DRABBLE: grief ~ seamus [200 words]
Honestly, life can quit this any minute. It's getting to be too much. Dear world... please slow down. Love, kaalee. ♥
Grief
Seamus, 200 words
He isn't hiding. Not exactly.
When others wander by his office, mumbling 'such a tragedy' and 'donations in lieu of flowers,' Seamus pulls his knees closer to his chest, ducks down to make himself tinier, and wishes he were younger. If he was seven he could leave, could run outside until his lungs ache and laughter bubbles over of the sheer joy of adrenaline-laced nausea.
Does it really matter that the only memory he can recall right now is her teasing that being able to move his hips like that could only mean that he spent weekends moonlighting as an exotic dancer?
When he'd shared that with the Deputy Minister, he'd narrowed his eyes, hissing: 'inappropriate, Finnigan.' Across the room, he'd pursed his lips, his eyes sending daggers twisting through the pores of Seamus's skin. He stared so hard Seamus finally checked the mirror to make sure it hadn't actually withered his skin. Honestly, though? Seamus knows she would have appreciated that bit of humour in amidst the pain. It doesn't feel right that someone else can dictate such a private, personal thing.
So, he curls more tightly under the table, waiting for the right idea to open him up.
::
Grief
Seamus, 200 words
He isn't hiding. Not exactly.
When others wander by his office, mumbling 'such a tragedy' and 'donations in lieu of flowers,' Seamus pulls his knees closer to his chest, ducks down to make himself tinier, and wishes he were younger. If he was seven he could leave, could run outside until his lungs ache and laughter bubbles over of the sheer joy of adrenaline-laced nausea.
Does it really matter that the only memory he can recall right now is her teasing that being able to move his hips like that could only mean that he spent weekends moonlighting as an exotic dancer?
When he'd shared that with the Deputy Minister, he'd narrowed his eyes, hissing: 'inappropriate, Finnigan.' Across the room, he'd pursed his lips, his eyes sending daggers twisting through the pores of Seamus's skin. He stared so hard Seamus finally checked the mirror to make sure it hadn't actually withered his skin. Honestly, though? Seamus knows she would have appreciated that bit of humour in amidst the pain. It doesn't feel right that someone else can dictate such a private, personal thing.
So, he curls more tightly under the table, waiting for the right idea to open him up.
::