Thoughts on a Quiet Place
Character: Lee Adama
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Spoilers: Nothing specific
Rating: G
Word Count: ~500
Prompt: at scifi_muses
It was dismally beautiful here. Sunlight made it a bit more special as it kissed the water with morning luminescence. I always felt safe; safe from the vagaries of my life that spread fear and doubt in what I could do and where I could go. My self assessment of that perhaps belied reality because I was capable of much. I'd proved that at an early age academically; that success pulled from me by my father's hardness. What I could do well was scorned; what I did acceptably but not exceptionally spurned as sub par, scorned at as beneath the Adama name. So I pushed to make it better and did so because I was an Adama. At least it was deemed improved, the already exceptional still ignored.
There were other things that placed me in the sunlight yet they weren't taken as proof of anything. I could tread quietly, yeah silently along the path, displaying a stealth far beyond my years, but while deemed a skill, perhaps above that of others of even a greater age than I perceived, was neither seen as something to be encouraged. Yet it allowed me to seek out this place of quiet and see the wonders of life, that made it as sacred as I, in all their variety.
I could trim a small bit from my every meal, putting it aside as if in offering to the Gods I never believed in, yet later taking it as offering to the waterfowl that would remain due to my stealth and settle around me to accept my offering. Something to be accepted as their due for the gifts of silent solitude. They were as Gods.
I could toss pebbles beyond them. Never disturbing but the placid surface upon which everything lay, with accuracy honed of necessity not to injure, not to startle, but to draw out the skill of my own hand and eye. It was further honed as the years went by with a slingshot, then more crass but powerful weaponry that would eventually save the life of everyone around me. Yet it neither dawned nor foretold of anything then but of a thing that kept the scene one of tranquility that which my very soul most desired.
I could use my stealth as a starting point again to go beyond and hone another skill. One of kicking and pulling, of gliding, of remaining again in the stillness; yet in a different place that would lead me to go to many more of places far and near, interior and other worldly, substantive and nondescript. Places all where my strengths or weaknesses took me alone, yet capable of connecting to something greater than the safety that my heart sought.
It strengthened me for what was to come, yet sometimes I seek again the stillness. For all I've become that small boy that is me still struggles to find the greater thing that's as elusive as the sunlight now denied to me.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Spoilers: Nothing specific
Rating: G
Word Count: ~500
Prompt: at scifi_muses
It was dismally beautiful here. Sunlight made it a bit more special as it kissed the water with morning luminescence. I always felt safe; safe from the vagaries of my life that spread fear and doubt in what I could do and where I could go. My self assessment of that perhaps belied reality because I was capable of much. I'd proved that at an early age academically; that success pulled from me by my father's hardness. What I could do well was scorned; what I did acceptably but not exceptionally spurned as sub par, scorned at as beneath the Adama name. So I pushed to make it better and did so because I was an Adama. At least it was deemed improved, the already exceptional still ignored.
There were other things that placed me in the sunlight yet they weren't taken as proof of anything. I could tread quietly, yeah silently along the path, displaying a stealth far beyond my years, but while deemed a skill, perhaps above that of others of even a greater age than I perceived, was neither seen as something to be encouraged. Yet it allowed me to seek out this place of quiet and see the wonders of life, that made it as sacred as I, in all their variety.
I could trim a small bit from my every meal, putting it aside as if in offering to the Gods I never believed in, yet later taking it as offering to the waterfowl that would remain due to my stealth and settle around me to accept my offering. Something to be accepted as their due for the gifts of silent solitude. They were as Gods.
I could toss pebbles beyond them. Never disturbing but the placid surface upon which everything lay, with accuracy honed of necessity not to injure, not to startle, but to draw out the skill of my own hand and eye. It was further honed as the years went by with a slingshot, then more crass but powerful weaponry that would eventually save the life of everyone around me. Yet it neither dawned nor foretold of anything then but of a thing that kept the scene one of tranquility that which my very soul most desired.
I could use my stealth as a starting point again to go beyond and hone another skill. One of kicking and pulling, of gliding, of remaining again in the stillness; yet in a different place that would lead me to go to many more of places far and near, interior and other worldly, substantive and nondescript. Places all where my strengths or weaknesses took me alone, yet capable of connecting to something greater than the safety that my heart sought.
It strengthened me for what was to come, yet sometimes I seek again the stillness. For all I've become that small boy that is me still struggles to find the greater thing that's as elusive as the sunlight now denied to me.