Fiction: Phoenixes
Mar. 26th, 2013 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: Phoenixes
World: The Wasteland
Word count: 1,669
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic: Tyrian Purple 15, the gift of fire; Heart Gold 5, Love is an energy which exists of itself. It is its own value. - Thornton Wilder; "The living spirit of the fire makes them endure."--Jean M. Auel; musewrite "It is only in love and murder that we remain sincere." – Friedrich Durrematt
Notes: Death! Yay!
When the earthquake hit, they both fell.
He didn’t see which way she went. First he saw fire. Then he saw nothing. And then he continued to see nothing.
—
He looked into her blue eyes as his fingers tightened about her throat and almost dropped her.
He knew those eyes. More importantly, those eyes knew him. But how could that be?
The calm understanding in their depths first frightened, then infuriated him. If nothing else, he knew that no one could be allowed to remember him. He had to finish what he had begun.
He shook her so that her head fell back and he could no longer see into her eyes, then held on until she stopped fighting.
—
There was a fire. He crawled through the searing heat, the choking smoke. He could see nothing. He groped out with his hands, seeking her in the blackness, the light that illuminated nothing.
His hands closed around one warm, soft arm. His thoughts were dizzy; black spots that had nothing to do with the brightness swam before his eyes. But he crawled, dragging her along beside him, looking for a way out.
He gasped with every breath. He could not take in enough air, his lungs could not hold it all. He found the door. He pushed her out.
As he tried to crawl to the door himself, he collapsed, lungs heaving. He did not know if she still breathed.
—
The crowd cheered him—well, cheered and booed, but the cheers outnumbered the boos. He’d always known his ideas would be controversial. He spoke them the best he could to lull those who could be lulled, but there would be no merit to what he wished to change if some people did not object to it.
He smiled and waved and looked at his people, the people who had come to see him. He would meet their eyes, as many as he could.
He locked eyes with a woman across the square—a blue-eyed woman dressed all in black.
He froze for an instant, the smile plastered on his face, his politician’s instincts still going even as his mind whirled. Who was she? How did he know her? He had never seen her before, and yet…
Her eyes widened, too, in shock and seeming recognition. Then they narrowed and something blocked one of them. Something black and shining.
There was a noise of an explosion, and his eye contact was broken as something hit him in the chest and threw him to the ground.
The square was suddenly full of screams, but he heard none of it.
—
They curled around each other, desperate to share warmth in the cold that would not end. He shivered and felt her shiver against him. Their muscles worked to keep out the cold until there was nothing left to keep their muscles working.
He fell asleep as he felt her fall asleep beside him.
—
He rode his horse through the town with the others, laughing, swinging his sword and cutting at any of the villagers who came too close to him—though usually they were running away when they did that.
He reveled in the blood, in the anguish and the screams. They were lesser, as he well knew. They were nothing. They deserved to die. The world was better off without them.
He sliced at a woman’s neck, and she fell, her body going backward and her head tumbling forward. As his horse shied in surprise, the moment seemed to freeze. Her head had fallen faceup in the mud, her eyes blue and wide and staring, her mouth open in surprise, as though she knew him and felt personally betrayed by the way he had cut off her head.
Then the horse’s hoof landed on the face, crushed the bone into the mud, and he rode on.
—
He held her hand as she screamed, hardly feeling the tears that ran down his own cheeks. He shouted at the midwife and her assistant, begging that they do something, anything, to ease her pain. The midwife spat answers back at him, but he could not understand them. Her hands were covered in blood.
The assistant ran back and forth bringing water and herbs. His wife grunted and panted and screamed.
Then the child screamed, too, but his wife was silent.
—
He heard the car on the road behind him, but he did not turn to acknowledge it. There were always cars. It was dark, and it was dangerous, but he could only walk here on the grassy side of the road, not on the other side where the earth had been sheared off to make the road itself. The car would pass by as many had. He was just too drunk to drive himself home, and he hoped that by the time he reached it he would be more sober.
The car’s engine grew louder, but still he did not turn to acknowledge it.
He did not turn until suddenly he realized that the engine was loud, too loud, and that the headlights were too bright sweeping over him.
He turned and flung his arm over his face to protect his eyes, but in the same moment he knew that he could not protect himself.
Strangely, the headlights did not blind him entirely. He saw her face, her white face, her wide blue eyes, her mouth screaming in anger or horror.
And then he was broken in half, and tumbling off the verge, and the roar of the engine tumbled after him.
—
They were working in the garden when the sirens went off. They ran inside, too practiced to panic, rushing for their shelter.
They were not fast enough. He clutched her close as the world exploded around them.
—
He shouted for her to stop, but she just kept running. So he shot, as he had been trained to go.
The first round went into her shoulder and spun her half around. He had a shock as he saw her bright blue eyes. Didn’t he know her from somewhere?
But the training had taken over, and he shot again and again, until she collapsed, her blood staining the pavement.
