectly not good--"
"--Neal, stop talking!"
"Why?"
Three figures on an emptying field; long, thin shadows in the dust and dusk. The mud is grey, chill. Constant. It swallowed blood effortlessly, taking all traces, so the prone boy was sucked at from beneath while laid open to the sky.
"It--seems..." he said to the kneeling pair, turning his head so he tasted cotton and dried mint and comfrey. His father's clothes, redolent of years spent at home. "Like--a good time to talk, Kel. I shouldn't--you know. Shouldn't be talking--want to--want to scream--but you've heard--enough of that..."
His father's laugh was faint, barely shaking Neal's head in his lap. "You always talk when you shouldn't, boy."
"Pre--" a hiss, a shudder, desperately careful not to spill. "Precisely."
Kel leaned forward, mud squelching. She kissed his forehead Watched his eyelids flutter. Looked solidly, calmly, at his face. Only his face.
"Baird," she said, level. "Surely there's something."
"No." Father and son echoed each other.
"Kel," Neal, gentle and alone, voice shaking, eyes bright and wide. His face all white lines and grime.
(His face. Just his face)
"Kel," he said. "You know better, dear heart."
"My boy." Baird, soft, stroking his hair. "My beautiful boy. Brave man."
Kel, shivering, covered the healer's thin hand with her own, sure she could feel a paint, thready pulse through his fingers and into hers. Surely, hope. There could be hope in this. There could be--
"--You're not--don't leave? Don't leave me here--and...clean me off--after? Don't want--can't let Yuki see--not like this...hate the mud. "
"We're not leaving, Neal." Her hand moved to his cheek, damp and warm, the skin too tight for life or death, somehow.
"And Kel?"
"Neal?"
This shudder was stronger, and he cried, flush fading into grey, the ground swallowing more of him. He could no longer escape the stench of himself. He cried, and Kel held his shoulders, and his father tried for green and calm for a world that was was orange, blood purple, dead brown.
"Kel?"
"I'm here. I'm always here."
"I'm--I've been trying--for stone."
Her laugh surprised her. "Oh, Gods, don't--"
"Been trying. Can't--much longer. When that happens--"
Kel closed her eyes.
"--When that--hapens...let father...let him make it gentle?"
His smile had no right to be just the same.
"Don't want--don't want to lose my dignity--along with--my insides."
"It'll just be sleep."
Baird's voice, faint and tough. "Just like when you were seven, and Jehane told you nightmare tales. Just like then. I'd come in, touch your eyelids. My hand on your heart..."
"Better healer--than me." His hands twitched. Kel whimpered, Baird groaned as Neal reached up to take his father's hands. "No...regrets." Hot, urgent. "Still--my choice."
Baird shuddered, and laid his hand over his son's heart. "I know. I'm proud of you."
"Love you. Love you, both."
"Neal. Don't--"
Neal's hand moved, fast. Too fast. The air was wet and tearing, and his fingers were in her hair, pulling her down. Faint, desperate. Too strong for his body. His hand tangled in her hair and she kissed him, her own hand covering Baird's on Neal's chest. She covered it. Tried to give something, anything. Her warmth, her mouth. Her breath. Dampness under her hand, then light behind her eyelids.
Neal, still. The only pulse Kel felt through Baird's hand was his own.
She gagged. Her body heaved, but nothing came up. Ske kept what she could.
"A father's kind hand... could not command him
to return... to him, once more,
like a soldier from the war..."
Poetry. Kel heard the broken words and almost laughed. Neal had to get it from somewhere.
Baird was weeping in the dirt. The bravest man she knew.
He wept. He looked up. "Three sons," he said. "Three left to this."
"I...I know." She didn't, and she did. And when he kissed her--kissed her hard and demanding and full of grief that would break both of them unshared, clean blood filling their mouths, she did and she did not protest. His body was thin and desperately familiar under her hands. He was whole, and she held him, touched him, because they had no right to feel as if the world held no air.
Rating:R. Not the fun sort of R.
Length: 720
Competitor: Baird
Round: 1/D
Summary: Neal keeps his dignity.
