Short Vig/Orli snippet thingy majig....
I don't know, but I was feeling creative. Plus, this picture kept popping up everywhere, and it is *so* inspiring.
Title: In White Walls
Author: Meixia
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG - seriously.
In white walls the man sleeps, enveloped in soundless dreams. In white walls the birds sing like faraway banshees.
There’s a scratch, and another, and another. Three slender, ragged lines dragging down from the doorknob. Three lines of cocaine, their color the sawdust of trees. White paint is peeling, curling as if it is burned, and then wiped away by a perfect, young hand. Tan skin, and if he were awake, and if he were free, and if he were on the other side, he could’ve seen the color, glowing and full of life as the sun.
The knob is turning, clockwise, then counter, the shaking of the white door seamless in the white room. There is a voice calling from the other side, a voice so urgent and young and afraid, that he wants to open his eyes.
But the white will blind him, the purity of another’s love will sear him, and when he is finished, when they are through, he will be nothing but lines of bleached white.
And he will not bear the pain.
So he sleeps, until the white room turns dark. Until the light is no more, and the shadows dance free.
Somewhere, somewhere like the distant shores of the sea, there is a voice. The same voice, but closer still, carries over the wind, past the electrical fire behind his eyes and the fog in his mind. And when the voice heals him like the cooling balms of the ocean waves, puts the fire out that is raging inside, he can open his eyes to a new light.
Shadows fade and recede into the corners until they are gone. White is no longer white, but brown, hazel, black, and tan. White has become a fading, fleeting thing, replaced by the pink of chapped lips and the olive of another’s skin.
“You are not alone,” he says, “Please be not afraid.”
And Viggo sees, focuses, and his hands come up to circle around Orlando’s neck like twin snakes.
“I am not alone,” he says, “And I am not afraid.”
...what is up with me and my short snippets?? Where have my long, angsty, romantic novel-type muses gone? *sob*
Title: In White Walls
Author: Meixia
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG - seriously.
In white walls the man sleeps, enveloped in soundless dreams. In white walls the birds sing like faraway banshees.
There’s a scratch, and another, and another. Three slender, ragged lines dragging down from the doorknob. Three lines of cocaine, their color the sawdust of trees. White paint is peeling, curling as if it is burned, and then wiped away by a perfect, young hand. Tan skin, and if he were awake, and if he were free, and if he were on the other side, he could’ve seen the color, glowing and full of life as the sun.
The knob is turning, clockwise, then counter, the shaking of the white door seamless in the white room. There is a voice calling from the other side, a voice so urgent and young and afraid, that he wants to open his eyes.
But the white will blind him, the purity of another’s love will sear him, and when he is finished, when they are through, he will be nothing but lines of bleached white.
And he will not bear the pain.
So he sleeps, until the white room turns dark. Until the light is no more, and the shadows dance free.
Somewhere, somewhere like the distant shores of the sea, there is a voice. The same voice, but closer still, carries over the wind, past the electrical fire behind his eyes and the fog in his mind. And when the voice heals him like the cooling balms of the ocean waves, puts the fire out that is raging inside, he can open his eyes to a new light.
Shadows fade and recede into the corners until they are gone. White is no longer white, but brown, hazel, black, and tan. White has become a fading, fleeting thing, replaced by the pink of chapped lips and the olive of another’s skin.
“You are not alone,” he says, “Please be not afraid.”
And Viggo sees, focuses, and his hands come up to circle around Orlando’s neck like twin snakes.
“I am not alone,” he says, “And I am not afraid.”
...what is up with me and my short snippets?? Where have my long, angsty, romantic novel-type muses gone? *sob*