Quadribblish - Ends of the Deep (J/W)
The faint glimmer on the horizon, almost like a dream, beckoned him onward.
No man can rush time, even though there was one pacing on the beach, restless, the rosy hues deepening the shadows under his eyes after a sleepless night.
Cast into eternal shadow by destiny preordained, the shimmering light precluded the quicksilver soul he sought.
Getting into the boat for what had to be the hundredth time by now, he just as quickly discarded the thought. He’d lost his bearings, his compass swinging wildly, as anxious as its owner, as if presenting for a nonexistent audience the turmoil in the man’s soul.
Unbound at last, he coursed his way upward, upward, towards the beacon of his salvation.
He cursed the slender finger of the rising sun, her languid yawning into the new day, languishing, laughing at the restlessness of puny humans.
Would he be waiting for him? Or had he finally tired of their fragmented existence?
“Yes, that’s right. Just hang in there, mate, there‘s no rush.” Patience, whatever semblance there was left of it, was running empty. “What are you waiting for, a written invitation? Pull that carriage, you lousy yaud!”
Upward, onward, the light above now penetrating the depths, a glistening pathway to his deliverance.
Every ripple, each wave could be the one announce the rise of the Flying Dutchman. Any blink of an eye could obscure the flash of light which would bring him home, so he didn’t blink, and stared into the distance. But he did get into the boat. Again.
The ship of ships beat the tattoo of the heart of hearts, pulsing, eager to find their way from where they’d been lost.
Had he somehow, somewhere, unbeknownst acquired the ability to make time stand still? Now? Why not later, when such a bloody skill could be more useful, say, once the damned bloody ship was actually-- ‘Green flash. Will. Will. Thank you. Now bring him home to me. With me.’
Bursting above the sea’s surface, shaking off the water and the binds that pulled them apart, eagerly he searched the placid waters. His eyes, dazzled with the unaccustomed brightness, he almost missed the small boat’s presence, bobbing in the ship’s emerging wake.
He could not speak, could not move, could not do more than to wait and wait, and wait, until the hands of time gracefully allowed it to happen, let his love turn and see him, the one who was waiting.
Emotions choking his words, he drank in the vision before him. His spirit soared, no longer a dream to haunt his sleepless nights, he dared now take a breath as he savored the moment, his soul now whole once more.
****
No man can rush time, even though there was one pacing on the beach, restless, the rosy hues deepening the shadows under his eyes after a sleepless night.
Cast into eternal shadow by destiny preordained, the shimmering light precluded the quicksilver soul he sought.
Getting into the boat for what had to be the hundredth time by now, he just as quickly discarded the thought. He’d lost his bearings, his compass swinging wildly, as anxious as its owner, as if presenting for a nonexistent audience the turmoil in the man’s soul.
Unbound at last, he coursed his way upward, upward, towards the beacon of his salvation.
He cursed the slender finger of the rising sun, her languid yawning into the new day, languishing, laughing at the restlessness of puny humans.
Would he be waiting for him? Or had he finally tired of their fragmented existence?
“Yes, that’s right. Just hang in there, mate, there‘s no rush.” Patience, whatever semblance there was left of it, was running empty. “What are you waiting for, a written invitation? Pull that carriage, you lousy yaud!”
Upward, onward, the light above now penetrating the depths, a glistening pathway to his deliverance.
Every ripple, each wave could be the one announce the rise of the Flying Dutchman. Any blink of an eye could obscure the flash of light which would bring him home, so he didn’t blink, and stared into the distance. But he did get into the boat. Again.
The ship of ships beat the tattoo of the heart of hearts, pulsing, eager to find their way from where they’d been lost.
Had he somehow, somewhere, unbeknownst acquired the ability to make time stand still? Now? Why not later, when such a bloody skill could be more useful, say, once the damned bloody ship was actually-- ‘Green flash. Will. Will. Thank you. Now bring him home to me. With me.’
Bursting above the sea’s surface, shaking off the water and the binds that pulled them apart, eagerly he searched the placid waters. His eyes, dazzled with the unaccustomed brightness, he almost missed the small boat’s presence, bobbing in the ship’s emerging wake.
He could not speak, could not move, could not do more than to wait and wait, and wait, until the hands of time gracefully allowed it to happen, let his love turn and see him, the one who was waiting.
Emotions choking his words, he drank in the vision before him. His spirit soared, no longer a dream to haunt his sleepless nights, he dared now take a breath as he savored the moment, his soul now whole once more.
****