Fortune Cookie Challenge: Remembrance
TITLE: Remembrance
AUTHOR: memories_child
SPOILERS: Post-IWTB
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER/PAIRING: William
WORD COUNT: 200
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, they belong to CC. He just lets me play with them sometimes.
A/N: This was written for the seventh thedrabblefiles challenge.
_______________________
He comes to the ruined hulk of the building sometime before sunset, when the deep red of the sky looks almost as though it could be signalling the end of just another day. He pauses before entering, time and experience teaching him to expect the unexpected, to look before he leaps. The building is quiet.
He searches for food amid the dusty shelves. The freezers stopped working long ago and he avoids them; once, the stench of rotting meat filling his nostrils, was enough.
There are tins of meat in the store room at the back of the building, their use by date not yet passed. He saws one open with the thin knife he carries with him and swallows the meat without chewing; no time for delicacy.
His eyes drift to a box on the bottom shelf. Fortune cookies. He hasn't had one for so long, since - well, since before - and he rips the box open, tearing at the silver packages inside. The first dissolves on his tongue, sweet and nostalgic. He reads the paper inside.
You are not alone.
Outside the window he sees a flash of red hair, lit by the dying sun. He remembers.
AUTHOR: memories_child
SPOILERS: Post-IWTB
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER/PAIRING: William
WORD COUNT: 200
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, they belong to CC. He just lets me play with them sometimes.
A/N: This was written for the seventh thedrabblefiles challenge.
_______________________
He comes to the ruined hulk of the building sometime before sunset, when the deep red of the sky looks almost as though it could be signalling the end of just another day. He pauses before entering, time and experience teaching him to expect the unexpected, to look before he leaps. The building is quiet.
He searches for food amid the dusty shelves. The freezers stopped working long ago and he avoids them; once, the stench of rotting meat filling his nostrils, was enough.
There are tins of meat in the store room at the back of the building, their use by date not yet passed. He saws one open with the thin knife he carries with him and swallows the meat without chewing; no time for delicacy.
His eyes drift to a box on the bottom shelf. Fortune cookies. He hasn't had one for so long, since - well, since before - and he rips the box open, tearing at the silver packages inside. The first dissolves on his tongue, sweet and nostalgic. He reads the paper inside.
You are not alone.
Outside the window he sees a flash of red hair, lit by the dying sun. He remembers.