Lost Fic - All of This Day - Shannon PG13
Title: All of This Day
Author: tinkerbell99
Rating: PG13
Fandom: LOST
Character: Shannon
Disclaimer: LOST and its characters don't belong to me. Richard Cory was written by Edwin Robinson.
Prompt: Written for un_love_you 09: Always wondered what this'd be like.
***
And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
***
Her pencil traces flowing lines against the spiral of the notebook lying open but unused on the ancient scratched desk. Manicured nails frosted lightly pink drag the lead back and forth in a gentle tapping rhythm that matches the slow drone of the clock on the wall.
Heavily lined eyes rise from her desk to check the time. Seven more minutes. She recrosses tanned legs beneath the pleated plaid skirt. One thumb absently spins the silver bracelet encircling her thin wrist.
"Shannon? Care to add to the discussion?" Ms. Lorenger's expectant voice jars her from her thoughts.
She takes her time in answering, tracing one slow ocean's wave of graphite before she speaks. "Not really," she begins, one eyebrow arched over her downcast gaze. A thin murmer of laughter rises in the room.
Ms. Lorenger sucks in a breath, but in that instant Shannon's pencil hits the notebook with a quiet tap. "The point of the poem is that they didn't know him at all. That they all wondered what he was like and thought he was so great, but in the end Richard Cory was just a lonely old man." She sighs a bored sigh and returns to the waves.
Ms. Lorenger's thin lips twist in agitation. "And how, Shannon," she pauses and steps closer with a narrowed eye, "does this differ from the other ironic poetry we've studied this week?"
"None of the other dudes blew their brains out at the end," comes the answer from a football player in the back of the room. Two high fives later and Ms. Lorenger's shrieking for them to quiet, please, and the question is forgotten as time ticks softly away.
Shannon stacks her books primly on top of her desk. Bells from the chapel ring across campus and she joins the rush to exit the room. Her pencil lies still at the top of her desk, then begins its descent, rolling, falling, picking up speed until it drops to the floor, forgotten.
It's after three o'clock, and the room is left silent behind them.
***
She catches his eye as she sways down the concrete steps of the main hall, her skirt ruffling in the breeze. He's shrugging his way out of the navy blue blazer under the sudden heat of the early May sun. The ever-present red tie is already draped around his neck and sandy brown hair tousled from its perfect part.
She smiles. It's meaningless, insignificant, and just as practiced as the way she carefully flips her hair. "Hi," she offers.
"Hey." He's a senior this year, and even as a freshman she knows all the rules. His friends approach and she stands to the side, pretends to study the Latin motto that adorns the entrance of the school. Once sharply carved, its etched curves and lines have faded, smoothed by the years into the granite.
Chapel bells chime as Lucas Robinson laughs with the sun bright on his gleaming hair. The breeze is warm on Shannon's skin and before long, the crowds have melted away. He returns.
"Hey," he repeats. "Want to go for a drive?"
She smiles that smile one more time. "Sure."
They walk to his car and she's a half step behind with her face upturned to his profile silhouetted against the sun. She knows that they're watched; takes pleasure in the heat that rises to her cheeks. She can imagine the envious looks from the other girls and the downright rage on Elizabeth Montgomery's pinched little face.
They don't speak as they reach the car. (Black, beautiful, spotless.) A letter jacket lies rumpled in the passenger seat. She waits as he approaches the driver's side and takes his time climbing in. She pulls blonde hair out of her eyes while Lucas reaches across to unlock her door. She has to move the jacket before she can sit.
They pull away from the school, music blaring far too loud, her bare knees pressing together at the turns. The windows are down and her hair streams in the wind.
She's not surprised when they pull off the road four miles out of town. He parks the car beneath swaying trees, their leaves making music that sounds like the sea. The radio goes silent and after a moment he leans back, stretching his right arm across her thin shoulders.
Lucas grins. She smiles that smile right back at him.
She's not expected home for hours.
***
It's not how she thought it would be.
Making out, she's done that plenty of times. Played with boys like the exquisite dolls her daddy used to buy. Always in control, always making up the stories as she went along.
This is different.
It's fast and it's hot and it hurts more than she thought. They're in the back seat with her head against that letterman's jacket and her nails making half moons in the gray leather seat. It strikes her later that she never even removed her skirt.
When it's over, she bites down hard and forces a grin. He walks back around to the driver's seat. She buttons her blouse and straightens her hair. Her bracelet has cut into her wrist. Keys jingle in the ignition and for a moment she remembers the chapel chimes.
***
He drives her home as the sun begins to fall. Her head throbs along to the sound of the radio and as she examines her nails she finds one perfect tip is slightly chipped.
Lucas pulls in the driveway, eyes darting up to the windows, relief showing when no curtain sways. He mumbles that he'll call her later and in moments the car peels away toward the setting sun. She knows better than to wait for the telephone to ring.
Her eyes catch in the glass panes of the mahogany door when she lets herself in. She pauses for a moment, surprised to find only her reflection staring curiously back. Sabrina greets her coolly, then passes by without another glance. Her father never even says a word.
She smiles to herself and pulls a literature book from her backpack. Her hand grazes the leather bottom of the bag and then the sides. She glances briefly inside the empty pack, then snatches a pen from the top of her desk.
***
A yellow pencil rests forgotten on the floor of room 302, and Lucas Robinson's car speeds down the road and away from her mind.
Tiny silver charms ring softly as she writes, and all of this day will soon be forgotten.
