Vignettes: The Missing
Notes: I should put a warning sign above this journal. Warning: Here Be Confusing Shite.
Wanted to write, having issues. For Kit, since she likes the Reapers. Still owe her a shot. This is a placeholder.
Enjoy said Confusing Shite.
Everyone has someone they miss.
. . .
The rain beats hard at the ground and all the stones have turned to jewels, but Eric only focuses on one. It's simple, for a graveyard filled with stone angels and marble fountains.
There's a date and a time and a name, and it's the name that makes him set the flowers down.
"Miss you, Mama," Eric mumbles, and crouches. He rubs a thumb across the name, and for a moment, there's more than water on his face.
. . .
Sometimes, the Thorns leave a person with dreams that aren't theirs.
Alan never can tell if he's him or the soul that's stitched into him, or whether he knew the woman named 'Lucy' with the hair that smelled like vanilla and violets, and a voice like morning birds.
Even when he set the flowers down on the gravesite, he's not sure if he knew her, or if the other him did - and when his veins throb and spark, Alan winces.
"I'm sorry," but he's not sure for what.
. . .
"When I think about it," Ronald says, "all my best times were with you."
The angel doesn't answer, but he's not really looking for answers. The coin he flips lands heads down, and Ronald grins, and looks at the angel again. "Won again. You lucky bastard," he says, his voice fond and warm and lonely.
"See you around," is his goodbye, and he leaves the coin at the angel's feet, above the name half-covered by weeds.
. . .
The beautiful redhead shimmers like a candle flame, yet coldly. He glowers down at a spindly tree, with soft white flowers blooming on the thin branches. The teeth of his friend glint in quiet, retrospective anger.
"I'll never forgive you for leaving me!" Grell whispers because his voice can't go higher without shattering. "Ever. Ever. You promised me forever and you left me alone. How could you?!"
The tree is silent.
And then, it's torn to shreds.
. . .
"You saved me," William presses his fingertips together and looks down at an old photo. The flames bite at the air, waiting.
Those clever eyes are still clever, madly. That smile can still be smiled, madly.
"You saved me," William says it again, it's important. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
He folds the picture into the hearth, and tries to forget.
. . .
The Undertaker has never forgotten her.
"I made a mistake, you know."
He's a long way from home, even if he was born here. France is not the home it was. "I shouldn't have judged you like that. I'm sorry, my queen. I was angry. You were only young, and foolish, you didn't know... I should have not let patriotism ruin my judgement."
She is quiet, she doesn't hear.
He leaves unrequited.
Wanted to write, having issues. For Kit, since she likes the Reapers. Still owe her a shot. This is a placeholder.
Enjoy said Confusing Shite.
Everyone has someone they miss.
. . .
The rain beats hard at the ground and all the stones have turned to jewels, but Eric only focuses on one. It's simple, for a graveyard filled with stone angels and marble fountains.
There's a date and a time and a name, and it's the name that makes him set the flowers down.
"Miss you, Mama," Eric mumbles, and crouches. He rubs a thumb across the name, and for a moment, there's more than water on his face.
. . .
Sometimes, the Thorns leave a person with dreams that aren't theirs.
Alan never can tell if he's him or the soul that's stitched into him, or whether he knew the woman named 'Lucy' with the hair that smelled like vanilla and violets, and a voice like morning birds.
Even when he set the flowers down on the gravesite, he's not sure if he knew her, or if the other him did - and when his veins throb and spark, Alan winces.
"I'm sorry," but he's not sure for what.
. . .
"When I think about it," Ronald says, "all my best times were with you."
The angel doesn't answer, but he's not really looking for answers. The coin he flips lands heads down, and Ronald grins, and looks at the angel again. "Won again. You lucky bastard," he says, his voice fond and warm and lonely.
"See you around," is his goodbye, and he leaves the coin at the angel's feet, above the name half-covered by weeds.
. . .
The beautiful redhead shimmers like a candle flame, yet coldly. He glowers down at a spindly tree, with soft white flowers blooming on the thin branches. The teeth of his friend glint in quiet, retrospective anger.
"I'll never forgive you for leaving me!" Grell whispers because his voice can't go higher without shattering. "Ever. Ever. You promised me forever and you left me alone. How could you?!"
The tree is silent.
And then, it's torn to shreds.
. . .
"You saved me," William presses his fingertips together and looks down at an old photo. The flames bite at the air, waiting.
Those clever eyes are still clever, madly. That smile can still be smiled, madly.
"You saved me," William says it again, it's important. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
He folds the picture into the hearth, and tries to forget.
. . .
The Undertaker has never forgotten her.
"I made a mistake, you know."
He's a long way from home, even if he was born here. France is not the home it was. "I shouldn't have judged you like that. I'm sorry, my queen. I was angry. You were only young, and foolish, you didn't know... I should have not let patriotism ruin my judgement."
She is quiet, she doesn't hear.
He leaves unrequited.