Hook, line...
Title: Hook, line...
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG
Pairing: Original (f/f)
A/N: Short little ficlet.
Hook, line...
There had been a time when, fueled by a sliver of creativity and desperation, she had strung up a bunch of black feathers on a piece of string. Hung up on the ceiling close to the window, it had looked like a bird falling apart in mid flight, its feathers twisting in the cool breeze, eternally suspended in destruction.
Eventually the feathers had become weighed down by dust, the sun bleaching the blackness out of them. She’d taken them down years ago, running a finger along the soft edge of one of them, forgetting that, once upon a time, they’d meant a lot. They’d symbolized freedom, an odd kind of freedom what came with falling apart, with letting go.
They found the feathers in a box, pressed against the bottom by a stack of children’s books. Wrapping the end of the string around her finger, Cate fished it out, held it up and blew against it, making the feathers shiver.
“What’s that?” she asked, squinting at the feathers, at the way they quivered and turned.
“Oh, I had that hanging up in my room when I was younger.”
Ally glanced at the feathers, grey after all these years, as if all the memories had squeezed the color out of the quills. Reaching out, she rubbed a feather between her thumb and forefinger, frowning at the dusty residue.
Cate shook her hand, making the feathers dance frantically again. They watched as the sun made the falling dust sparkle in a triangle of light.
“Wanna keep it?” Cate asked, her eyes resting on the woman across from her.
Ally seemed much smaller suddenly, running a hand through her dark hair as she stared at her mobile, at this scattered bird. She shrugged, not sure if she wanted to keep something that was so saturated with her past, something that had, by falling apart, made her whole.
“Maybe we should make a new one,” Cate said, her voice low, understanding, almost shy, “We could use colorful feathers.”
They looked at each other for a moment, hopeful, at the edge of something great building all around them, filling all the cracks and fissures between them.
Finally, Ally smiled. The kind of smile that started with a twitch of the corners of her mouth, spreading all the way to her eyes to make them sparkle.
“Maybe we should,” she whispered.
There had been a reason why she’d hung up the black feathers. There’d been a reason why she’d taken them down, why she had stuffed them into a box, memories weighed down by fairytales and children’s dreams.
Cate handed the feathers over, watched as Ally crushed them between her hands, balled them up until the string was knotted around them, until tendrils of grey floated to the ground.
“It’s time for some color,” she said, winking at Cate, pulling her closer to wrap an arm around her.
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG
Pairing: Original (f/f)
A/N: Short little ficlet.
Hook, line...
There had been a time when, fueled by a sliver of creativity and desperation, she had strung up a bunch of black feathers on a piece of string. Hung up on the ceiling close to the window, it had looked like a bird falling apart in mid flight, its feathers twisting in the cool breeze, eternally suspended in destruction.
Eventually the feathers had become weighed down by dust, the sun bleaching the blackness out of them. She’d taken them down years ago, running a finger along the soft edge of one of them, forgetting that, once upon a time, they’d meant a lot. They’d symbolized freedom, an odd kind of freedom what came with falling apart, with letting go.
They found the feathers in a box, pressed against the bottom by a stack of children’s books. Wrapping the end of the string around her finger, Cate fished it out, held it up and blew against it, making the feathers shiver.
“What’s that?” she asked, squinting at the feathers, at the way they quivered and turned.
“Oh, I had that hanging up in my room when I was younger.”
Ally glanced at the feathers, grey after all these years, as if all the memories had squeezed the color out of the quills. Reaching out, she rubbed a feather between her thumb and forefinger, frowning at the dusty residue.
Cate shook her hand, making the feathers dance frantically again. They watched as the sun made the falling dust sparkle in a triangle of light.
“Wanna keep it?” Cate asked, her eyes resting on the woman across from her.
Ally seemed much smaller suddenly, running a hand through her dark hair as she stared at her mobile, at this scattered bird. She shrugged, not sure if she wanted to keep something that was so saturated with her past, something that had, by falling apart, made her whole.
“Maybe we should make a new one,” Cate said, her voice low, understanding, almost shy, “We could use colorful feathers.”
They looked at each other for a moment, hopeful, at the edge of something great building all around them, filling all the cracks and fissures between them.
Finally, Ally smiled. The kind of smile that started with a twitch of the corners of her mouth, spreading all the way to her eyes to make them sparkle.
“Maybe we should,” she whispered.
There had been a reason why she’d hung up the black feathers. There’d been a reason why she’d taken them down, why she had stuffed them into a box, memories weighed down by fairytales and children’s dreams.
Cate handed the feathers over, watched as Ally crushed them between her hands, balled them up until the string was knotted around them, until tendrils of grey floated to the ground.
“It’s time for some color,” she said, winking at Cate, pulling her closer to wrap an arm around her.