(no subject)
Title: Dead to the World
Rating: PG
Word Count: 223
Characters/Pairing: ...not telling.
Notes: Rated mainly for morbidness. Was originally a response to Challenge #106, until it grew and sprouted babbit wings.
Sometimes he would rather not be walking down the aisle of a crowded but uncomfortably silent church, full aware that he held the stare of every single guest present and probably seemed something out of a sordid drama - the jealous best friend who barges in, uninvited and unannounced, on the otherwise picture-perfect wedding of a picture-perfect young man.
The difference being, though, that said best friend usually managed to accomplish something.
Sometimes, even as he reaches for the ornate wooden handles of the church doors, he can imagine, as vividly as if it’s already happening, the sequence of events that would unfold after he’d gone. He’d no doubt that the blonde-haired bridegroom would have the congregation suitably entertained within seconds; by the end of the afternoon they’d leave smiling, indulgent, gossiping, and - as chance would have it - with almost no recollection of the Chinese man in the black cloak.
Sometimes, he thinks bitterly - though the stained-glass shadows dancing about the altar could just as well have whispered it - people refuse to be saved.
And indeed it appeared a rule - for stubborn immortals to give up all the rules (and eternity is a rule - as they do know, ought know - and so is friendship), so they could gaze into the eyes of one human woman and drown in them, dead to the world.
Dead to me, he thinks, and steps out into the sun.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 223
Characters/Pairing: ...not telling.
Notes: Rated mainly for morbidness. Was originally a response to Challenge #106, until it grew and sprouted babbit wings.
Sometimes he would rather not be walking down the aisle of a crowded but uncomfortably silent church, full aware that he held the stare of every single guest present and probably seemed something out of a sordid drama - the jealous best friend who barges in, uninvited and unannounced, on the otherwise picture-perfect wedding of a picture-perfect young man.
The difference being, though, that said best friend usually managed to accomplish something.
Sometimes, even as he reaches for the ornate wooden handles of the church doors, he can imagine, as vividly as if it’s already happening, the sequence of events that would unfold after he’d gone. He’d no doubt that the blonde-haired bridegroom would have the congregation suitably entertained within seconds; by the end of the afternoon they’d leave smiling, indulgent, gossiping, and - as chance would have it - with almost no recollection of the Chinese man in the black cloak.
Sometimes, he thinks bitterly - though the stained-glass shadows dancing about the altar could just as well have whispered it - people refuse to be saved.
And indeed it appeared a rule - for stubborn immortals to give up all the rules (and eternity is a rule - as they do know, ought know - and so is friendship), so they could gaze into the eyes of one human woman and drown in them, dead to the world.
Dead to me, he thinks, and steps out into the sun.