CW - Nov 1
Assignment in Creative Writing, November 1, 2012: write about an emotion or an event without ever actually mentioning it in the piece.
I couldn't decide whether to go for an emotion or an event, so I sort of latched on to both. Can be read as original fic, although I did have a specific character in mind while writing. Obvious fandom is obvious. See if you can identify the emotion I was going for.
--
Breathing was suddenly difficult. He swallowed reflexively and dodged into the kitchen, trying to fight the sudden vertigo. He really should have been prepared for this, a small voice in his head told him. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before.
This time, he knew, it was the last nail in the coffin. It had been difficult to build bridges over troubled waters before. Now that the ground he had thought solid had proved to be about as stable as quicksand, he knew there was little he could do but let the bridges crumble altogether. Only a fool built a house or a bridge on shifting sands instead of bedrock.
He couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up at that thought. He had been so certain he had found his bedrock, the most trustworthy place to build a house - a life - on, and then... He wondered what exactly it was that had eroded the foundations he had thought immovable. His job had probably been one reason, he admitted that openly. Work insane hours, get called to work on his days off - few people were willing to put up with that.
He had thought those storms wouldn't have felled the house so easily. Shows what he knew. He had known what was going on, he supposed, even before the news had been thrown in his face just now. He just hadn't wanted to know. It had been easier to pretend that his life wasn't based on a sham.
He drew in a deep breath and leaned heavily against the counter. His head was starting to clear a bit. He still felt nauseous, but he was able to form coherent thoughts again.
He found himself wishing he couldn't have.
He knew he needed to get himself together, plaster on a smile, no matter how fake, and go back out into the living room to join the others and at least pretend to have a good time. No reason to spoil everyone else's holiday cheer, even if his own had been shot to hell with a careless comment.
------
Suddenly, it was difficult to draw breath. He swallowed reflexively and dodged into the kitchen, trying to fight the sudden vertigo.
You should have been prepared for this, a small voice in his head told him. After all, it's not as if this is the first time it's happened.
It really wasn't the first time, he allowed, but this time... this time, it was different. This was the last nail in the coffin. It had been difficult to build bridges over troubled waters before. Now that the ground he had thought solid had proved to be about as stable as quicksand, he knew there was little he could do but let the bridges crumble altogether. Only a fool tried to build a bridge or a house on shifting sands instead of bedrock.
He couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up at that thought. He had been so certain he had found his bedrock, the most trustworthy place to build a house - a life - on, and then...
He didn't think he had judged wrongly all those years ago: there really had been something absolutely solid and immovable back then to provide a strong foundation for any kind of construction. Strong enough to support their lives.
He could only wonder what had eroded those foundations so, what had turned the ground into a deceptive mire right under his feet. His job had been one reason, he knew that. He worked insane hours and got called to work on his days (and nights) off - few people were willing to put up with that.
Perhaps he had been naïve, but he had thought that such storms of everyday life wouldn't have been enough to destroy everything they had worked so hard to build. Showed what he knew. He had known what was going on, he supposed, even before the news had been thrown in his face. He just hadn't wanted to know. It had been easier to pretend that his life wasn't based on a sham.
He drew in a deep breath and leaned heavily against the counter. His head was starting to clear a bit. He still felt vaguely nauseous, but he was able to form coherent thoughts again.
He found himself wishing he couldn't have.
He knew he needed to get himself together, plaster on a smile, no matter how fake, and go back out into the living room to join the others and at least pretend to have a good time.
No reason to spoil everyone else's holiday cheer, even if his own had been shot to hell with a careless comment.
I couldn't decide whether to go for an emotion or an event, so I sort of latched on to both. Can be read as original fic, although I did have a specific character in mind while writing. Obvious fandom is obvious. See if you can identify the emotion I was going for.
--
Breathing was suddenly difficult. He swallowed reflexively and dodged into the kitchen, trying to fight the sudden vertigo. He really should have been prepared for this, a small voice in his head told him. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before.
This time, he knew, it was the last nail in the coffin. It had been difficult to build bridges over troubled waters before. Now that the ground he had thought solid had proved to be about as stable as quicksand, he knew there was little he could do but let the bridges crumble altogether. Only a fool built a house or a bridge on shifting sands instead of bedrock.
He couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up at that thought. He had been so certain he had found his bedrock, the most trustworthy place to build a house - a life - on, and then... He wondered what exactly it was that had eroded the foundations he had thought immovable. His job had probably been one reason, he admitted that openly. Work insane hours, get called to work on his days off - few people were willing to put up with that.
He had thought those storms wouldn't have felled the house so easily. Shows what he knew. He had known what was going on, he supposed, even before the news had been thrown in his face just now. He just hadn't wanted to know. It had been easier to pretend that his life wasn't based on a sham.
He drew in a deep breath and leaned heavily against the counter. His head was starting to clear a bit. He still felt nauseous, but he was able to form coherent thoughts again.
He found himself wishing he couldn't have.
He knew he needed to get himself together, plaster on a smile, no matter how fake, and go back out into the living room to join the others and at least pretend to have a good time. No reason to spoil everyone else's holiday cheer, even if his own had been shot to hell with a careless comment.
------
Suddenly, it was difficult to draw breath. He swallowed reflexively and dodged into the kitchen, trying to fight the sudden vertigo.
You should have been prepared for this, a small voice in his head told him. After all, it's not as if this is the first time it's happened.
It really wasn't the first time, he allowed, but this time... this time, it was different. This was the last nail in the coffin. It had been difficult to build bridges over troubled waters before. Now that the ground he had thought solid had proved to be about as stable as quicksand, he knew there was little he could do but let the bridges crumble altogether. Only a fool tried to build a bridge or a house on shifting sands instead of bedrock.
He couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up at that thought. He had been so certain he had found his bedrock, the most trustworthy place to build a house - a life - on, and then...
He didn't think he had judged wrongly all those years ago: there really had been something absolutely solid and immovable back then to provide a strong foundation for any kind of construction. Strong enough to support their lives.
He could only wonder what had eroded those foundations so, what had turned the ground into a deceptive mire right under his feet. His job had been one reason, he knew that. He worked insane hours and got called to work on his days (and nights) off - few people were willing to put up with that.
Perhaps he had been naïve, but he had thought that such storms of everyday life wouldn't have been enough to destroy everything they had worked so hard to build. Showed what he knew. He had known what was going on, he supposed, even before the news had been thrown in his face. He just hadn't wanted to know. It had been easier to pretend that his life wasn't based on a sham.
He drew in a deep breath and leaned heavily against the counter. His head was starting to clear a bit. He still felt vaguely nauseous, but he was able to form coherent thoughts again.
He found himself wishing he couldn't have.
He knew he needed to get himself together, plaster on a smile, no matter how fake, and go back out into the living room to join the others and at least pretend to have a good time.
No reason to spoil everyone else's holiday cheer, even if his own had been shot to hell with a careless comment.