Almost there :)
*Best Sinister Voice* Walk towards the fluff Nigel, move towards the fluff!
hehehe
There's hope for poor Nigel. This chapter is hopefully a turning point, though it's hard reached, it ends in a far better place than the other chapters and there'll be another chapter to fully lighten the story.
NOTE - Timeline - Meep is stupid, stupid is the meep D:
I've writen this as though everything happens in a week *groan* Saskia (aka ebil plunny thrower no.2) said about a dream wizards power being connected to the moon, hence the dreams as the moon grows Ben's ability to intervene does. Which would mean longer than a week.
*sigh* can we assume as Nigel doesn't really remember his dreams that the timline is skewed and the story takes place over about three weeks ie Waxing Moon - 1st Quarter - Gibbeous Moon - Full Moon, when I'm of a mind to I'll go back and edit to make it work *radiates good intentions* that also means two more short chapters so there'll be lots of snuggly fluff :p
Also Nigel wouldn't just get over his trauma in a week, these dreams have been building over time (9 months of darkness for Saskia!) and Ben has been gently bringing him to this breakthrough. Trust me this is what happens!
waxing shiver - a shiver by day - wash it all away
TITLE : Halfway Somewhere
Wordcount : 1680 - and how did that happen?
Part : 4 of 7
Warning : Not easy times, but it ends in a good positive place (and fluff to come)
Darkness itself is not scary, it’s what lurks there, what your eyes can’t see yet your mind imagines. I decide this as I search the blank canvas I’m lost on. I can see and smell nothing, yet I don’t think I’m alone. I don’t sense any threat though. Strangely I feel warm and safe here. As though another me walks tall where this me stands and wavers.
I can feel something hold me firm, a strap that doesn’t initially cause fear. Headlights suddenly break the gloom rush towards me without hope of stopping, my heart leaps to my throat and beats there stealing all words. Screwing my eyes shut is a cowards answer but it doesn’t stop the replay, doesn’t stop the images of when my eyes froze open.
Breath hits my neck, but I’m need my eyes to run and though the darkness consumes me I’m too scared to run blind through paths I do not know. Paths that could lead to anywhere. Anything.
‘Relax. Nigel trust me love, open your eyes’
That voice is familiar. Warm soft tones of one who cares deeply. Familiar as a friend and loved one, yet I can’t place it. It itches at me and I feel I should know it. Trusting that voice that strange familiar voice I turn towards the person. The person sharing my darkness, making me less alone. Opening my eyes I have to blink against the light. Those spearing headlights are but lanterns held aloft. Old fashioned glass covering candles that flicker faintly in a happy breeze I can not feel.
Eyes look down on me from a man taller than myself yet not formidable, I meet the eyes and wonder at their hue. Silver shot Sapphire to suit some fantasy knight. My knight maybe, and that whimsy makes me laugh.
‘Don’t choose this Nigel’ the voice beseeches, voice crackling like lightening and I want to sooth it, bring back the soft warm tones.
‘Look ahead love’
Obeying I turn back and see a path out into the night. Out here the lanterns aren’t needed, the moon is wide, half turned to face me. A grey monotone world lit for me to wander. The path is known to me, my feet fall sure in their steps. There is no chaser. Tonight I am alone, my companion gone. Slowing my pace I look around me but see nothing of any note. No noise, no risk of misadventure. No life, or vibrant threat.
Cresting the hill I find my guide had no need to follow. He was here all along. Patient as he waits for me. He’s sitting on the hill crest staring down into the valleys below, I sense the welcome smile when he turns to greet me, but his features are indistinct. I can’t place this man, can’t define the feeling he gives me. Trusting, I accept support, let him pull me up to face the ground ahead.
He watches me take in the view.
Flowers. Hundreds of flowers. Bluebells in their millions curtain the ground ahead. A field of soft blue bells, ringing out to signal….something. Hands rest light on my shoulders, strength transferred. Muscles massaged by capable fingers.
‘It okay Nigel, it’s okay to try a new path’
Looking backward I see grey fog, jagged branches that stab out when blown by the wind. Ahead is the flowers. I almost run. My strength is beside me though, bolstering my faltering spirit. Making my way forward in a dreamlike daze I step towards a lone spray of Poppies, blood red amongst the blended shades. My friend, I think he is a friend, doesn’t follow me, but somehow I think he’s still here. Still sitting patiently. Waiting. Waiting for me.
The Poppies lay beneath a large omnipresent stone. Gothic proportions, carved by an artists hand. Throwing myself down I beat at the warm mounded earth. Reason leaves me, the wind rises around me. Whistling as it cuts through the silent bells. Swirling leaves and petals in spirals that tease at me before scattering far and wide. Crawling to the headstone my fingers scramble to pull brambles off the words, rake mud from neglected arch.
