Lil ficlet
Closet Land
The Man sits in his car, the lights off, hearing, rather than listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the rain lashing the windshield. The keys still swinging from the ignition send sharp shards of light across his hands, and he jerks them from the wheel into his lap as if cut, rubbing the back of one with his thumb. The faint jingle of metal on metal brings to mind a windchime in a garden on breezy spring days.
he used to be a professor of some sort; played the piano
Is it some sort of inner sickness, he thinks, gazing through the misty haze of splashback even though he knows exactly what he will see. The garden path, the worn, greying brickwork, the door that creaks just so when he turns the handle and eases it open, his briefcase resting against his legs. Some days, he likes to storm in, like someone important. Other days? He likes to drag his soul-weary bones in and collapse in an armchair. For now, though, he just wants to sit in the car. He just wants to be alone in his little metal box.
His glasses are steaming up, and the rain on the windows spills over onto the bodywork in fat, lazy rivulets. His jacket, still stiff with her scent is harsh and somehow uncomfortable over his slumped shoulders. Sometimes, when he's getting dressed, he thinks about how sophisticated he looks, how perfectly tailored his suit is, how he has become the very incarnation of authority itself. And then he really, really looks at himself in the mirror, and sees the pianist crucified.
to rid society of negative influences
I am filth, he thinks. Even this, this self-pity is a fucking act. You've got to let them think they're getting through to you, that they still have something left. It's a well-known fact that people with nothing left to lose do very little to save themselves. And then he wonders for the millionth time whether he's just lying to himself. And he thinks, they're watching me, too. Oh god, they're watching me, too.
-------------
Argh. I'm screwed now, because.. he wants to LIVE. @__@
that little drabble was not enough. He wants to breathe and experience and GAH HELP ME
Don't suppose anyone wants to set me up with a suitable RP group!?
The Man sits in his car, the lights off, hearing, rather than listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the rain lashing the windshield. The keys still swinging from the ignition send sharp shards of light across his hands, and he jerks them from the wheel into his lap as if cut, rubbing the back of one with his thumb. The faint jingle of metal on metal brings to mind a windchime in a garden on breezy spring days.
he used to be a professor of some sort; played the piano
Is it some sort of inner sickness, he thinks, gazing through the misty haze of splashback even though he knows exactly what he will see. The garden path, the worn, greying brickwork, the door that creaks just so when he turns the handle and eases it open, his briefcase resting against his legs. Some days, he likes to storm in, like someone important. Other days? He likes to drag his soul-weary bones in and collapse in an armchair. For now, though, he just wants to sit in the car. He just wants to be alone in his little metal box.
His glasses are steaming up, and the rain on the windows spills over onto the bodywork in fat, lazy rivulets. His jacket, still stiff with her scent is harsh and somehow uncomfortable over his slumped shoulders. Sometimes, when he's getting dressed, he thinks about how sophisticated he looks, how perfectly tailored his suit is, how he has become the very incarnation of authority itself. And then he really, really looks at himself in the mirror, and sees the pianist crucified.
to rid society of negative influences
I am filth, he thinks. Even this, this self-pity is a fucking act. You've got to let them think they're getting through to you, that they still have something left. It's a well-known fact that people with nothing left to lose do very little to save themselves. And then he wonders for the millionth time whether he's just lying to himself. And he thinks, they're watching me, too. Oh god, they're watching me, too.
-------------
Argh. I'm screwed now, because.. he wants to LIVE. @__@
that little drabble was not enough. He wants to breathe and experience and GAH HELP ME
Don't suppose anyone wants to set me up with a suitable RP group!?