And they pray for a Blue Sky. [1/2]
anonymous
July 4 2009, 05:27:36 UTC
Israel sits quietly, face burying itself in his hands, paper work scattered about. His documents mix with his own writings, and it is like a sea of white with black ink, and if the wind were to come, they would rise with a flurry and had Israel not been so tired right now, he may have found it to be a beautiful sight of imagine, mystic as if someone had cast magic upon his house
( ... )
And they pray for a Blue Sky. [2/2]
anonymous
July 4 2009, 05:29:42 UTC
“I see,” she says, “Yes, some people... simply do not listen,” - Israel internally flinches at that, an unwanted memory comes up - he shakes it off
( ... )
Oh, thank you anon. I love the lyrical quality to this, the beauty of the imagery. I love how Israel seems so caught between the present and all the memories that swirl around him; that seems very right to me, the pressures of the past in/on/through him. I also like how...what's the right word... *stable* they are. Israel still has problems, of course, but they aren't stuck, mentally, in 1915 or 1945. They're living, moving, being. This turned out a lot more affirming than I expected, but I like it.
If you do write more, I'd love to read it, but I know how fickle the muse can be, so no pressure.
and GO!
btw anon prefers male!Israel. Armenia can be either.
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If you do write more, I'd love to read it, but I know how fickle the muse can be, so no pressure.
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