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Nov. 6th, 2010 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
27_53She is sitting on the park bench beside him. But she is not speaking.
(She is not really there.)
"Doesn't bother even though it should. Who is he? Who are you?"
His fingertips are stained with the scent of his earlier meal (fresh fish is the best fish) but the smell isn't what's bothering him.
iron and salt and sweat
and ash and earth
"Go away."
She sits (still not moving, still not there) and reads her book. A different book from before. He cannot figure out what the title says because it is not in a language he is familiar with.
freak
fool
(It should bother him.)
"It should bother me. But it doesn't. Yes it does. No, it doesn't."
(What the hell is that guy's problem?)
Skellig rises from the bench and begins to walk down the path through the park. No dogs bark at him this time. (They always know, can't hide from them.) No people stop and stare at him this time. No cars try to run him over this time.
"Yes it does."
"No--"
"It should bother me."
"Doesn't bother--"
"You're a fool--"
"Not like them--"
"Freak."
(She is there. He cannot see her but he knows.)
He itches at his arm and tries to concentrate on the path ahead.
iron and salt and sweat and ash and earth
and death
Where is he?
Her voice over his shoulder never heard her approach where did she come from startles him; she grabs hold of his elbow when he stumbles over a rough part of sidewalk.
"You have to come with me now."
"No, I don't."
"Yes," she insists. Pleading. "You must."
"Why?"
ash and earth and death
"He is in trouble."
"Who?"
"The boy."
(Something doesn't feel right but he hasn't felt right for two days now.)
Skellig pulls his arm away from her (it's déjà vu all over again) grasp and reaches into the pockets of his coat, balling up his fists. Is she here or is she fooling you? His knuckles brush scraps of paper (receipts, straw wrapper) and coins (thirty-four cents) and grass and dust. Nothing to make a home with.
Leaves rustle across the pavement, the dark splotches blurring in his already-hazy (since when?) vision.
She is growing impatient. "Are you coming or am I going to have to drag you," she spits.
iron and salt
"Why me?"
Why are you asking me? What do I have--
"Because," she reaches for his arm again, but he doesn't step closer. Instead, he steps further away.
(None of it makes any sense anymore.)
"Because?"
"Yes."
That's not an answer, he wants to shout at her but he just stares mutely like a wind-up toy that's run out of twists, unable to respond.
"You have to." And then she smiles. "It's your job, remember?"
Soothingly: "You remember, don't you."
Skellig nods.
There is a rustle.
And then they are both gone.
(She is not really there.)
"Doesn't bother even though it should. Who is he? Who are you?"
His fingertips are stained with the scent of his earlier meal (fresh fish is the best fish) but the smell isn't what's bothering him.
iron and salt and sweat
and ash and earth
"Go away."
She sits (still not moving, still not there) and reads her book. A different book from before. He cannot figure out what the title says because it is not in a language he is familiar with.
freak
you can't even read anyway
fool
"It should bother me. But it doesn't. Yes it does. No, it doesn't."
(What the hell is that guy's problem?)
Skellig rises from the bench and begins to walk down the path through the park. No dogs bark at him this time. (They always know, can't hide from them.) No people stop and stare at him this time. No cars try to run him over this time.
where is he?
where is she?
"Yes it does."
"No--"
"It should bother me."
"Doesn't bother--"
"You're a fool--"
"Not like them--"
"Freak."
(She is there. He cannot see her but he knows.)
He itches at his arm and tries to concentrate on the path ahead.
iron and salt and sweat and ash and earth
Where is he?
Her voice over his shoulder never heard her approach where did she come from startles him; she grabs hold of his elbow when he stumbles over a rough part of sidewalk.
"You have to come with me now."
"No, I don't."
"Yes," she insists. Pleading. "You must."
"Why?"
ash and earth and death
"He is in trouble."
"Who?"
oh I wish, I wish I was a fish
"The boy."
(Something doesn't feel right but he hasn't felt right for two days now.)
Skellig pulls his arm away from her (it's déjà vu all over again) grasp and reaches into the pockets of his coat, balling up his fists. Is she here or is she fooling you? His knuckles brush scraps of paper (receipts, straw wrapper) and coins (thirty-four cents) and grass and dust. Nothing to make a home with.
Leaves rustle across the pavement, the dark splotches blurring in his already-hazy (since when?) vision.
(It reminds him of harried waitrats scurrying past his table.)
She is growing impatient. "Are you coming or am I going to have to drag you," she spits.
iron and salt
"Why me?"
Why are you asking me? What do I have--
"Because," she reaches for his arm again, but he doesn't step closer. Instead, he steps further away.
(None of it makes any sense anymore.)
"Because?"
"Yes."
That's not an answer, he wants to shout at her but he just stares mutely like a wind-up toy that's run out of twists, unable to respond.
"You have to." And then she smiles. "It's your job, remember?"
somebody. nobody. something. nothing.
beast. angel. animal. not like you.
not like them.
never like them
(freak).
Soothingly: "You remember, don't you."
Skellig nods.
There is a rustle.
And then they are both gone.
