Poached Pear 5, Cola 8: flash
Title: flash
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Poached pear 5 (there & back again), cola 8 (reach out and touch someone), My Treat (After being separated, Olivia and Hugh think of each other at the same time), malt (Ichtusfish's easter egg: Each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. - Edgar Allan Poe), cherry.
Word Count: 588
Rating: PG.
Summary: When it came, it was sudden, and blinding.
Notes: Um. Yeah. This is ~stylistic.~
When it came it was sudden, and blinding.
She never knew what might set it off. The slant of sunlight in a dusty room, perhaps, or the feel of grass new-grown beneath her bare feet. The creak of a hardwood floor had done it, once, and another time it was the faintest taste of tea, sliding like a snake through the heavier coffee. It came unexpectedly, and always it meant despair, and a few dark days when she could barely get out of bed, let alone leave the house.
They'd been getting easier, since the medication, less crushing; she hadn't had one since she'd told Jake about the private nightmare that had been her childhood. She'd thought, maybe, that they were done.
And then she walked down a street in New York, snow drifting from the sky to lie like lace across her hair and Jake's shoulders, her hands shoved in her pockets because she'd forgotten her gloves. And then she passed some store or other and the smell of her father's aftershave hit her, a smoky, warm smell that meant comfort to her, and safety, or had, once, back when she'd known what those were.
She stopped, and closed her eyes.
He thinks of Olivia at odd moments. Well, really he thinks of her all the time, but almost always he can tuck her away, fold her memory up small until she is nothing more than a bright pealing laugh in the back of his heart. But sometimes he stops and thinks of her, his little girl, her hand warm in his and her smile big as the sky.
He is thinking now of a time when she was very little, four or five. They were at some plaza somewhere, shopping, he thinks, although he hasn't any earthly idea for what. But he remembers vividly the way the sun shone off the red barrettes in Olivia's hair, the feeling of her dress, pattered with red balloons, brushing against his legs as they walked hand in hand. He was wearing a ridiculous straw boater that she'd picked out for him; he'd joked that it kept his bald spot from burning, and she'd laughed.
She kept skipping ahead a few steps, but never very far. She hadn't let go of his hand. He can't help but think that if he'd just kept hold of her hand, none of this ever would have happened, and they could still be walking hand-in-hand in some plaza somewhere on a sunny day.
If only.
She opened her eyes again and Jake was there, his anxious face a few inches from her own. "Olivia?" he asked, touching her arm with an uncertain hand. "Are you all right?"
The chill on her cheek told its own story; she raised a hand and was unsurprised to find wetness there. "I..." she started, and stopped, surprised, because she was all right. Crying, yes, and hurting, but not destroyed. "Yes. I'm all right."
"You're crying," he said, almost accusatory.
"Yes," she said, and wiped at her cheeks. "Yes, but I'm all right."
Jake still watched her, but the suspicion lessened, replaced by concern. "If you're sure."
She smiled up into his dear face, so close to her own, and went up on tiptoes briefly to kiss his worried mouth. "I'm fine, honey," she said. "Honest. I'll tell you about it when we get home, all right?"
"All right," he said, and offered her his gloved hand.
She wound her cold fingers into his, and together, they walked home.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Poached pear 5 (there & back again), cola 8 (reach out and touch someone), My Treat (After being separated, Olivia and Hugh think of each other at the same time), malt (Ichtusfish's easter egg: Each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. - Edgar Allan Poe), cherry.
Word Count: 588
Rating: PG.
Summary: When it came, it was sudden, and blinding.
Notes: Um. Yeah. This is ~stylistic.~
When it came it was sudden, and blinding.
She never knew what might set it off. The slant of sunlight in a dusty room, perhaps, or the feel of grass new-grown beneath her bare feet. The creak of a hardwood floor had done it, once, and another time it was the faintest taste of tea, sliding like a snake through the heavier coffee. It came unexpectedly, and always it meant despair, and a few dark days when she could barely get out of bed, let alone leave the house.
They'd been getting easier, since the medication, less crushing; she hadn't had one since she'd told Jake about the private nightmare that had been her childhood. She'd thought, maybe, that they were done.
And then she walked down a street in New York, snow drifting from the sky to lie like lace across her hair and Jake's shoulders, her hands shoved in her pockets because she'd forgotten her gloves. And then she passed some store or other and the smell of her father's aftershave hit her, a smoky, warm smell that meant comfort to her, and safety, or had, once, back when she'd known what those were.
She stopped, and closed her eyes.
He thinks of Olivia at odd moments. Well, really he thinks of her all the time, but almost always he can tuck her away, fold her memory up small until she is nothing more than a bright pealing laugh in the back of his heart. But sometimes he stops and thinks of her, his little girl, her hand warm in his and her smile big as the sky.
He is thinking now of a time when she was very little, four or five. They were at some plaza somewhere, shopping, he thinks, although he hasn't any earthly idea for what. But he remembers vividly the way the sun shone off the red barrettes in Olivia's hair, the feeling of her dress, pattered with red balloons, brushing against his legs as they walked hand in hand. He was wearing a ridiculous straw boater that she'd picked out for him; he'd joked that it kept his bald spot from burning, and she'd laughed.
She kept skipping ahead a few steps, but never very far. She hadn't let go of his hand. He can't help but think that if he'd just kept hold of her hand, none of this ever would have happened, and they could still be walking hand-in-hand in some plaza somewhere on a sunny day.
If only.
She opened her eyes again and Jake was there, his anxious face a few inches from her own. "Olivia?" he asked, touching her arm with an uncertain hand. "Are you all right?"
The chill on her cheek told its own story; she raised a hand and was unsurprised to find wetness there. "I..." she started, and stopped, surprised, because she was all right. Crying, yes, and hurting, but not destroyed. "Yes. I'm all right."
"You're crying," he said, almost accusatory.
"Yes," she said, and wiped at her cheeks. "Yes, but I'm all right."
Jake still watched her, but the suspicion lessened, replaced by concern. "If you're sure."
She smiled up into his dear face, so close to her own, and went up on tiptoes briefly to kiss his worried mouth. "I'm fine, honey," she said. "Honest. I'll tell you about it when we get home, all right?"
"All right," he said, and offered her his gloved hand.
She wound her cold fingers into his, and together, they walked home.