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Sep. 18th, 2010 05:10 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge: [239] Inexorable
Title: Thicker Than Water
Word Count: 604
Notes: Could have worked for the last challenge, but I think it actually fits this theme better. Argh, need to work on my wordcounts again, haven't written drabbles in awhile. Apprentice!fic of a sort. Exactly which one of them he is, I'll leave it to the reader to decide.
The woman sitting by the window brushed hair away from her face softly. She shut the book in her lap, and set it on the floor by her feet. There was nothing in it to interest her. She picked up her unfinished embroidery, before putting it aside too.
It was absurd, really, to think she could focus on it. Futile. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
She drew back the curtain. Far away at the city center, above rooftops and spires, a storm of darkness raged, consuming everything in its path.
But her mind was filled with memories of sound-- knitting needles clicking, the slow creaking of a baby's cradle as it rocked back and forth.
Beautiful. So beautiful. Tiny fingers, radiant cheeks. She cast a glance about the deserted room, remembering which books had been his favourites. And then, finally, stared back out the window.
There were dark shapes whirling about in the storm-- trees, perhaps, or fragments of buildings torn apart by the winds. She couldn't tell from this distance. They spun around and around in the whirlpool of darkness, spiraling upwards until the great blackness of the sky consumed them.
She sat still for a moment, listening to the distant roaring, like the churning of the sea in a storm. Then she picked up her embroidery again, studied it. All through the delicate pattern, her stitches were knotty, tangled.
If she could only unravel the thread of her life, she thought-- undo the stitches, unmake the design-- perhaps she could find her mistake. Where she went wrong; where she failed him. Pick apart the offending knot, do it all over again.
Because a good mother would have raised a good son, wouldn't she? A boy who heeded the warnings of the fairy tales he'd loved. Never follow strangers, never wander too deep into the forest. Beware of sweet promises; beware those who are too beautiful.
And the man with the silver hair and tanned skin, who'd led her son astray-- he was too beautiful, too sweet of voice. Unearthly. The one who beckoned with sweeter and sweeter promises, leading her son down into the darkness until he gave up everything to follow. Even his family.
She let the embroidery fall at her feet.
She'd tried to persuade him-- called, wrote, begged him to come home. Could he not see how wrong it was, how dangerous? Again and again, she failed to reach him. He was beyond her grasp-- could not be swayed. Like the darkness tearing at the city's heart, he-- all of them-- what they had become-- were a force of nature.
"He was a good boy," she whispered to no one. "A good boy."
Outside, the wall of darkness was advancing. She could see it tearing houses into splinters, uprooting trees. The sun was gone, engulfed by clouds of black.
In the darkening room, she rocked back and forth on the small chair, arms wrapped around herself.
"A good boy. My son. Forgive him. Please..."
Cradle rocking, a cat purring at the bedside. His voice. His laugh. Summers, bringing home handfuls of wildflowers to be pressed between books. Winter. Running through the snow, laughing, dancing, herself laughing with him. Guiding his fingers to piano keys, helping him play his first song.
Darkness, roaring in her ears. Glass shattering. Winds howling down streets, and the rumbling of collapsing buildings.
"Forgive him. Forgive my son. Please. He doesn't know... he doesn't know what he does. Please..."
The winds roared, shaking the house from its foundations. The window shattered, collapsed inwards, and then there was nothing in the room but the absolute silence of darkness.
Title: Thicker Than Water
Word Count: 604
Notes: Could have worked for the last challenge, but I think it actually fits this theme better. Argh, need to work on my wordcounts again, haven't written drabbles in awhile. Apprentice!fic of a sort. Exactly which one of them he is, I'll leave it to the reader to decide.
The woman sitting by the window brushed hair away from her face softly. She shut the book in her lap, and set it on the floor by her feet. There was nothing in it to interest her. She picked up her unfinished embroidery, before putting it aside too.
It was absurd, really, to think she could focus on it. Futile. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
She drew back the curtain. Far away at the city center, above rooftops and spires, a storm of darkness raged, consuming everything in its path.
But her mind was filled with memories of sound-- knitting needles clicking, the slow creaking of a baby's cradle as it rocked back and forth.
Beautiful. So beautiful. Tiny fingers, radiant cheeks. She cast a glance about the deserted room, remembering which books had been his favourites. And then, finally, stared back out the window.
There were dark shapes whirling about in the storm-- trees, perhaps, or fragments of buildings torn apart by the winds. She couldn't tell from this distance. They spun around and around in the whirlpool of darkness, spiraling upwards until the great blackness of the sky consumed them.
She sat still for a moment, listening to the distant roaring, like the churning of the sea in a storm. Then she picked up her embroidery again, studied it. All through the delicate pattern, her stitches were knotty, tangled.
If she could only unravel the thread of her life, she thought-- undo the stitches, unmake the design-- perhaps she could find her mistake. Where she went wrong; where she failed him. Pick apart the offending knot, do it all over again.
Because a good mother would have raised a good son, wouldn't she? A boy who heeded the warnings of the fairy tales he'd loved. Never follow strangers, never wander too deep into the forest. Beware of sweet promises; beware those who are too beautiful.
And the man with the silver hair and tanned skin, who'd led her son astray-- he was too beautiful, too sweet of voice. Unearthly. The one who beckoned with sweeter and sweeter promises, leading her son down into the darkness until he gave up everything to follow. Even his family.
She let the embroidery fall at her feet.
She'd tried to persuade him-- called, wrote, begged him to come home. Could he not see how wrong it was, how dangerous? Again and again, she failed to reach him. He was beyond her grasp-- could not be swayed. Like the darkness tearing at the city's heart, he-- all of them-- what they had become-- were a force of nature.
"He was a good boy," she whispered to no one. "A good boy."
Outside, the wall of darkness was advancing. She could see it tearing houses into splinters, uprooting trees. The sun was gone, engulfed by clouds of black.
In the darkening room, she rocked back and forth on the small chair, arms wrapped around herself.
"A good boy. My son. Forgive him. Please..."
Cradle rocking, a cat purring at the bedside. His voice. His laugh. Summers, bringing home handfuls of wildflowers to be pressed between books. Winter. Running through the snow, laughing, dancing, herself laughing with him. Guiding his fingers to piano keys, helping him play his first song.
Darkness, roaring in her ears. Glass shattering. Winds howling down streets, and the rumbling of collapsing buildings.
"Forgive him. Forgive my son. Please. He doesn't know... he doesn't know what he does. Please..."
The winds roared, shaking the house from its foundations. The window shattered, collapsed inwards, and then there was nothing in the room but the absolute silence of darkness.
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Date: 2010-09-22 03:09 am (UTC)thank you for writing. ♥ this was lovely.
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Date: 2010-09-28 12:17 am (UTC)