Fiction: Paradise
Oct. 17th, 2011 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: Paradise
Word count: 602
Rating: PG-13 (implied heterosexual sex)
Prompt: Crowdfunding Creative Jam: fallen angels
Notes: Inspired by the Biblical story of The Watchers.
He came in the night. He took me from my parents’ house. I was sixteen years old.
But let no one tell you I did not wish to go.
He was surpassingly handsome, with a glow I believed was my imagination at first but later came to realize was his natural state. He said nothing to me, only picked me up in his arms and flew off, out my window. I could only cling to his neck—it did not seem to impede his breathing—and stare about. My own breath was nearly taken from me by the glory of flight, the delight of leaving my family, the wondrous man who held me in his arms.
When we reached our destination, my breath did leave me for a moment.
I, and many of the other wives, call it Paradise. He will not use that name, nor will the other Watchers, for it brings to mind the place they left to be with us. (They left Paradise—some greater Paradise—only for us. Sometimes my mind cannot encompass the wonder.) But they give it no name, only home.
That night, it glittered with lights, brighter and somehow less unpleasant to the eyes than any city from a hill. The lights did not reflect from the clouds, and all around the land was black as velvet. There was no way to see beyond the city of the Watchers.
But I did not have time to wonder about that, nor would I have asked if I could, for then I was still intimidated, and he had not yet spoken. He landed at the edge of Paradise and walked, still carrying me in his arms, through the shining, welcoming lights. As we drew close I saw that they were candles, each one in the window of some small house, glowing with some unwavering light that told me they were not natural. Each we passed made my heart yearn to sit by it, but he kept walking until we finally reached one—I could not tell what made it different than any of the others—and finally set me down. “This is our home, Phoebe. The home I have chosen for you.”
I could only stare up at him. “For me?” I finally whispered. He nodded, and smiled, and the smile was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
He took me by the hand and led me inside. There were only four rooms, but four was enough, because he brought me into the bedroom, where the bed was already made for us, and he laid me down, and I named the place Paradise.
In the morning the city of angels was full; every one of the two hundred homes held a Watcher and his wife. The Watchers had their duties, and could not stay, but every night they brought us home whatever we needed, and spoke softly to us and shared our beds, which was all we truly wished for. The other wives and I also spoke, and became friends, and marveled at how infinitely good our lives had suddenly become.
And now our son grows in my womb, and he will be a great hero. I know, for my husband has told me. And he always speaks the truth.
He has never said that he loves me.
But I have heard that so many times, and it never meant anything but pain. I know my husband does not say it because he wishes never to hurt me. His love is in his actions, not his words.
Here in Paradise there is no more pain.
Did you enjoy this story? You can see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
Word count: 602
Rating: PG-13 (implied heterosexual sex)
Prompt: Crowdfunding Creative Jam: fallen angels
Notes: Inspired by the Biblical story of The Watchers.
He came in the night. He took me from my parents’ house. I was sixteen years old.
But let no one tell you I did not wish to go.
He was surpassingly handsome, with a glow I believed was my imagination at first but later came to realize was his natural state. He said nothing to me, only picked me up in his arms and flew off, out my window. I could only cling to his neck—it did not seem to impede his breathing—and stare about. My own breath was nearly taken from me by the glory of flight, the delight of leaving my family, the wondrous man who held me in his arms.
When we reached our destination, my breath did leave me for a moment.
I, and many of the other wives, call it Paradise. He will not use that name, nor will the other Watchers, for it brings to mind the place they left to be with us. (They left Paradise—some greater Paradise—only for us. Sometimes my mind cannot encompass the wonder.) But they give it no name, only home.
That night, it glittered with lights, brighter and somehow less unpleasant to the eyes than any city from a hill. The lights did not reflect from the clouds, and all around the land was black as velvet. There was no way to see beyond the city of the Watchers.
But I did not have time to wonder about that, nor would I have asked if I could, for then I was still intimidated, and he had not yet spoken. He landed at the edge of Paradise and walked, still carrying me in his arms, through the shining, welcoming lights. As we drew close I saw that they were candles, each one in the window of some small house, glowing with some unwavering light that told me they were not natural. Each we passed made my heart yearn to sit by it, but he kept walking until we finally reached one—I could not tell what made it different than any of the others—and finally set me down. “This is our home, Phoebe. The home I have chosen for you.”
I could only stare up at him. “For me?” I finally whispered. He nodded, and smiled, and the smile was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
He took me by the hand and led me inside. There were only four rooms, but four was enough, because he brought me into the bedroom, where the bed was already made for us, and he laid me down, and I named the place Paradise.
In the morning the city of angels was full; every one of the two hundred homes held a Watcher and his wife. The Watchers had their duties, and could not stay, but every night they brought us home whatever we needed, and spoke softly to us and shared our beds, which was all we truly wished for. The other wives and I also spoke, and became friends, and marveled at how infinitely good our lives had suddenly become.
And now our son grows in my womb, and he will be a great hero. I know, for my husband has told me. And he always speaks the truth.
He has never said that he loves me.
But I have heard that so many times, and it never meant anything but pain. I know my husband does not say it because he wishes never to hurt me. His love is in his actions, not his words.
Here in Paradise there is no more pain.
Did you enjoy this story? You can see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
Ooo...
Date: 2011-10-18 03:04 am (UTC)Re: Ooo...
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Date: 2011-10-18 08:29 am (UTC)<3
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