"Of Two Minds"
Title: Of Two Minds
Author: Zdarovyeh
Characters: Ryan Miller, Drew Miller
Rating: G
Disclaimer: These are characters based off real people, but the story is 99.999% fake.
Author’s Note: Concrit and/or feedback is welcome.
Anaheim. Wednesday, June 6, 2007
It was like someone else was watching the celebration on the ice. It wasn’t Ryan Miller, goaltender of the Buffalo Sabres, sitting in the lower bowl of the Honda Center. Confetti wasn’t collecting in his hair. And he wasn’t watching the Anaheim Ducks take their turns lifting the Stanley Cup over their heads to the roaring of their fans.
With clinical detachment, he noted each player's name, filing it away in the back of his brain. Who wasn’t really important--they were other faces, other people. People who didn’t matter, in the long run.
The dispassion burned off in a flash as the Cup was passed to the next player. Ryan’s hand went to his chin, feeling the smooth skin against his palm, as Drew’s smile lit his face from within the thick scruff of his two-month old beard. As Drew shook the trophy over his head, his mouth open wide in a scream swallowed by the crowd, Ryan grinned, proud and happy for his brother’s triumph, no matter how tenuous it was. He’d played a game in the final series, his name would be etched on the new silver ring gracing the bottom of the tower.
Ryan’s mouth twisted sourly, his stomach flooding with bile that rose to taint his tongue. Rage boiled in his veins. It should’ve been me.
(crossposted to zdarovyeh)
Author: Zdarovyeh
Characters: Ryan Miller, Drew Miller
Rating: G
Disclaimer: These are characters based off real people, but the story is 99.999% fake.
Author’s Note: Concrit and/or feedback is welcome.
Anaheim. Wednesday, June 6, 2007
It was like someone else was watching the celebration on the ice. It wasn’t Ryan Miller, goaltender of the Buffalo Sabres, sitting in the lower bowl of the Honda Center. Confetti wasn’t collecting in his hair. And he wasn’t watching the Anaheim Ducks take their turns lifting the Stanley Cup over their heads to the roaring of their fans.
With clinical detachment, he noted each player's name, filing it away in the back of his brain. Who wasn’t really important--they were other faces, other people. People who didn’t matter, in the long run.
The dispassion burned off in a flash as the Cup was passed to the next player. Ryan’s hand went to his chin, feeling the smooth skin against his palm, as Drew’s smile lit his face from within the thick scruff of his two-month old beard. As Drew shook the trophy over his head, his mouth open wide in a scream swallowed by the crowd, Ryan grinned, proud and happy for his brother’s triumph, no matter how tenuous it was. He’d played a game in the final series, his name would be etched on the new silver ring gracing the bottom of the tower.
Ryan’s mouth twisted sourly, his stomach flooding with bile that rose to taint his tongue. Rage boiled in his veins. It should’ve been me.
(crossposted to zdarovyeh)