—
There was another fire. Another? No, this was the first fire he had seen, the first one at least that was not safely contained in a grate or a fire pit. This one roared and screamed and made noises he had no names for through the school.
They clasped each other in their arms and threw themselves at the window. It would not break.
He choked and coughed and trembled and held onto her. She held him so tightly he knew he would have bruises where her fingers were. They threw themselves at the window again, and still it did not break.
They tried it a third time, but now they had no strength, and they collapsed together as the fire engulfed them.
—
He was carefully recording the day’s observations when he realized that there was a strange woman in the laboratory. He turned to look at her, confused, but she was reaching for the lock.
He leapt toward her, screaming for her to stop, but she was already opening it.
She turned to smile calmly at him, her eyes narrow and hard, but they widened when they met his. He stopped in his tracks, his mouth gaping open. He knew those blue eyes. He had seen them many, many times… and yet he was sure he had never seen this woman before.
What did this mean? He longed to ask. But he knew he had no time to find out. Though he could not see them, not with his naked eyes, the swarm had already escaped, and tiny organisms were already burrowing their way into his lungs, his heart, his liver, tearing holes in his organs and pulling him apart.
Tiny spots of blood appeared in the whites of her eyes. Did she know that she was killing herself, too, with this insane act? He could not form the question. His throat and tongue were already too degraded to use.
They collapsed to their knees together, both still staring at each other. He thought, as he fell to the ground and conscious slipped away, that their fingers might be touching.
—
The water was poison. There were too many things in it, waste products and superbacteria and simply what went into it naturally from its place in the forest.
But they did not realize that until they had both drunk.
Without magicians to help them, to purify the water, all they could do was hold each other close and wait for the end. He felt, as the fever swept through him, that they had done this before, but he did not know if she felt the same.
—
They had been waiting for weeks. There was no food left. They were at last forced to admit that their friends had either abandoned them or reached some dreadful fate.
Either way, they knew what was coming. They did not have the strength to search for food, even if they had known which direction would be the most fruitful. All they had was flint and a tent and a few changes of clothing. The trees they were camped among provided some measure of shade, but had long since parched from lack of water; there had been a stream here once, but it had been diverted or dried up.
When she stood up and broke a branch off the nearest tree, he understood what she was doing.
He helped her, breaking branches and then adding the clothing that was flammable until they had the biggest pile they could manage. And then they stepped into the middle.
She held a small branch. He struck it with the flint until it caught. She dropped it into the fuel beneath them.
As the flames roared up to engulf them, they held each other close and remembered that this was not the end.
Did you enjoy this story? You can read more stories in this world or see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
World: The Wasteland
Word count: 1,669
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:
rainbowfic: Tyrian Purple 15, the gift of fire; Heart Gold 5, Love is an energy which exists of itself. It is its own value. - Thornton Wilder; "The living spirit of the fire makes them endure."--Jean M. Auel; musewrite "It is only in love and murder that we remain sincere." – Friedrich DurremattNotes: Death! Yay!
When the earthquake hit, they both fell.
He didn’t see which way she went. First he saw fire. Then he saw nothing. And then he continued to see nothing.
—
He looked into her blue eyes as his fingers tightened about her throat and almost dropped her.
He knew those eyes. More importantly, those eyes knew him. But how could that be?
The calm understanding in their depths first frightened, then infuriated him. If nothing else, he knew that no one could be allowed to remember him. He had to finish what he had begun.
He shook her so that her head fell back and he could no longer see into her eyes, then held on until she stopped fighting.
—
There was a fire. He crawled through the searing heat, the choking smoke. He could see nothing. He groped out with his hands, seeking her in the blackness, the light that illuminated nothing.
His hands closed around one warm, soft arm. His thoughts were dizzy; black spots that had nothing to do with the brightness swam before his eyes. But he crawled, dragging her along beside him, looking for a way out.
He gasped with every breath. He could not take in enough air, his lungs could not hold it all. He found the door. He pushed her out.
As he tried to crawl to the door himself, he collapsed, lungs heaving. He did not know if she still breathed.
—
The crowd cheered him—well, cheered and booed, but the cheers outnumbered the boos. He’d always known his ideas would be controversial. He spoke them the best he could to lull those who could be lulled, but there would be no merit to what he wished to change if some people did not object to it.
He smiled and waved and looked at his people, the people who had come to see him. He would meet their eyes, as many as he could.
He locked eyes with a woman across the square—a blue-eyed woman dressed all in black.
He froze for an instant, the smile plastered on his face, his politician’s instincts still going even as his mind whirled. Who was she? How did he know her? He had never seen her before, and yet…
Her eyes widened, too, in shock and seeming recognition. Then they narrowed and something blocked one of them. Something black and shining.
There was a noise of an explosion, and his eye contact was broken as something hit him in the chest and threw him to the ground.
The square was suddenly full of screams, but he heard none of it.
—
They curled around each other, desperate to share warmth in the cold that would not end. He shivered and felt her shiver against him. Their muscles worked to keep out the cold until there was nothing left to keep their muscles working.
