Superego
Superego
Characters: Jack Shephard
Rating: PG
Word count: 135
Timeline: Post-rescue
Disclaimer: This is a fictional, nonprofit work for entertainment purpose only. The copyright in the TV show LOST and its components is owned by "American Broadcast Companies, Inc.", which reserves all rights therein.
Author’s Notes: I challenged myself to find an unusual answer to lostsquee prompt “feather, tease, velvet”. Unusual as in “non-sexual”.
The room is old. The painting on the walls doesn’t know its color anymore, the furniture seems to warn you against touching it. The man that patiently looks at him is also old, so old that he can picture his thin, shaky hand wetting the tip of a crow feather with ink.
He feels uncomfortable sitting on that divan, as an ancient stranger waits for him to tell the tale of his failures. The dark red velvet under his fingers reminds him of his mother’s favourite couch, over which he has never been allowed to put his feet. He wonders if he should verbalize that thought, so many painful words teasing at his tongue.
It’s not the origin of his problems, but he has to start somewhere. “I was taking my father’s body back home.”
Characters: Jack Shephard
Rating: PG
Word count: 135
Timeline: Post-rescue
Disclaimer: This is a fictional, nonprofit work for entertainment purpose only. The copyright in the TV show LOST and its components is owned by "American Broadcast Companies, Inc.", which reserves all rights therein.
Author’s Notes: I challenged myself to find an unusual answer to lostsquee prompt “feather, tease, velvet”. Unusual as in “non-sexual”.
The room is old. The painting on the walls doesn’t know its color anymore, the furniture seems to warn you against touching it. The man that patiently looks at him is also old, so old that he can picture his thin, shaky hand wetting the tip of a crow feather with ink.
He feels uncomfortable sitting on that divan, as an ancient stranger waits for him to tell the tale of his failures. The dark red velvet under his fingers reminds him of his mother’s favourite couch, over which he has never been allowed to put his feet. He wonders if he should verbalize that thought, so many painful words teasing at his tongue.
It’s not the origin of his problems, but he has to start somewhere. “I was taking my father’s body back home.”