Drabble: Golden (Heroes; Angela)
Written for orange_crushed who (long, long ago, in the Cretaceous Era) requested either Angela Petrelli or Irina Derevko, and gave me this painting by Edward Hopper as a prompt. Reference to an unspecific mental ability is completely speculative.
Angela, pre-series. G. She made her choice.
I don't want to add my breast to the dust.
I decline its fate, to be flung in a corner.
- Miguel Hernandez, 'Death's Neighbor'
Golden
All over the city, women no different from you.
They rise. Slip on one shoe, and then the other. They look out the window - at the bed bisected by scarlet quilt - to the late distant sun. Like you, feeling set apart.
No one can touch you, or say what you must do. Who you must give up.
There is, no doubt, always room for regret. In years to come they can bring out the tape measure, jab fingers at walls that are riddled and collapsed. So little kindness in hindsight's burning glare.
But they do not know whose ring you wear.
It will never be lost, never fade or tarnish beneath the light of inspection. Alloyed from passion and stillness, and age-old thoughts, only you can see it. Only he can touch it.
9 June 2008
You can download a recording of me reading this drabble here.
Angela, pre-series. G. She made her choice.
I don't want to add my breast to the dust.
I decline its fate, to be flung in a corner.
- Miguel Hernandez, 'Death's Neighbor'
Golden
All over the city, women no different from you.
They rise. Slip on one shoe, and then the other. They look out the window - at the bed bisected by scarlet quilt - to the late distant sun. Like you, feeling set apart.
No one can touch you, or say what you must do. Who you must give up.
There is, no doubt, always room for regret. In years to come they can bring out the tape measure, jab fingers at walls that are riddled and collapsed. So little kindness in hindsight's burning glare.
But they do not know whose ring you wear.
It will never be lost, never fade or tarnish beneath the light of inspection. Alloyed from passion and stillness, and age-old thoughts, only you can see it. Only he can touch it.
9 June 2008
You can download a recording of me reading this drabble here.