we have lived so long (and hardly at all) ; alison/lily ; pg
At first, there is nothing.
And then, there is her.
She shows up one day, eyes like the summer and hair like the California sun. Her mouth is a perpetual sly, knowing smile, one that says she knows everything there is to know. Her laugh is just so, light and vivacious. Her East Coast accent is so spot-on perfect, her a-s a bit too high, her ing-s dropping off at the end. She's a blue blood through and through, right on down to her slim arms and legs, muscled from playing field hockey.
Her name is Alison. "But you can call me Ali," she says, with a slight toss of her hair.
Lily loves her instantly. How can she not?
"So I don't know where we are," Lily says. "I mean, I sort of do, but I'm not sure."
It would feel weird to say it out loud. She remembers dying quite clearly: the blinding flash of pain as the statue connected with her temple. The way she fell to the ground, the cement around the pool cool and wet against her skin. When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't in her backyard -- she was here. Here is a place she can't describe. It's everywhere and nowhere all at once. It can be anything she wants it to be, really.
There's a word for it, she knows. There's lots of words for it. But thinking about it, really thinking about it, gives her a headache. She isn't sad. She wonders if that's weird. It's not like being sad is going to change anything. But she does miss it: her old life -- or rather, just being alive. There's sun here, if she wants it. There's stars and a skies and green, green grass. Trees from anywhere, any season. Even a breeze that rustles through them. But it's not the same. It can't be.
"I always thought it would be romantic," Alison says. They're floating on little inflatable rafts on a pool that could be Lily's, from before. Their hands, between them, almost touch. "You know: die young, leave a beautiful corpse. I always wanted to die in some kind of tragic, mysterious way."
Lily glances over. Alison's got her eyes closed, leaning back and letting the sun wash over her. "Why would anyone want something like that?"
Alison grins. "Because that's immortality, my darling."
"So how did you die?" Lily asks, after some time. "I've been wondering about it -- what happened. Who did it."
Alison opens her eyes, turns to look at Lily. Her eyes are impossibly blue. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she says, and smiles that knowing, infuriating smile.
They sit under the stars.
"What do you miss most of all?" Lily asks, hugging her knees to her chest.
Alison tilts her head, considering. "My friends," she says, finally. The answer seems to surprise her.
"I had a best friend, when I was alive," Lily tells her. "Veronica. I wish I could have gotten a chance to say goodbye."
"My friends thought I hated them," Alison says. She laughs, but it's forced. "They probably hated me too."
Lily reaches over, lets her hand settle lightly on top of Alison's. "I'm sure that's not true," she says.
Alison laughs again. "Well, maybe," she says. She moves until she's right beside Lily, their shoulders touching. She can feel it every time Alison takes a breath, feels the warmth of Alison's body against hers. It's not real, she knows, but it feels real, right now. In this moment, they are as real as they can ever be again.
"There's so much you don't know," Alison tells her, shifting, and suddenly her mouth is right there, right in front of Lily's. Alison smells like Chanel No. 5 and vanilla soap; it makes Lily's heart race. She leans forward, kisses her full on the mouth. Lily tangles her hand in Alison's hair -- so much brighter than Lily's own, which is the color of wheat and depressingly straight and flat -- and pulls her in closer.
"So just tell me," Lily murmurs, a little frustrated and a lot curious, her cheek pressed against Alison's.
Alison smiles, puts her mouth next to Lily's ear, and does.
This pairing is perfect and is blowing my mind right now. I love this whole ficlet (the title is very fitting), as well as the way you've captured Alison.
At first, there is nothing.
And then, there is her.
She shows up one day, eyes like the summer and hair like the California sun. Her mouth is a perpetual sly, knowing smile, one that says she knows everything there is to know. Her laugh is just so, light and vivacious. Her East Coast accent is so spot-on perfect, her a-s a bit too high, her ing-s dropping off at the end. She's a blue blood through and through, right on down to her slim arms and legs, muscled from playing field hockey.
Her name is Alison. "But you can call me Ali," she says, with a slight toss of her hair.
Lily loves her instantly. How can she not?
"So I don't know where we are," Lily says. "I mean, I sort of do, but I'm not sure."
It would feel weird to say it out loud. She remembers dying quite clearly: the blinding flash of pain as the statue connected with her temple. The way she fell to the ground, the cement around the pool cool and wet against her skin. When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't in her backyard -- she was here. Here is a place she can't describe. It's everywhere and nowhere all at once. It can be anything she wants it to be, really.
There's a word for it, she knows. There's lots of words for it. But thinking about it, really thinking about it, gives her a headache. She isn't sad. She wonders if that's weird. It's not like being sad is going to change anything. But she does miss it: her old life -- or rather, just being alive. There's sun here, if she wants it. There's stars and a skies and green, green grass. Trees from anywhere, any season. Even a breeze that rustles through them. But it's not the same. It can't be.
"I always thought it would be romantic," Alison says. They're floating on little inflatable rafts on a pool that could be Lily's, from before. Their hands, between them, almost touch. "You know: die young, leave a beautiful corpse. I always wanted to die in some kind of tragic, mysterious way."
Lily glances over. Alison's got her eyes closed, leaning back and letting the sun wash over her. "Why would anyone want something like that?"
Alison grins. "Because that's immortality, my darling."
"So how did you die?" Lily asks, after some time. "I've been wondering about it -- what happened. Who did it."
Alison opens her eyes, turns to look at Lily. Her eyes are impossibly blue. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she says, and smiles that knowing, infuriating smile.
They sit under the stars.
"What do you miss most of all?" Lily asks, hugging her knees to her chest.
Alison tilts her head, considering. "My friends," she says, finally. The answer seems to surprise her.
"I had a best friend, when I was alive," Lily tells her. "Veronica. I wish I could have gotten a chance to say goodbye."
"My friends thought I hated them," Alison says. She laughs, but it's forced. "They probably hated me too."
Lily reaches over, lets her hand settle lightly on top of Alison's. "I'm sure that's not true," she says.
Alison laughs again. "Well, maybe," she says. She moves until she's right beside Lily, their shoulders touching. She can feel it every time Alison takes a breath, feels the warmth of Alison's body against hers. It's not real, she knows, but it feels real, right now. In this moment, they are as real as they can ever be again.
"There's so much you don't know," Alison tells her, shifting, and suddenly her mouth is right there, right in front of Lily's. Alison smells like Chanel No. 5 and vanilla soap; it makes Lily's heart race. She leans forward, kisses her full on the mouth. Lily tangles her hand in Alison's hair -- so much brighter than Lily's own, which is the color of wheat and depressingly straight and flat -- and pulls her in closer.
"So just tell me," Lily murmurs, a little frustrated and a lot curious, her cheek pressed against Alison's.
Alison smiles, puts her mouth next to Lily's ear, and does.
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