I came here to try and get out of this depressing writing thing I seem to have going on.
I ended with this....sigh.
Hope it suits.
~*~*~*~*~
Joey turns on the boiler at six sharp. As the pipes rattle and gurgle, he carefully goes downstairs, taking hesitant painful steps, always aware of the frayed carpet on stairs seven and three.
There’s a radiator in the hall. It was painted silver by the last tenants and the paint is peeling now, curls of silver that flake to the floor. Joey rests against it, letting the heat ease the pain in his leg.
A moment of distraction, a faulty trapdoor, and his life was changed in an instant. It had taken almost two hours to get him out of the mine. Two hours when he cried and swore, his blood pooling and seeping into the earth.
Almost a year later and finally he can move around. Hobbling around this house, watching tv, blankets on his knee, balancing against counter tops as he looks into bare cupboards and works out what to make for tea.
He’s on sick pay, but that ends soon. When he’ll be officially labelled unfit for work, and thrown into a life on the dole.
Pain spikes, and Joey rubs at his leg, cursing under his breath as muscles tense. Hand pressed hard against the wall, he rides it out until finally he can move. Limping into the kitchen where he leans against the small table. He uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then eases down onto one of the chairs. Leg out straight he looks at his watch, and smiles when the front door opens exactly on time.
Chris is officially his housemate, but he’s so much more. To Joey he’s everything, and his smile widens when Chris walks into the kitchen. There’s coal dust in the crease of his nose, a streak of black snaking from under his ear, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. Dropping his bait box on the counter, Chris looks at Joey, recognising the remnants of pain.
A shake of his head, and Chris is twisting the top off a bottle, his nails dirty against the white of the label. He shakes out two tablets, then fills a beaker with water, passing them over, watching until Joey swallows the painkillers down.
Only then does Chris smile. A small smile that’s mirrored in his eyes as he carefully positions himself at Joey’s good side. Leaning down and holding on, hands tight against Joey’s back, his stubble rough against Joey’s face. He smells of damp and coal and things Joey will never experience again.
Joey holds on, and knows that as much as he’s lost, Chris isn’t one of them.
I ended with this....sigh.
Hope it suits.
~*~*~*~*~
Joey turns on the boiler at six sharp. As the pipes rattle and gurgle, he carefully goes downstairs, taking hesitant painful steps, always aware of the frayed carpet on stairs seven and three.
There’s a radiator in the hall. It was painted silver by the last tenants and the paint is peeling now, curls of silver that flake to the floor. Joey rests against it, letting the heat ease the pain in his leg.
A moment of distraction, a faulty trapdoor, and his life was changed in an instant. It had taken almost two hours to get him out of the mine. Two hours when he cried and swore, his blood pooling and seeping into the earth.
Almost a year later and finally he can move around. Hobbling around this house, watching tv, blankets on his knee, balancing against counter tops as he looks into bare cupboards and works out what to make for tea.
He’s on sick pay, but that ends soon. When he’ll be officially labelled unfit for work, and thrown into a life on the dole.
Pain spikes, and Joey rubs at his leg, cursing under his breath as muscles tense. Hand pressed hard against the wall, he rides it out until finally he can move. Limping into the kitchen where he leans against the small table. He uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then eases down onto one of the chairs. Leg out straight he looks at his watch, and smiles when the front door opens exactly on time.
Chris is officially his housemate, but he’s so much more. To Joey he’s everything, and his smile widens when Chris walks into the kitchen. There’s coal dust in the crease of his nose, a streak of black snaking from under his ear, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. Dropping his bait box on the counter, Chris looks at Joey, recognising the remnants of pain.
A shake of his head, and Chris is twisting the top off a bottle, his nails dirty against the white of the label. He shakes out two tablets, then fills a beaker with water, passing them over, watching until Joey swallows the painkillers down.
Only then does Chris smile. A small smile that’s mirrored in his eyes as he carefully positions himself at Joey’s good side. Leaning down and holding on, hands tight against Joey’s back, his stubble rough against Joey’s face. He smells of damp and coal and things Joey will never experience again.
Joey holds on, and knows that as much as he’s lost, Chris isn’t one of them.
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I'm going to check the prompts again tomorrow. There has to be a happy ficlet in me somewhere *g*
I'm glad you liked. Thank you.
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*hugs for the sadness*
But beautiful delicacy as always ;o)
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Thanks so much for the comment, and you know. Feel free to keep prodding me for something happy, or porn ;)
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*abandons cattle-prod and pokes you gently*
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*goes to look for a happyfic challenge*
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