The inscription mocks me. Dearly beloved. Dearly beloved who left me. Left me to go on alone.
I don’t know how I get to my feet. One minute I’m kneeling, fingers tracing words, tears fresh on my cheeks. The next minute I’m standing, wailing at the stone. Shouting and cursing. Flowers wilt around me. The wind gets rougher. Footsteps run towards me and arms grab hold. I’m dragged, fighting against a broad chest. A strong heart beat sounds beneath my ear. It is not the beat I know, the heart I’d give everything to hear beat again. I fight, hitting the chest, pushing away the comfort.
Screaming and shouting and crying my anger. Great torrents of anger I didn’t know myself capable of, didn’t know I held, it fades to misery. To tears that shake my body with huge unsightly gulps. The man doesn’t step away, he makes no further move to hold me but waits and lets me tantrum.
Finally I calm. The fields are calmer now. A faint breeze moves my fringe into my face and brushing it aside I look towards my friend. My patient, waiting, friend.
‘Better?’ he sounds unsure. My throat is raw and I’ve not the strength to answer. This time when arms wrap around me I don’t flinch, I rest my head and let the heart beat lull me. The steady drum roll relaxes me into doze.
I wake in my bed. A pillow fallen to the floor, sheets still surround me. My fingers find my cheeks still damp.
Shopping, on my usual day and time. I push my trolley and select my standard fare. The interruptions to my thoughts is not unwelcome though the words have me turn my head to check for another person in this aisle.
‘Well hello there handsome, don’t you look different with your clothes on?’
The friendly voice is loud and the women’s colleague pauses in passing to laugh and mime a wink. ‘Watch it Sal, this something I should tell your husband’ Sal just laughs at her not caring. ‘You know what I mean’ Turning to me she carries on ‘Don’t tell me that firm of your’s gave you a day off?’
My mumble about amassed time and owed holidays is accepted with show of shock. ‘You look good today love, that sweater gives you some colour’ Her smile brings more colour to my cheeks. To spare me I think her eyes drop to my trolley and she grimaces telling me sternly that there’s nothing in it that’ll put meat on my bones. The shelf she’s filling is full of cookies, some new brand full of chocolate goodness ‘Go on’ she taunts wiggling them before me ‘live a little, you know you want to’
‘yes’ Yes I think I do, I let her drop the cookies in my trolley and on impulse select a flavour more. She grins at me and the warmth in it has me smiling as I take to the next aisle. I find myself buying things I’ve not tasted in over a year, my trolley filling with promise before me.
There’s a canvas in the home section. A route I never take. I left my house when my home left me and have not cared to build another. This canvas is of a field. Tree trunks line the horizon, everywhere else is flowers. Bluebells, bright and happy. Bluebells blowing in a gentle breeze beneath a bright full sun. I don’t remember placing it in my trolley, can’t say why it speaks to me so. But it’s there when I reach the checkout, and I hand it over. Watch myself pay.
The checkout operator is one whose served me previous, throwing groceries without care down the belt. Today he takes a second look. Appraises me as he offers to pack. His hand linger a trifle long as my change is handed over and his mouth curves into a smile.
Smiling back I almost grin. Catch myself giggling as I exit the shop. Such flirtation is alien to this me. The kid is likely half my age. Cheered and taking in the extent of my purchases I hail a taxi, have myself driven home.
The driver carries more bags than me, filling the outer doorway for the price of a measly tip. Hands me his card on leaving. A neighbour passes by, returns to question that I hear on second try.
‘Locked out are you?’ I’ve been staring at the door without attempting to enter. She opens it for me and tells me to call the landlord. Staring at my feet with guilt I let the door fall shut as she turns and leave clear view.
Determined I press a bell, mind scripting excuses that are left unfinished when Ben answers immediately. So fast you’d think he lay in wait.
‘Yup?’
‘Ben’
My voice is rough today, I must be leading to a cold. Feels as though I screamed the night fears away, though I slept sounder than for many nights.
‘Nigel, that you?’
‘I have, um, I did shopping?’
The pause is long enough to steal my breath. The talk button is released and I feel so stupid. Cursing myself I unlock the door with y ready key. Start lugging bags and wish I lived on the ground floor.
Ben skids to stop before me. His t-shirt is wrinkled and soiled, as though grabbed quick from a washing pile. His feet are bare. He takes the bags out of my hands and I catch him staring at my painting. He stands there for the longest time, then seems to see right through me.
‘Nice’
I offer a hesitant smile and bask in it’s return. Find my shopping, and us, in my kitchen. The kettle filled and picture hung to fill the space of my living room wall. I like it there. The sun shining, warming the room.
