Fic: Grey's Anatomy, Sanctuary
I will have a more update-y personal post later today, hopefully. I have quite a bit of personal happening to share with you guys. In the meantime, quickly, here's a story I wrote for Twice Told Fandom.
While it's nominally a Grey's Anatomy fic, in as far as I started out to write about Izzie, I think it drifted to the point where you can either a) believe it's about Izzie, or b) believe it's about, well, anyone. This is probably because of the somewhat sketchy use of the second person that I employed, but I'm fairly pleased with the way it came out. I wouldn't classify it as my best work, but I don't outright hate it.
But enough quibbling. Here it is.
Title: Sanctuary
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Word Count: 610
Rating: G
Summary: Based on this picture.
You weren’t looking for this place. You were just driving to get away, blasting melancholy country music as you picked a left here, a right there, your face a mess of tears.
You didn’t know the name of the town, not then. It was just another sleepy rural hamlet, a few quiet shops, and several rows of quaint houses with impeccable gardens. You turned left on a road that quickly transformed from crumbling pavement to uneven gravel and bumpier dirt. You regretted the whim that lead you choose this path, as you stomach revolted at every dip, and you were about to turn around when you saw it shining up ahead.
The white paint was peeling, exposing bricks of indeterminate color. There was no bell in the small tower, just a gap, like a missing eye atop the church’s face. In front there was a sign, crooked and barely standing. The words “For Sale” were so faded as to be almost illegible.
As you pulled over, you told yourself that it was just because you couldn’t drive any longer without puking. You opened the door and stepped onto the weedy lawn. The air smelled like pine; a copse of tall fir trees stood guard on the right side of the building. To the left, you could see a space that had once been cleared, now just a mess of brush and saplings with the rounded heads of tombstones poking through.
You could hear birds twittering nearby. Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on your abdomen, as if to shield the tiny life inside, and stepped towards the building.
The ancient lock on the door had been broken long ago, by vandals, you supposed. You hoped there weren’t homeless men squatting inside, or specters haunting the forgotten building. Somehow, though, you knew that the place would be empty except for you. Other people might have been afraid, but your sense of safety was a small disappointment; the only ghosts you’d ever known had been beloved, like Denny. You pulled the heavy door open and stepped inside.
Sunlight poured into the church, filtered by the stained glass windows, bathing the large, bare room in swathes of color. Dust motes floated in the air, shining like floating crystals. The pews were gone. The wooden altar was naked, and the mural of Christ on the wall above it looked lonely.
The windows were amazing. One, in particular, captured you. It wasn’t like the others. There were no saints on it, no stories to be told. It was only shades of blue, quiet rectangles like the sky, the ocean, your heart. Beneath the window sat two cheap brown chairs, the only furniture in the empty church. They were waiting for you.
You sat in one, and a sense of peace washed over you, more peace than you’d felt in months, maybe years. You started to cry again, but this time they were tears of relief, not the bitter weeping that had followed your pregnancy, George’s reaction and recriminations, your flee from Seattle.
You decided then that you would buy this church. You’d watched enough HGTV to see that any space could be turned into a proper home. Lord knew you had enough money. You wondered idly if there was a church hall, a kitchen. If there wasn’t, you’d build one. You closed your eyes and filled the space with furniture, your son or daughter running around, laughter.
You’d find the realtor. You’d buy the church and turn into a home. Now, though, you were so tired. Content, you fell asleep in the stiff chair under the blue window, at rest in your sanctuary.
While it's nominally a Grey's Anatomy fic, in as far as I started out to write about Izzie, I think it drifted to the point where you can either a) believe it's about Izzie, or b) believe it's about, well, anyone. This is probably because of the somewhat sketchy use of the second person that I employed, but I'm fairly pleased with the way it came out. I wouldn't classify it as my best work, but I don't outright hate it.
But enough quibbling. Here it is.
Title: Sanctuary
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Word Count: 610
Rating: G
Summary: Based on this picture.
You weren’t looking for this place. You were just driving to get away, blasting melancholy country music as you picked a left here, a right there, your face a mess of tears.
You didn’t know the name of the town, not then. It was just another sleepy rural hamlet, a few quiet shops, and several rows of quaint houses with impeccable gardens. You turned left on a road that quickly transformed from crumbling pavement to uneven gravel and bumpier dirt. You regretted the whim that lead you choose this path, as you stomach revolted at every dip, and you were about to turn around when you saw it shining up ahead.
The white paint was peeling, exposing bricks of indeterminate color. There was no bell in the small tower, just a gap, like a missing eye atop the church’s face. In front there was a sign, crooked and barely standing. The words “For Sale” were so faded as to be almost illegible.
As you pulled over, you told yourself that it was just because you couldn’t drive any longer without puking. You opened the door and stepped onto the weedy lawn. The air smelled like pine; a copse of tall fir trees stood guard on the right side of the building. To the left, you could see a space that had once been cleared, now just a mess of brush and saplings with the rounded heads of tombstones poking through.
You could hear birds twittering nearby. Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on your abdomen, as if to shield the tiny life inside, and stepped towards the building.
The ancient lock on the door had been broken long ago, by vandals, you supposed. You hoped there weren’t homeless men squatting inside, or specters haunting the forgotten building. Somehow, though, you knew that the place would be empty except for you. Other people might have been afraid, but your sense of safety was a small disappointment; the only ghosts you’d ever known had been beloved, like Denny. You pulled the heavy door open and stepped inside.
Sunlight poured into the church, filtered by the stained glass windows, bathing the large, bare room in swathes of color. Dust motes floated in the air, shining like floating crystals. The pews were gone. The wooden altar was naked, and the mural of Christ on the wall above it looked lonely.
The windows were amazing. One, in particular, captured you. It wasn’t like the others. There were no saints on it, no stories to be told. It was only shades of blue, quiet rectangles like the sky, the ocean, your heart. Beneath the window sat two cheap brown chairs, the only furniture in the empty church. They were waiting for you.
You sat in one, and a sense of peace washed over you, more peace than you’d felt in months, maybe years. You started to cry again, but this time they were tears of relief, not the bitter weeping that had followed your pregnancy, George’s reaction and recriminations, your flee from Seattle.
You decided then that you would buy this church. You’d watched enough HGTV to see that any space could be turned into a proper home. Lord knew you had enough money. You wondered idly if there was a church hall, a kitchen. If there wasn’t, you’d build one. You closed your eyes and filled the space with furniture, your son or daughter running around, laughter.
You’d find the realtor. You’d buy the church and turn into a home. Now, though, you were so tired. Content, you fell asleep in the stiff chair under the blue window, at rest in your sanctuary.