Rinoa/Caraway: Bonfires
Title: Bonfires
Characters: Rinoa/Caraway
Prompts: Fire, seperation, salt in wounds (#10, #37, #49)
Rating: G
The day you sold the piano was the day a part of me gave up.
As they wheeled the thing out of the house, I wanted to travel with it. Travel anywhere. I wanted to live in between the keys forever. I missed her that much. That was what you didn't realise. Sadness isn't always tears, sadness is sometimes gritted teeth and smashed glass. She would have understood, she would have understood because she knew what it was like to want to be set free.
"Dad, Dad, Dad, please, Dad, Dad." I said, frantic and quick. I pulled on your jacket. You kept on looking forward, watching it being loaded. "Please, Dad, Dad, I need it, Dad, let's keep it, Dad, Dad, please please please."
I know you wanted to get rid of her things. I know they lingered like spiteful ghosts to you. But to me they coloured in the gaps I'd been losing. I was barely five when she died, I was ten now. Dreams and illusions played with my memories, and I needed to feel like she truly did exist. In my dreams I could, and still can, hear her play the piano.
I never played it. I just sat there and imagined her beside me. I know it worried you. But I needed to feel like she was there. I never played it. I had ghosts, too.
Even her nightdresses were packed in boxes. To me they still had her smell, of course they didn't, but to me I could still smell that rosy perfume. When I was lonely I used to bury myself in her clothes. You weren't there, Dad. I needed her.
You passed through me like I wasn't real.
"I'll do anything, Dad, I'll never be mean, I promise, I'll do all my school work, I..."
But you couldn't, or wouldn't, hear me. You were in a vacuum. To you, this signified a new life, a bonfire to wipe away dirty leaves that littered our home. To me, this was the end. The bonfire you created would get out of control, setting fire to the home you so desperately wanted pure.
Characters: Rinoa/Caraway
Prompts: Fire, seperation, salt in wounds (#10, #37, #49)
Rating: G
The day you sold the piano was the day a part of me gave up.
As they wheeled the thing out of the house, I wanted to travel with it. Travel anywhere. I wanted to live in between the keys forever. I missed her that much. That was what you didn't realise. Sadness isn't always tears, sadness is sometimes gritted teeth and smashed glass. She would have understood, she would have understood because she knew what it was like to want to be set free.
"Dad, Dad, Dad, please, Dad, Dad." I said, frantic and quick. I pulled on your jacket. You kept on looking forward, watching it being loaded. "Please, Dad, Dad, I need it, Dad, let's keep it, Dad, Dad, please please please."
I know you wanted to get rid of her things. I know they lingered like spiteful ghosts to you. But to me they coloured in the gaps I'd been losing. I was barely five when she died, I was ten now. Dreams and illusions played with my memories, and I needed to feel like she truly did exist. In my dreams I could, and still can, hear her play the piano.
I never played it. I just sat there and imagined her beside me. I know it worried you. But I needed to feel like she was there. I never played it. I had ghosts, too.
Even her nightdresses were packed in boxes. To me they still had her smell, of course they didn't, but to me I could still smell that rosy perfume. When I was lonely I used to bury myself in her clothes. You weren't there, Dad. I needed her.
You passed through me like I wasn't real.
"I'll do anything, Dad, I'll never be mean, I promise, I'll do all my school work, I..."
But you couldn't, or wouldn't, hear me. You were in a vacuum. To you, this signified a new life, a bonfire to wipe away dirty leaves that littered our home. To me, this was the end. The bonfire you created would get out of control, setting fire to the home you so desperately wanted pure.