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kh_drabble2004-11-12 07:13 pm
prettywar.livejournal.com) wrote in kh_drabble2004-11-12 07:13 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Challenge: Call Me, Call Me
Title: Hope
Word Count: 255
Warning/s: R/S... cheese?!
Nights were long beneath that crisp sheet of black, depth without surface, lying upon dry grass and listening to Pluto dream. Six months, Goofy said. Long ones.
Now that the darkness had come, now that his companions were dozing, Sora reached into his backpack and withdrew the book. Sleep, when it came, would only mock him. Dreams were addled with everything reality missed, and the island waves would always be crashing, just out of sight. The dreaming never quite worth that weary shock of realisation as he woke.
So Sora wrote.
Not a diary, as Donald and Goofy thought.
Reasons for me to find you.
Of all things, Sora was most terrified of forgetting. Scraps of memory, scrawled out as they came to him. You were silhouette against red horizon. The way life would look without metallic bangs and silk gaze. Fear. Nights they had spent together and apart. Moments Sora had captured, moments when Riku thought he had been alone. Sketches beachside, sketches of fantasy; pencil lines never able to seize the ways blue and silver entwined. You’re forgiven. It was his twilight masterpiece, a tribute of loss and hope, pages of pictures and quotes, proof that their times were not but his dreams.
Sora walked on in hope of the day he would present his collection, press the binding into Riku’s hands. Watch his smile beginning to curl. Maybe Riku would be bemused, mocking or dismissive. Maybe he would have forgotten. Maybe he was scribbling his own testimony, worlds away, hoping the same.
Title: Hope
Word Count: 255
Warning/s: R/S... cheese?!
Nights were long beneath that crisp sheet of black, depth without surface, lying upon dry grass and listening to Pluto dream. Six months, Goofy said. Long ones.
Now that the darkness had come, now that his companions were dozing, Sora reached into his backpack and withdrew the book. Sleep, when it came, would only mock him. Dreams were addled with everything reality missed, and the island waves would always be crashing, just out of sight. The dreaming never quite worth that weary shock of realisation as he woke.
So Sora wrote.
Not a diary, as Donald and Goofy thought.
Reasons for me to find you.
Of all things, Sora was most terrified of forgetting. Scraps of memory, scrawled out as they came to him. You were silhouette against red horizon. The way life would look without metallic bangs and silk gaze. Fear. Nights they had spent together and apart. Moments Sora had captured, moments when Riku thought he had been alone. Sketches beachside, sketches of fantasy; pencil lines never able to seize the ways blue and silver entwined. You’re forgiven. It was his twilight masterpiece, a tribute of loss and hope, pages of pictures and quotes, proof that their times were not but his dreams.
Sora walked on in hope of the day he would present his collection, press the binding into Riku’s hands. Watch his smile beginning to curl. Maybe Riku would be bemused, mocking or dismissive. Maybe he would have forgotten. Maybe he was scribbling his own testimony, worlds away, hoping the same.
no subject