NEXT - Trading Breaths
x
hehehe
There's hope for poor Nigel. This chapter is hopefully a turning point, though it's hard reached, it ends in a far better place than the other chapters and there'll be another chapter to fully lighten the story.
NOTE - Timeline - Meep is stupid, stupid is the meep D:
I've writen this as though everything happens in a week *groan* Saskia (aka ebil plunny thrower no.2) said about a dream wizards power being connected to the moon, hence the dreams as the moon grows Ben's ability to intervene does. Which would mean longer than a week.
*sigh* can we assume as Nigel doesn't really remember his dreams that the timline is skewed and the story takes place over about three weeks ie Waxing Moon - 1st Quarter - Gibbeous Moon - Full Moon, when I'm of a mind to I'll go back and edit to make it work *radiates good intentions* that also means two more short chapters so there'll be lots of snuggly fluff :p
Also Nigel wouldn't just get over his trauma in a week, these dreams have been building over time (9 months of darkness for Saskia!) and Ben has been gently bringing him to this breakthrough. Trust me this is what happens!
waxing shiver - a shiver by day - wash it all away
TITLE : Halfway Somewhere
Wordcount : 1680 - and how did that happen?
Part : 4 of 7
Warning : Not easy times, but it ends in a good positive place (and fluff to come)
Darkness itself is not scary, it’s what lurks there, what your eyes can’t see yet your mind imagines. I decide this as I search the blank canvas I’m lost on. I can see and smell nothing, yet I don’t think I’m alone. I don’t sense any threat though. Strangely I feel warm and safe here. As though another me walks tall where this me stands and wavers.
I can feel something hold me firm, a strap that doesn’t initially cause fear. Headlights suddenly break the gloom rush towards me without hope of stopping, my heart leaps to my throat and beats there stealing all words. Screwing my eyes shut is a cowards answer but it doesn’t stop the replay, doesn’t stop the images of when my eyes froze open.
Breath hits my neck, but I’m need my eyes to run and though the darkness consumes me I’m too scared to run blind through paths I do not know. Paths that could lead to anywhere. Anything.
‘Relax. Nigel trust me love, open your eyes’
That voice is familiar. Warm soft tones of one who cares deeply. Familiar as a friend and loved one, yet I can’t place it. It itches at me and I feel I should know it. Trusting that voice that strange familiar voice I turn towards the person. The person sharing my darkness, making me less alone. Opening my eyes I have to blink against the light. Those spearing headlights are but lanterns held aloft. Old fashioned glass covering candles that flicker faintly in a happy breeze I can not feel.
Eyes look down on me from a man taller than myself yet not formidable, I meet the eyes and wonder at their hue. Silver shot Sapphire to suit some fantasy knight. My knight maybe, and that whimsy makes me laugh.
‘Don’t choose this Nigel’ the voice beseeches, voice crackling like lightening and I want to sooth it, bring back the soft warm tones.
‘Look ahead love’
Obeying I turn back and see a path out into the night. Out here the lanterns aren’t needed, the moon is wide, half turned to face me. A grey monotone world lit for me to wander. The path is known to me, my feet fall sure in their steps. There is no chaser. Tonight I am alone, my companion gone. Slowing my pace I look around me but see nothing of any note. No noise, no risk of misadventure. No life, or vibrant threat.
Cresting the hill I find my guide had no need to follow. He was here all along. Patient as he waits for me. He’s sitting on the hill crest staring down into the valleys below, I sense the welcome smile when he turns to greet me, but his features are indistinct. I can’t place this man, can’t define the feeling he gives me. Trusting, I accept support, let him pull me up to face the ground ahead.
He watches me take in the view.
Flowers. Hundreds of flowers. Bluebells in their millions curtain the ground ahead. A field of soft blue bells, ringing out to signal….something. Hands rest light on my shoulders, strength transferred. Muscles massaged by capable fingers.
‘It okay Nigel, it’s okay to try a new path’
Looking backward I see grey fog, jagged branches that stab out when blown by the wind. Ahead is the flowers. I almost run. My strength is beside me though, bolstering my faltering spirit. Making my way forward in a dreamlike daze I step towards a lone spray of Poppies, blood red amongst the blended shades. My friend, I think he is a friend, doesn’t follow me, but somehow I think he’s still here. Still sitting patiently. Waiting. Waiting for me.
The Poppies lay beneath a large omnipresent stone. Gothic proportions, carved by an artists hand. Throwing myself down I beat at the warm mounded earth. Reason leaves me, the wind rises around me. Whistling as it cuts through the silent bells. Swirling leaves and petals in spirals that tease at me before scattering far and wide. Crawling to the headstone my fingers scramble to pull brambles off the words, rake mud from neglected arch.
