Fic: Of Eyes That Are Windows and Sheds That Are Souls (Original; G)
Title: Of Eyes That Are Windows and Sheds That Are Souls.
Word Count: 260
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): None
Summary: A train of thought where one thinks way too much about a shed. I've not written much original fic before so bear with me.
If eyes are like widows to the soul, then nothing else should really matter. Everything else is blacked out until you’re left with just the window. Through that you see blue, at the basest level, icy blue if you look a bit deeper. If you think about it further still, you’ll see real ice, real frost, real snow and the realest type of coldness. Branches of trees cast slight shadows over everything, overcast grey over the palest of blues, taking away from the contrasting light. The iris and its pupil, colour and it’s void.
Behind that, there is the promise of warmth in a pink hazy light, like the promise of the cusp of spring just as winter reaches its peak, just out of reach.
Or it’s just you, looking out of a window and seeing it as human. Seeing snow and turning into a lack of emotion, a metaphorical coldness. Seeing trees as shadows of darkness on this sheds soul, looming over it and pressuring it into becoming darker.
Maybe it’s just you, looking at a shed and projecting your fears over your own soul and what people see in your eyes.
But there’s still that little bit of light, with the promise of sunlight later. Promising warmth in the cold and a pink tinge to all the blue. If only it can break through, past all these metaphors of snow and ice and frost. Of eyes that are windows and sheds that are souls.
Or maybe you’re really just over thinking a garden shed on a winter morning.
Written for Challenge #23- A Picture is Worth... @ writerverse
Word Count: 260
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): None
Summary: A train of thought where one thinks way too much about a shed. I've not written much original fic before so bear with me.
If eyes are like widows to the soul, then nothing else should really matter. Everything else is blacked out until you’re left with just the window. Through that you see blue, at the basest level, icy blue if you look a bit deeper. If you think about it further still, you’ll see real ice, real frost, real snow and the realest type of coldness. Branches of trees cast slight shadows over everything, overcast grey over the palest of blues, taking away from the contrasting light. The iris and its pupil, colour and it’s void.
Behind that, there is the promise of warmth in a pink hazy light, like the promise of the cusp of spring just as winter reaches its peak, just out of reach.
Or it’s just you, looking out of a window and seeing it as human. Seeing snow and turning into a lack of emotion, a metaphorical coldness. Seeing trees as shadows of darkness on this sheds soul, looming over it and pressuring it into becoming darker.
Maybe it’s just you, looking at a shed and projecting your fears over your own soul and what people see in your eyes.
But there’s still that little bit of light, with the promise of sunlight later. Promising warmth in the cold and a pink tinge to all the blue. If only it can break through, past all these metaphors of snow and ice and frost. Of eyes that are windows and sheds that are souls.
Or maybe you’re really just over thinking a garden shed on a winter morning.
Written for Challenge #23- A Picture is Worth... @ writerverse