SPN - Déjà vu
Title: Déjà vu
Rating: all ages
Characters: Anna Milton
Genre: Pseudo-angst?
Warnings: Vague spoilers for SPN 4.10 onward
Word Count: 416
Summary: Anna thinks strangely that it's become so much harder to go upstairs than it is to go down them.
Author's Note: Random little drabble that popped into my head out of the blue.
Déjà vu
Anna is fifteen and angry, angsty, apathetic, trading sunny smiles for sulky shrugs and feeling so (God)damned alone, even though she knows she isn't. She wraps herself in changes, swapping pastel sweetness for black rebellion, wearing too much makeup and hearing the swear words pile around her head like a halo. She's (hidden) lost her cross and stopped saying her prayers (out loud) because it's not cool it's not cool it's not cool.
She can't count the number of arguments she's skirted around with her parents in recent months. Church and school and her friends and her music and the sad look on her mothers face when she thinks that she may be losing her daughter.
The steeple of her father's church, high stained windows and dusty wooden floors and so many memories of younger days, is empty and cold and Anna thinks strangely that it's become so much harder to go upstairs than it is to go down them, like the entrance to the club she's discovered with her friends, all red lights and sweaty skin and pulsing sound.
It's normal, she knows, and it will pass and she look back and feel a fool, but for now Anna is caught up in this strange half-life, not yet adult and yet she feels too old for her skin, taught and drawn and stretched; she feels too large and too small and sometimes her shoulders itch like she'd like to sprout wings and leave the ground behind. But Anna has grown cynical and sarcastic and she knows that the higher she tries to go, the farther she'll have to fall, so she's stopped reaching.
A year has passed and her father has stopped asking her to come to Sunday service, and yet Anna finds herself in front of (her) his church, staring up at the cross on the steeple like a child staring at the stars. For a moment, she thinks maybe she's been here before; there is a sense of déjà vu, although she's certain she hasn't been here in a year. Anna lowers her gaze, stares at the church door, and stands still. Thirty-seven steps later finds her at the landing, staring up and up and up. She wonders if she can climb the stairs (after all this time), so she tries to step forward but finds that she hasn't moved. She sighs, once, and turns her back, eyes blurring with the dizzy feeling of falling, and Anna thinks that maybe today is the wrong moment to be climbing upwards.
Rating: all ages
Characters: Anna Milton
Genre: Pseudo-angst?
Warnings: Vague spoilers for SPN 4.10 onward
Word Count: 416
Summary: Anna thinks strangely that it's become so much harder to go upstairs than it is to go down them.
Author's Note: Random little drabble that popped into my head out of the blue.
Déjà vu
Anna is fifteen and angry, angsty, apathetic, trading sunny smiles for sulky shrugs and feeling so (God)damned alone, even though she knows she isn't. She wraps herself in changes, swapping pastel sweetness for black rebellion, wearing too much makeup and hearing the swear words pile around her head like a halo. She's (hidden) lost her cross and stopped saying her prayers (out loud) because it's not cool it's not cool it's not cool.
She can't count the number of arguments she's skirted around with her parents in recent months. Church and school and her friends and her music and the sad look on her mothers face when she thinks that she may be losing her daughter.
The steeple of her father's church, high stained windows and dusty wooden floors and so many memories of younger days, is empty and cold and Anna thinks strangely that it's become so much harder to go upstairs than it is to go down them, like the entrance to the club she's discovered with her friends, all red lights and sweaty skin and pulsing sound.
It's normal, she knows, and it will pass and she look back and feel a fool, but for now Anna is caught up in this strange half-life, not yet adult and yet she feels too old for her skin, taught and drawn and stretched; she feels too large and too small and sometimes her shoulders itch like she'd like to sprout wings and leave the ground behind. But Anna has grown cynical and sarcastic and she knows that the higher she tries to go, the farther she'll have to fall, so she's stopped reaching.
A year has passed and her father has stopped asking her to come to Sunday service, and yet Anna finds herself in front of (her) his church, staring up at the cross on the steeple like a child staring at the stars. For a moment, she thinks maybe she's been here before; there is a sense of déjà vu, although she's certain she hasn't been here in a year. Anna lowers her gaze, stares at the church door, and stands still. Thirty-seven steps later finds her at the landing, staring up and up and up. She wonders if she can climb the stairs (after all this time), so she tries to step forward but finds that she hasn't moved. She sighs, once, and turns her back, eyes blurring with the dizzy feeling of falling, and Anna thinks that maybe today is the wrong moment to be climbing upwards.