TM Topic: 154, Dance
#154 Dance
There is a young woman at the end of the street, and she is dancing in the snow.
Sinister, who is bundled against the cold though he often thinks he no longer feels it, leans against the wrought-iron fence and watches her. She spins slowly with her hands, encased in white mittens, extended above her head like a ballerina. Her head is tilted back as if she is trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.
The crowds move around him in a wave; pressing and falling back, endless, a sea of people. He's fairly sure he's been here before, somewhere in his long span of existence, and something about the woman dancing beneath the falling snow stirs a memory.
Nathaniel, don't let him play outside for so long! He'll catch his death out there.
It has been ages since he'd heard her voice-Rebecca, his long-dead wife, the last word she ever spoke to him the name he now bears. His son, so small and pale in his coffin, the very sanctity of his grave defiled by his own father.
The woman does not look like Rebecca, at least not what he remembers of her. It is rare Sinister remembers the life he led in those days, when he was a man and not…whatever he is now.
Something better.
The woman is laughing and trying to entice her companion to join her. The young man is slouching with his hands shoved in his pockets, his head bowed. He's embarrassed, he wishes she wouldn't make such a spectacle. Sinister smiles. This poor stupid human, he has no idea what a spectacle really is. Sinister would show him, could show him, but what would be the point? They are only human. Their existence is fleeting, like a whisper on the wind. Like the snow, falling so prettily around the human girl and catching in the strands of her hair.
Sinister walks on, the snow slick and wet beneath his boots. He lowers his psychic defenses for a moment and looks straight at her. Let her remember that there are demons in the world, that there is death in the midst of beauty.
The girl stops dancing and grabs her companion's arm, and he tastes her fear mingled with the sharp cold air. Sinister walks away, smiling. Sometimes one has to take pleasure in the simple things.
Muse: Mr. Sinister (Nathaniel Essex)
Fandom: X-Men (comics)
Word Count: 396
There is a young woman at the end of the street, and she is dancing in the snow.
Sinister, who is bundled against the cold though he often thinks he no longer feels it, leans against the wrought-iron fence and watches her. She spins slowly with her hands, encased in white mittens, extended above her head like a ballerina. Her head is tilted back as if she is trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.
The crowds move around him in a wave; pressing and falling back, endless, a sea of people. He's fairly sure he's been here before, somewhere in his long span of existence, and something about the woman dancing beneath the falling snow stirs a memory.
Nathaniel, don't let him play outside for so long! He'll catch his death out there.
It has been ages since he'd heard her voice-Rebecca, his long-dead wife, the last word she ever spoke to him the name he now bears. His son, so small and pale in his coffin, the very sanctity of his grave defiled by his own father.
The woman does not look like Rebecca, at least not what he remembers of her. It is rare Sinister remembers the life he led in those days, when he was a man and not…whatever he is now.
Something better.
The woman is laughing and trying to entice her companion to join her. The young man is slouching with his hands shoved in his pockets, his head bowed. He's embarrassed, he wishes she wouldn't make such a spectacle. Sinister smiles. This poor stupid human, he has no idea what a spectacle really is. Sinister would show him, could show him, but what would be the point? They are only human. Their existence is fleeting, like a whisper on the wind. Like the snow, falling so prettily around the human girl and catching in the strands of her hair.
Sinister walks on, the snow slick and wet beneath his boots. He lowers his psychic defenses for a moment and looks straight at her. Let her remember that there are demons in the world, that there is death in the midst of beauty.
The girl stops dancing and grabs her companion's arm, and he tastes her fear mingled with the sharp cold air. Sinister walks away, smiling. Sometimes one has to take pleasure in the simple things.
Muse: Mr. Sinister (Nathaniel Essex)
Fandom: X-Men (comics)
Word Count: 396