He fell asleep as he felt her fall asleep beside him.
—
He rode his horse through the town with the others, laughing, swinging his sword and cutting at any of the villagers who came too close to him—though usually they were running away when they did that.
He reveled in the blood, in the anguish and the screams. They were lesser, as he well knew. They were nothing. They deserved to die. The world was better off without them.
He sliced at a woman’s neck, and she fell, her body going backward and her head tumbling forward. As his horse shied in surprise, the moment seemed to freeze. Her head had fallen faceup in the mud, her eyes blue and wide and staring, her mouth open in surprise, as though she knew him and felt personally betrayed by the way he had cut off her head.
Then the horse’s hoof landed on the face, crushed the bone into the mud, and he rode on.
—
He held her hand as she screamed, hardly feeling the tears that ran down his own cheeks. He shouted at the midwife and her assistant, begging that they do something, anything, to ease her pain. The midwife spat answers back at him, but he could not understand them. Her hands were covered in blood.
The assistant ran back and forth bringing water and herbs. His wife grunted and panted and screamed.
Then the child screamed, too, but his wife was silent.
—
He heard the car on the road behind him, but he did not turn to acknowledge it. There were always cars. It was dark, and it was dangerous, but he could only walk here on the grassy side of the road, not on the other side where the earth had been sheared off to make the road itself. The car would pass by as many had. He was just too drunk to drive himself home, and he hoped that by the time he reached it he would be more sober.
The car’s engine grew louder, but still he did not turn to acknowledge it.
He did not turn until suddenly he realized that the engine was loud, too loud, and that the headlights were too bright sweeping over him.
He turned and flung his arm over his face to protect his eyes, but in the same moment he knew that he could not protect himself.
Strangely, the headlights did not blind him entirely. He saw her face, her white face, her wide blue eyes, her mouth screaming in anger or horror.
And then he was broken in half, and tumbling off the verge, and the roar of the engine tumbled after him.
—
They were working in the garden when the sirens went off. They ran inside, too practiced to panic, rushing for their shelter.
They were not fast enough. He clutched her close as the world exploded around them.
—
He shouted for her to stop, but she just kept running. So he shot, as he had been trained to go.
The first round went into her shoulder and spun her half around. He had a shock as he saw her bright blue eyes. Didn’t he know her from somewhere?
But the training had taken over, and he shot again and again, until she collapsed, her blood staining the pavement.
—
There was another fire. Another? No, this was the first fire he had seen, the first one at least that was not safely contained in a grate or a fire pit. This one roared and screamed and made noises he had no names for through the school.
They clasped each other in their arms and threw themselves at the window. It would not break.
He choked and coughed and trembled and held onto her. She held him so tightly he knew he would have bruises where her fingers were. They threw themselves at the window again, and still it did not break.
They tried it a third time, but now they had no strength, and they collapsed together as the fire engulfed them.
—
He was carefully recording the day’s observations when he realized that there was a strange woman in the laboratory. He turned to look at her, confused, but she was reaching for the lock.
He leapt toward her, screaming for her to stop, but she was already opening it.
She turned to smile calmly at him, her eyes narrow and hard, but they widened when they met his. He stopped in his tracks, his mouth gaping open. He knew those blue eyes. He had seen them many, many times… and yet he was sure he had never seen this woman before.
What did this mean? He longed to ask. But he knew he had no time to find out. Though he could not see them, not with his naked eyes, the swarm had already escaped, and tiny organisms were already burrowing their way into his lungs, his heart, his liver, tearing holes in his organs and pulling him apart.
Tiny spots of blood appeared in the whites of her eyes. Did she know that she was killing herself, too, with this insane act? He could not form the question. His throat and tongue were already too degraded to use.
They collapsed to their knees together, both still staring at each other. He thought, as he fell to the ground and conscious slipped away, that their fingers might be touching.
—
The water was poison. There were too many things in it, waste products and superbacteria and simply what went into it naturally from its place in the forest.
But they did not realize that until they had both drunk.
Without magicians to help them, to purify the water, all they could do was hold each other close and wait for the end. He felt, as the fever swept through him, that they had done this before, but he did not know if she felt the same.
—
They had been waiting for weeks. There was no food left. They were at last forced to admit that their friends had either abandoned them or reached some dreadful fate.
Either way, they knew what was coming. They did not have the strength to search for food, even if they had known which direction would be the most fruitful. All they had was flint and a tent and a few changes of clothing. The trees they were camped among provided some measure of shade, but had long since parched from lack of water; there had been a stream here once, but it had been diverted or dried up.
When she stood up and broke a branch off the nearest tree, he understood what she was doing.
He helped her, breaking branches and then adding the clothing that was flammable until they had the biggest pile they could manage. And then they stepped into the middle.
She held a small branch. He struck it with the flint until it caught. She dropped it into the fuel beneath them.
As the flames roared up to engulf them, they held each other close and remembered that this was not the end.
Did you enjoy this story? You can read more stories in this world or see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!