Title: Impenetrable
Title Impenetrable
Rating PG?
Characters Paul, Gord
Bandom The Tragically Hip
Word Count 435
Disclaimer The only real elements of this story are the members of The Tragically Hip. Gord Downie and Paul Langlois - both very much real people - but the story is just that, a story, fictional - not real.
For violet_light_, an exercise in prompts. Paul/Gord, 'scared.'
Fragments of light broke through the boughs, making silhouettes of the stubborn leaves that remained. The wind tried to encourage them to join their fallen friends, but still they clung, refusing to believe that the season had changed.
Dead leaves and twigs snapped and crackled underfoot, growing louder as they crept further into the forest. They remained quiet, whether out of respect for natures still or for lack of anything to say, he didn’t know. Considering that it was Gord who walked beside him, it had to be the first - he never lacked the thoughts or the desire to express them.
Pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, curling fingers into his palms in self-preservation, he let his eyes dart through the darkness, from one side of the trail to the other, trees down to dirt, focussing into the distance, trying to peer beyond. Gord’s nostalgia had brought them here, and despite the return to memories he didn’t remember the path being this long. He hadn’t thought he was out of shape, but now he had to reconsider.
“How long have we been out here for?”
Gord’s question wasn’t the reassurance he wanted. Shrugging a shoulder, hoping it didn’t look too much a nervous gesture, he pursed his lips. “At least an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”
“Huh.”
Pressing his lips tighter, he glanced back around to the trees. Ashes, oaks, maples, birches, cedars - he wasn’t an expert, he couldn’t tell most apart from one another, but they truly looked uniform in the dark - one huge blur of would-be green and brown cloaked by impenetrable black. Stopping in his tracks, he lifted his eyes higher and higher. Hands slack, they fell from his jacket, beading with sweat. “It is a full moon tonight, right?”
“Yeah.” Gord kept walking, or so he would have expected, the way his voice canted back to him.
“Shit.” Hissing, staring up at the moonless sky, he treaded backwards.
“What?” He glanced in the direction where Gord should have been, just making the outline of his figure. He saw that much, a strange illumination of something tall drawing close, a black only a shade lighter than everything else that stretched over and around, ready to swallow. “Paul. . . where are you?”
A rancid sweet smell filled the air, soaked up by the dry wood and earth. Paul stumbled but stayed upright, Gord jerking with the realisation all was not calm.
Darkness descended with a squelch, a belch that smothered a scream and flailing arms.
Twisting around and breaking into a run, Paul prayed that he was in shape.
Rating PG?
Characters Paul, Gord
Bandom The Tragically Hip
Word Count 435
Disclaimer The only real elements of this story are the members of The Tragically Hip. Gord Downie and Paul Langlois - both very much real people - but the story is just that, a story, fictional - not real.
For violet_light_, an exercise in prompts. Paul/Gord, 'scared.'
Fragments of light broke through the boughs, making silhouettes of the stubborn leaves that remained. The wind tried to encourage them to join their fallen friends, but still they clung, refusing to believe that the season had changed.
Dead leaves and twigs snapped and crackled underfoot, growing louder as they crept further into the forest. They remained quiet, whether out of respect for natures still or for lack of anything to say, he didn’t know. Considering that it was Gord who walked beside him, it had to be the first - he never lacked the thoughts or the desire to express them.
Pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, curling fingers into his palms in self-preservation, he let his eyes dart through the darkness, from one side of the trail to the other, trees down to dirt, focussing into the distance, trying to peer beyond. Gord’s nostalgia had brought them here, and despite the return to memories he didn’t remember the path being this long. He hadn’t thought he was out of shape, but now he had to reconsider.
“How long have we been out here for?”
Gord’s question wasn’t the reassurance he wanted. Shrugging a shoulder, hoping it didn’t look too much a nervous gesture, he pursed his lips. “At least an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”
“Huh.”
Pressing his lips tighter, he glanced back around to the trees. Ashes, oaks, maples, birches, cedars - he wasn’t an expert, he couldn’t tell most apart from one another, but they truly looked uniform in the dark - one huge blur of would-be green and brown cloaked by impenetrable black. Stopping in his tracks, he lifted his eyes higher and higher. Hands slack, they fell from his jacket, beading with sweat. “It is a full moon tonight, right?”
“Yeah.” Gord kept walking, or so he would have expected, the way his voice canted back to him.
“Shit.” Hissing, staring up at the moonless sky, he treaded backwards.
“What?” He glanced in the direction where Gord should have been, just making the outline of his figure. He saw that much, a strange illumination of something tall drawing close, a black only a shade lighter than everything else that stretched over and around, ready to swallow. “Paul. . . where are you?”
A rancid sweet smell filled the air, soaked up by the dry wood and earth. Paul stumbled but stayed upright, Gord jerking with the realisation all was not calm.
Darkness descended with a squelch, a belch that smothered a scream and flailing arms.
Twisting around and breaking into a run, Paul prayed that he was in shape.