FIC: Pretty Screams In Paradise

[lettered]

I'm sure your thoughts are with the families of the victims of VATech, as mine still are.

But this is done; I don't want to work on it any more, and maybe it will take the mind off for a moment for one or two of you. (Not that it's particularly heartening, I should mention.)

Please mind warnings.

*

Title: Pretty Screams In Paradise
Rating: NC-

Comments

[a2zmom]

Because of the subject matter, this won't get the readers it deserves, which is a shame. This is gut wrenching, beautiful and dark, but achingly sad above all.

Poor Angel, who just wants to love his son the way a father would, but is only allowed to love him the way a monster would.

Angel’s eyes were still very close to black, like burned wood, as if black charred crib bars had had risen between his vision and the bed.

You can feel Angel breaking apart here.

But Connor's pain is just as deep, a monster because he loves/wants to be loved by monsters and the only way to accept that love is to have it be perverted and wrong.

Kisses could be choirs, he supposed, as he angled his face, placed his lips against Angel’s cheek. Connor reached down and laced his finger’s with his father’s, digging his nails into the backs of Angel’s palms. Hands could be psalms. Crying could be a chorus, he guessed, and lies might be worth it.

I love this, it seems like Connor maybe will be able to accept Angel's love, might be able to heal, but of course this is all a terrible lie that is split open and revealed and then Connor has even less.

All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

[lettered]

Oh, R. I always worry that the point of what I'm trying to get across won't...get across and then you comment and I see that indeed it did. Thank you so much. I'm really really grateful that you read this and appreciated it the way you did.

I love that quote.

[a2zmom]

I don't read a lot of poetry, but as soon as I read this, that leapt into my mind.

And some writers, it's just always apparent to me what they're going for, what they're trying to say. Lucky for me, you're one of those. (Henry James, oto, remains utterly opaque)