visual trigger
So this is a quick piece I wrote for the prompt at http://community.livejournal.com/visual_trigger/. This http://community.livejournal.com/visual_trigger/5154.html#cutid1 is the picture.
Title: Maybe
Fandom: Original work
Rating/Warnings: None worth mentioning.
I hope you enjoy, it hasn't been beta'd or anything, just a quick drabble I thought of when looking at the picture.
It was a grey January morning and the naked trees stretched their spindly limbs up to the overcast sky like hands begging for the sunshine to return. Fiona muttered a curse about the cold and the slush under her boots that made walking all the more difficult. But still, the wind and the frigid winter air were much more appealing than returning home.
Fiona made the right into the empty park and trudged through the slush and ice covered paths. The only sound was the crunch and shlop of the wet snow under her boots as she walked, coat pulled tight around her and her hands shoved deep into her pockets for warmth. The quiet was a respite from the shouts and curses that filled her home, accentuated by the occasional crash of broken glass. Dad had lost another job and Mom was laid off from hers. Money was tight and tempers were high. Every day found Fiona waiting anxiously for her eighteenth birthday and the day she could finally leave her parents’ tiny two room apartment.
She sighed and tried to push such thoughts from her mind as she wandered the familiar walkways. Wishing wouldn't make her birthday come faster, nor would it make her parents stop fighting. The only thing she could do was keep working and saving for the future and in the mean time, keep out of her parents’ way.
Her feet took her away from the concrete paths onto one of the smaller dirt trails, the snow that covered it was untouched but she knew the way by heart, having traversed it many times in the past. It wound through the skinny, spidery trees into the heart of the part. It took all of her concentration not to slip on the ice hidden beneath the snow as she went. When she finally looked up her eyes landed on the ever familiar Angel and child standing in the center of the small clearing.
As a child Fiona had always believed that one day the angel would come to life and scoop her up in her warm arms to carry her away to Heaven. She was too old to believe in such nonsense now. She’d stopped believing in Heaven and Hell years ago. She wasn’t sure if the Devil or God existed, but looking up at the serene bronze-cast face and the sleeping infant cuddled in the angel’s arms, she thought that maybe there might be angels out there somewhere. The artist certainly believed so. Fiona didn’t think a person who didn’t believe in angels could have created one in such fine detail. Looking up at the gentle face made a small blossom of warmth spring in her chest. Maybe there was more to life than hiding from her parents and their fights. If such things as angels really existed in this world, then surely there must be some good there as well?
Fiona didn’t really know how long she stood there, staring up at the statue, but when she finally turned to leave, the sky didn’t seem so grey. a/
Title: Maybe
Fandom: Original work
Rating/Warnings: None worth mentioning.
I hope you enjoy, it hasn't been beta'd or anything, just a quick drabble I thought of when looking at the picture.
It was a grey January morning and the naked trees stretched their spindly limbs up to the overcast sky like hands begging for the sunshine to return. Fiona muttered a curse about the cold and the slush under her boots that made walking all the more difficult. But still, the wind and the frigid winter air were much more appealing than returning home.
Fiona made the right into the empty park and trudged through the slush and ice covered paths. The only sound was the crunch and shlop of the wet snow under her boots as she walked, coat pulled tight around her and her hands shoved deep into her pockets for warmth. The quiet was a respite from the shouts and curses that filled her home, accentuated by the occasional crash of broken glass. Dad had lost another job and Mom was laid off from hers. Money was tight and tempers were high. Every day found Fiona waiting anxiously for her eighteenth birthday and the day she could finally leave her parents’ tiny two room apartment.
She sighed and tried to push such thoughts from her mind as she wandered the familiar walkways. Wishing wouldn't make her birthday come faster, nor would it make her parents stop fighting. The only thing she could do was keep working and saving for the future and in the mean time, keep out of her parents’ way.
Her feet took her away from the concrete paths onto one of the smaller dirt trails, the snow that covered it was untouched but she knew the way by heart, having traversed it many times in the past. It wound through the skinny, spidery trees into the heart of the part. It took all of her concentration not to slip on the ice hidden beneath the snow as she went. When she finally looked up her eyes landed on the ever familiar Angel and child standing in the center of the small clearing.
As a child Fiona had always believed that one day the angel would come to life and scoop her up in her warm arms to carry her away to Heaven. She was too old to believe in such nonsense now. She’d stopped believing in Heaven and Hell years ago. She wasn’t sure if the Devil or God existed, but looking up at the serene bronze-cast face and the sleeping infant cuddled in the angel’s arms, she thought that maybe there might be angels out there somewhere. The artist certainly believed so. Fiona didn’t think a person who didn’t believe in angels could have created one in such fine detail. Looking up at the gentle face made a small blossom of warmth spring in her chest. Maybe there was more to life than hiding from her parents and their fights. If such things as angels really existed in this world, then surely there must be some good there as well?
Fiona didn’t really know how long she stood there, staring up at the statue, but when she finally turned to leave, the sky didn’t seem so grey. a/