round 05, challenge six: entry #03
Title: Metro gardening
Fandom and Pairing: Big Bang/2NE1; Seungri/Chaerin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Summary: She plants the seed you can't help to grow.
Warnings: None
You may have seen her one day, standing deep beneath the earth. She seemed grey under the artificial lights and you knew that the blond waves falling down her back were not real. Her features appeared sharp and hollow, not at all like you used to know them. Looking in your direction her eyes became big upon recognizing you, her lips moved and her hand reached out as if to touch you over the distance of the platform, the concrete slightly bending into eternity.
Had the hair not surrounded her like a halo you would probably never have felt that small tug in your chest. You would never have felt that faint stab of regret, whispering about your future of maybe nothingness, with expensive suits and unknown girls in messy beds, intertwined with see-trough images of her smile, smeared with yesterdays failures.
You would never have gotten that guilty feeling when turning away, reminding you of her frustration when you tried to hold her down, reminding you of milk not spilt but sour, of dreams not hers but yours.
It could have been a trifling detail in history, had it not been for the nagging idea of having misinterpreted life.
Fandom and Pairing: Big Bang/2NE1; Seungri/Chaerin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 200
Summary: She plants the seed you can't help to grow.
Warnings: None
You may have seen her one day, standing deep beneath the earth. She seemed grey under the artificial lights and you knew that the blond waves falling down her back were not real. Her features appeared sharp and hollow, not at all like you used to know them. Looking in your direction her eyes became big upon recognizing you, her lips moved and her hand reached out as if to touch you over the distance of the platform, the concrete slightly bending into eternity.
Had the hair not surrounded her like a halo you would probably never have felt that small tug in your chest. You would never have felt that faint stab of regret, whispering about your future of maybe nothingness, with expensive suits and unknown girls in messy beds, intertwined with see-trough images of her smile, smeared with yesterdays failures.
You would never have gotten that guilty feeling when turning away, reminding you of her frustration when you tried to hold her down, reminding you of milk not spilt but sour, of dreams not hers but yours.
It could have been a trifling detail in history, had it not been for the nagging idea of having misinterpreted life.