(no subject)
Belatedly, a quick Lost ficlet of under 400 words for a challenge with a theme of writing about a character through another character's eyes. Sayid through Nadia's eyes. References to torture, but there's nothing especially graphic.
Nobody calls me Noor, Sayid.
You are not a torturer. No more than I am Noor.
I almost cannot believe you didn't recognize me. But I recognized you. I knew you right away, your thick hair and solemn eyes and stubborn mouth.
I used to push you in the mud. I teased you. There were times when I was so mean to you. You remember it now; you say you thought my family's wealth meant I had enough attention, but we were too little for wealth to matter. What did it mean to me then?
I liked you.
I wanted your attention.
Children are capable of such cruelty, but look at us now. Tell me, you say, tell me or I will hurt you.
I know you will. I know what your role is and what mine is. My skin has been burned, my hands pierced. I see that sadness flicker in your eyes, so fleeting; you will not care to see the soles of my feet. Not unless you intend to reopen those wounds.
I know you will hurt me, Sayid, and I will not tell you anything.
You are so serious. Anywhere but here, I would laugh out loud. You are polished, so dignified in your stiff uniform, your shoulders so straight. You are strong and well-spoken and proud, and I admire you. I admire you like I did back then, even though I hate what those you have sworn allegiance to are trying to make you.
When will you visit me next? Tomorrow? In two days? You will hurt me then much like you will hurt me now, but I will look forward to seeing you again. You remind me of happier times, and many of those I've seen in your role have had no hint of regret in their eyes.
You are not a torturer, Sayid, and I can endure this as long as I have to.
Nobody calls me Noor, Sayid.
You are not a torturer. No more than I am Noor.
I almost cannot believe you didn't recognize me. But I recognized you. I knew you right away, your thick hair and solemn eyes and stubborn mouth.
I used to push you in the mud. I teased you. There were times when I was so mean to you. You remember it now; you say you thought my family's wealth meant I had enough attention, but we were too little for wealth to matter. What did it mean to me then?
I liked you.
I wanted your attention.
Children are capable of such cruelty, but look at us now. Tell me, you say, tell me or I will hurt you.
I know you will. I know what your role is and what mine is. My skin has been burned, my hands pierced. I see that sadness flicker in your eyes, so fleeting; you will not care to see the soles of my feet. Not unless you intend to reopen those wounds.
I know you will hurt me, Sayid, and I will not tell you anything.
You are so serious. Anywhere but here, I would laugh out loud. You are polished, so dignified in your stiff uniform, your shoulders so straight. You are strong and well-spoken and proud, and I admire you. I admire you like I did back then, even though I hate what those you have sworn allegiance to are trying to make you.
When will you visit me next? Tomorrow? In two days? You will hurt me then much like you will hurt me now, but I will look forward to seeing you again. You remind me of happier times, and many of those I've seen in your role have had no hint of regret in their eyes.
You are not a torturer, Sayid, and I can endure this as long as I have to.