Note: Definitely influenced by jazzyjess's beautiful Per Perdere. I read it last night, and then found myself with these images
"This...is not good, is it? Awfully, supremely, perfectly not good--"
"--Neal, stop talking!"
"Why?"
Three figures on an emptying field; long, thin shadows in the dust and dusk. The mud is grey, chill. Constant. It swallowed blood effortlessly, taking all traces, so the prone boy was sucked at from beneath while laid open to the sky.
"It--seems..." he said to the kneeling pair, turning his head so he tasted cotton and dried mint and comfrey. His father's clothes, redolent of years spent at home. "Like--a good time to talk, Kel. I shouldn't--you know. Shouldn't be talking--want to--want to scream--but you've heard--enough of that..."
His father's laugh was faint, barely shaking Neal's head in his lap. "You always talk when you shouldn't, boy."
"Pre--" a hiss, a shudder, desperately careful not to spill. "Precisely."
Kel leaned forward, mud squelching. She kissed his forehead Watched his eyelids flutter. Looked solidly, calmly, at his face. Only his face.
"Baird," she said, level. "Surely there's something."
"No." Father and son echoed each other.
"Kel," Neal, gentle and alone, voice shaking, eyes bright and wide. His face all white lines and grime.
(His face. Just his face)
"Kel," he said. "You know better, dear heart."
"My boy." Baird, soft, stroking his hair. "My beautiful boy. Brave man."
Kel, shivering, covered the healer's thin hand with her own, sure she could feel a paint, thready pulse through his fingers and into hers. Surely, hope. There could be hope in this. There could be--
"--You're not--don't leave? Don't leave me here--and...clean me off--after? Don't want--can't let Yuki see--not like this...hate the mud. "
"We're not leaving, Neal." Her hand moved to his cheek, damp and warm, the skin too tight for life or death, somehow.
"And Kel?"
"Neal?"
This shudder was stronger, and he cried, flush fading into grey, the ground swallowing more of him. He could no longer escape the stench of himself. He cried, and Kel held his shoulders, and his father tried for green and calm for a world that was was orange, blood purple, dead brown.
"Kel?"
"I'm here. I'm always here."
"I'm--I've been trying--for stone."
Her laugh surprised her. "Oh, Gods, don't--"
"Been trying. Can't--much longer. When that happens--"
Kel closed her eyes.
"--When that--hapens...let father...let him make it gentle?"
His smile had no right to be just the same.
"Don't want--don't want to lose my dignity--along with--my insides."
"It'll just be sleep."
Baird's voice, faint and tough. "Just like when you were seven, and Jehane told you nightmare tales. Just like then. I'd come in, touch your eyelids. My hand on your heart..."
"Better healer--than me." His hands twitched. Kel whimpered, Baird groaned as Neal reached up to take his father's hands. "No...regrets." Hot, urgent. "Still--my choice."
Baird shuddered, and laid his hand over his son's heart. "I know. I'm proud of you."
"Love you. Love you, both."
"Neal. Don't--"
Neal's hand moved, fast. Too fast. The air was wet and tearing, and his fingers were in her hair, pulling her down. Faint, desperate. Too strong for his body. His hand tangled in her hair and she kissed him, her own hand covering Baird's on Neal's chest. She covered it. Tried to give something, anything. Her warmth, her mouth. Her breath. Dampness under her hand, then light behind her eyelids.
Neal, still. The only pulse Kel felt through Baird's hand was his own.
She gagged. Her body heaved, but nothing came up. Ske kept what she could.
"A father's kind hand... could not command him
to return... to him, once more,
like a soldier from the war..."
Poetry. Kel heard the broken words and almost laughed. Neal had to get it from somewhere.
Baird was weeping in the dirt. The bravest man she knew.
He wept. He looked up. "Three sons," he said. "Three left to this."
"I...I know." She didn't, and she did. And when he kissed her--kissed her hard and demanding and full of grief that would break both of them unshared, clean blood filling their mouths, she did and she did not protest. His body was thin and desperately familiar under her hands. He was whole, and she held him, touched him, because they had no right to feel as if the world held no air.