A hair's breadth from rock bottom.
So, my tire got a flat on the way into work this morning. While waiting for the tire store to open, I too get to write a vignette! And all of you suckers have to read it. This one technically doesn't happen till after Satiet's toasty, but I'm taking it as a sign from God that I was meant to do this today.
Wyaeth did not keen. He woke, he watched his queen disappear, he stayed silent on his half of the ledge while dragons around him took up sorrowfully for the loss of Teonath. << Bad news. >> Inside, N'thei sat up fast. The night had been... hard. Eventually, wisely, they stopped trying to say anything, and it was better; he fought sleep a long time-- because he knew. He knew that this would be his morning.
No?
<< 'Fraid so. >>
He pushed upright, sheets tangled around his ankles so they draped off the side of the bed. She was sick, nothing had happened, he was still wearing his shorts, it was cold in the room, he could feel his toes rebelling against the chilly stone floor that he measured in a flurry of dazed steps. Where he thought he was going, what he thought he would do when he got there-- the daisy, the scarf, the card. Start positively. Tell me how it goes. It went well for me.
N'thei hit his knees.
And then he cried. Yes, he knew this was coming. Yes, he had time to brace himself. Yes, he was going to be okay eventually. But right now... right now, his shoulders stooped and the card fell from his fingers and he put a hand over his eyes and he wept. Because the days would always be just a little less blue now, the nights a little less eager. Because he was still going to listen for the sound of bare feet, even knowing whose feet they'd never be again. Because the smell of lavender or a glimpse of dark hair against pale skin or the murmur of a woman's alto were going to thrill him for just a moment for the rest of his life. Because he'd been in love, and-- no matter how many women lined up in his future-- she was always going to be the one for him.
Eventually, he would have to peel himself off the floor. Not the sit-on-the-floor-and-sob type. But he couldn't stand the idea of the simplest things, shaving and dressing and going through the motions. He sifted through himself, looking for some sense of shame that someone would find him wrecked like this... but there wasn't any. She was his ambition, his struggle, his reward, his penance, << It ain't over, hoss. >>
I don't know what to do without her.
<< You'll figure it out. >>
"What if I can't?"
<< I got you. >>
He nodded behind his hand. He wiped his eyes. There were more tears in his future, and no sense pretending otherwise. You're going to hurt like hell, A'son said, and truer words were seldom spoken. The table nearly fell over when N'thei's palm came down on it, used it to pry himself to his feet; it teetered, the daisy wobbled.
Like the end of a sigh, like the end of a breath he'd caught that first time her smile curved at him and he knew he was fucked, he exhaled.
Wyaeth did not keen. He woke, he watched his queen disappear, he stayed silent on his half of the ledge while dragons around him took up sorrowfully for the loss of Teonath. << Bad news. >> Inside, N'thei sat up fast. The night had been... hard. Eventually, wisely, they stopped trying to say anything, and it was better; he fought sleep a long time-- because he knew. He knew that this would be his morning.
No?
<< 'Fraid so. >>
He pushed upright, sheets tangled around his ankles so they draped off the side of the bed. She was sick, nothing had happened, he was still wearing his shorts, it was cold in the room, he could feel his toes rebelling against the chilly stone floor that he measured in a flurry of dazed steps. Where he thought he was going, what he thought he would do when he got there-- the daisy, the scarf, the card. Start positively. Tell me how it goes. It went well for me.
N'thei hit his knees.
And then he cried. Yes, he knew this was coming. Yes, he had time to brace himself. Yes, he was going to be okay eventually. But right now... right now, his shoulders stooped and the card fell from his fingers and he put a hand over his eyes and he wept. Because the days would always be just a little less blue now, the nights a little less eager. Because he was still going to listen for the sound of bare feet, even knowing whose feet they'd never be again. Because the smell of lavender or a glimpse of dark hair against pale skin or the murmur of a woman's alto were going to thrill him for just a moment for the rest of his life. Because he'd been in love, and-- no matter how many women lined up in his future-- she was always going to be the one for him.
Eventually, he would have to peel himself off the floor. Not the sit-on-the-floor-and-sob type. But he couldn't stand the idea of the simplest things, shaving and dressing and going through the motions. He sifted through himself, looking for some sense of shame that someone would find him wrecked like this... but there wasn't any. She was his ambition, his struggle, his reward, his penance, << It ain't over, hoss. >>
I don't know what to do without her.
<< You'll figure it out. >>
"What if I can't?"
<< I got you. >>
He nodded behind his hand. He wiped his eyes. There were more tears in his future, and no sense pretending otherwise. You're going to hurt like hell, A'son said, and truer words were seldom spoken. The table nearly fell over when N'thei's palm came down on it, used it to pry himself to his feet; it teetered, the daisy wobbled.
Like the end of a sigh, like the end of a breath he'd caught that first time her smile curved at him and he knew he was fucked, he exhaled.