***
***
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
---Edwin Robinson
Author: tinkerbell99
Rating: PG13
Fandom: LOST
Character: Shannon
Disclaimer: LOST and its characters don't belong to me. Richard Cory was written by Edwin Robinson.
Prompt: Written for un_love_you 09: Always wondered what this'd be like.
***
And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
***
Her pencil traces flowing lines against the spiral of the notebook lying open but unused on the ancient scratched desk. Manicured nails frosted lightly pink drag the lead back and forth in a gentle tapping rhythm that matches the slow drone of the clock on the wall.
Heavily lined eyes rise from her desk to check the time. Seven more minutes. She recrosses tanned legs beneath the pleated plaid skirt. One thumb absently spins the silver bracelet encircling her thin wrist.
"Shannon? Care to add to the discussion?" Ms. Lorenger's expectant voice jars her from her thoughts.
She takes her time in answering, tracing one slow ocean's wave of graphite before she speaks. "Not really," she begins, one eyebrow arched over her downcast gaze. A thin murmer of laughter rises in the room.
Ms. Lorenger sucks in a breath, but in that instant Shannon's pencil hits the notebook with a quiet tap. "The point of the poem is that they didn't know him at all. That they all wondered what he was like and thought he was so great, but in the end Richard Cory was just a lonely old man." She sighs a bored sigh and returns to the waves.
Ms. Lorenger's thin lips twist in agitation. "And how, Shannon," she pauses and steps closer with a narrowed eye, "does this differ from the other ironic poetry we've studied this week?"
"None of the other dudes blew their brains out at the end," comes the answer from a football player in the back of the room. Two high fives later and Ms. Lorenger's shrieking for them to quiet, please, and the question is forgotten as time ticks softly away.
Shannon stacks her books primly on top of her desk. Bells from the chapel ring across campus and she joins the rush to exit the room. Her pencil lies still at the top of her desk, then begins its descent, rolling, falling, picking up speed until it drops to the floor, forgotten.
It's after three o'clock, and the room is left silent behind them.
***
She catches his eye as she sways down the concrete steps of the main hall, her skirt ruffling in the breeze. He's shrugging his way out of the navy blue blazer under the sudden heat of the early May sun. The ever-present red tie is already draped around his neck and sandy brown hair tousled from its perfect part.
She smiles. It's meaningless, insignificant, and just as practiced as the way she carefully flips her hair. "Hi," she offers.
"Hey." He's a senior this year, and even as a freshman she knows all the rules. His friends approach and she stands to the side, pretends to study the Latin motto that adorns the entrance of the school. Once sharply carved, its etched curves and lines have faded, smoothed by the years into the granite.
Chapel bells chime as Lucas Robinson laughs with the sun bright on his gleaming hair. The breeze is warm on Shannon's skin and before long, the crowds have melted away. He returns.
"Hey," he repeats. "Want to go for a drive?"
She smiles that smile one more time. "Sure."
They walk to his car and she's a half step behind with her face upturned to his profile silhouetted against the sun. She knows that they're watched; takes pleasure in the heat that rises to her cheeks. She can imagine the envious looks from the other girls and the downright rage on Elizabeth Montgomery's pinched little face.
They don't speak as they reach the car. (Black, beautiful, spotless.) A letter jacket lies rumpled in the passenger seat. She waits as he approaches the driver's side and takes his time climbing in. She pulls blonde hair out of her eyes while Lucas reaches across to unlock her door. She has to move the jacket before she can sit.
They pull away from the school, music blaring far too loud, her bare knees pressing together at the turns. The windows are down and her hair streams in the wind.
She's not surprised when they pull off the road four miles out of town. He parks the car beneath swaying trees, their leaves making music that sounds like the sea. The radio goes silent and after a moment he leans back, stretching his right arm across her thin shoulders.
Lucas grins. She smiles that smile right back at him.
She's not expected home for hours.
***
It's not how she thought it would be.
Making out, she's done that plenty of times. Played with boys like the exquisite dolls her daddy used to buy. Always in control, always making up the stories as she went along.
This is different.
It's fast and it's hot and it hurts more than she thought. They're in the back seat with her head against that letterman's jacket and her nails making half moons in the gray leather seat. It strikes her later that she never even removed her skirt.
When it's over, she bites down hard and forces a grin. He walks back around to the driver's seat. She buttons her blouse and straightens her hair. Her bracelet has cut into her wrist. Keys jingle in the ignition and for a moment she remembers the chapel chimes.
***
He drives her home as the sun begins to fall. Her head throbs along to the sound of the radio and as she examines her nails she finds one perfect tip is slightly chipped.
Lucas pulls in the driveway, eyes darting up to the windows, relief showing when no curtain sways. He mumbles that he'll call her later and in moments the car peels away toward the setting sun. She knows better than to wait for the telephone to ring.
Her eyes catch in the glass panes of the mahogany door when she lets herself in. She pauses for a moment, surprised to find only her reflection staring curiously back. Sabrina greets her coolly, then passes by without another glance. Her father never even says a word.
She smiles to herself and pulls a literature book from her backpack. Her hand grazes the leather bottom of the bag and then the sides. She glances briefly inside the empty pack, then snatches a pen from the top of her desk.
***
A yellow pencil rests forgotten on the floor of room 302, and Lucas Robinson's car speeds down the road and away from her mind.
Tiny silver charms ring softly as she writes, and all of this day will soon be forgotten.
***
***
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
---Edwin Robinson