The inscription mocks me. Dearly beloved. Dearly beloved who left me. Left me to go on alone.
I don’t know how I get to my feet. One minute I’m kneeling, fingers tracing words, tears fresh on my cheeks. The next minute I’m standing, wailing at the stone. Shouting and cursing. Flowers wilt around me. The wind gets rougher. Footsteps run towards me and arms grab hold. I’m dragged, fighting against a broad chest. A strong heart beat sounds beneath my ear. It is not the beat I know, the heart I’d give everything to hear beat again. I fight, hitting the chest, pushing away the comfort.
Screaming and shouting and crying my anger. Great torrents of anger I didn’t know myself capable of, didn’t know I held, it fades to misery. To tears that shake my body with huge unsightly gulps. The man doesn’t step away, he makes no further move to hold me but waits and lets me tantrum.
Finally I calm. The fields are calmer now. A faint breeze moves my fringe into my face and brushing it aside I look towards my friend. My patient, waiting, friend.
‘Better?’ he sounds unsure. My throat is raw and I’ve not the strength to answer. This time when arms wrap around me I don’t flinch, I rest my head and let the heart beat lull me. The steady drum roll relaxes me into doze.
I wake in my bed. A pillow fallen to the floor, sheets still surround me. My fingers find my cheeks still damp.
Shopping, on my usual day and time. I push my trolley and select my standard fare. The interruptions to my thoughts is not unwelcome though the words have me turn my head to check for another person in this aisle.
‘Well hello there handsome, don’t you look different with your clothes on?’
The friendly voice is loud and the women’s colleague pauses in passing to laugh and mime a wink. ‘Watch it Sal, this something I should tell your husband’ Sal just laughs at her not caring. ‘You know what I mean’ Turning to me she carries on ‘Don’t tell me that firm of your’s gave you a day off?’
My mumble about amassed time and owed holidays is accepted with show of shock. ‘You look good today love, that sweater gives you some colour’ Her smile brings more colour to my cheeks. To spare me I think her eyes drop to my trolley and she grimaces telling me sternly that there’s nothing in it that’ll put meat on my bones. The shelf she’s filling is full of cookies, some new brand full of chocolate goodness ‘Go on’ she taunts wiggling them before me ‘live a little, you know you want to’
‘yes’ Yes I think I do, I let her drop the cookies in my trolley and on impulse select a flavour more. She grins at me and the warmth in it has me smiling as I take to the next aisle. I find myself buying things I’ve not tasted in over a year, my trolley filling with promise before me.
There’s a canvas in the home section. A route I never take. I left my house when my home left me and have not cared to build another. This canvas is of a field. Tree trunks line the horizon, everywhere else is flowers. Bluebells, bright and happy. Bluebells blowing in a gentle breeze beneath a bright full sun. I don’t remember placing it in my trolley, can’t say why it speaks to me so. But it’s there when I reach the checkout, and I hand it over. Watch myself pay.
The checkout operator is one whose served me previous, throwing groceries without care down the belt. Today he takes a second look. Appraises me as he offers to pack. His hand linger a trifle long as my change is handed over and his mouth curves into a smile.
Smiling back I almost grin. Catch myself giggling as I exit the shop. Such flirtation is alien to this me. The kid is likely half my age. Cheered and taking in the extent of my purchases I hail a taxi, have myself driven home.
The driver carries more bags than me, filling the outer doorway for the price of a measly tip. Hands me his card on leaving. A neighbour passes by, returns to question that I hear on second try.
‘Locked out are you?’ I’ve been staring at the door without attempting to enter. She opens it for me and tells me to call the landlord. Staring at my feet with guilt I let the door fall shut as she turns and leave clear view.
Determined I press a bell, mind scripting excuses that are left unfinished when Ben answers immediately. So fast you’d think he lay in wait.
‘Yup?’
‘Ben’
My voice is rough today, I must be leading to a cold. Feels as though I screamed the night fears away, though I slept sounder than for many nights.
‘Nigel, that you?’
‘I have, um, I did shopping?’
The pause is long enough to steal my breath. The talk button is released and I feel so stupid. Cursing myself I unlock the door with y ready key. Start lugging bags and wish I lived on the ground floor.
Ben skids to stop before me. His t-shirt is wrinkled and soiled, as though grabbed quick from a washing pile. His feet are bare. He takes the bags out of my hands and I catch him staring at my painting. He stands there for the longest time, then seems to see right through me.
‘Nice’
I offer a hesitant smile and bask in it’s return. Find my shopping, and us, in my kitchen. The kettle filled and picture hung to fill the space of my living room wall. I like it there. The sun shining, warming the room.
NEXT - Trading Breaths
x