http://rhye.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
rhye.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2008-01-30 11:42 am
rhye.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2008-01-30 11:42 am
[January 30th] [Brokeback Mountain] To Die Alive
Title: To Die Alive
Day/Theme: January 30 - the formula defining the concept of existence
Series: Brokeback Mountain
Character/Pairing: Ennis del Mar, implied Ennis/Jack
Rating: PG
To Die Alive
He drank whiskey until it burned him, then poured beer on the embers later. His heavy eyes resisted closure, his weary body wiled itself to wakefulness. He didn't see the scene before him, didn't see the wood paneling or the sunken cot of his-- his home. He needed to live on. He knew it like he knew what weather the wind may bring. Still, living was a mighty generous word. It implied somehow that people saw you, noticed you, took heed of your existence. As far as Ennis could tell the only ones who ever paid him any mind were the horses and his foreman. His girls did, but-- but none of them would have wasted those minutes if they knew who he really was, what he was really thinking. Except maybe the horses. And if who you were living as wasn't you-- if no one on on God's green earth knew you as you were-- was it really existing? Or maybe just-- living? Nothing more, nothing less.
Ennis stood to get himself another beer, feet shuffling over the floor not with pain or age, but with indifference. he saw it too late, what Jack had been getting out: living wasn't no good if it didn't involve anyone else. A dead man in a grave could've had more earthly connections than Ennis del Mar. Ennis had been living like he was a dead man, and now had come his penance: to die alive.
Day/Theme: January 30 - the formula defining the concept of existence
Series: Brokeback Mountain
Character/Pairing: Ennis del Mar, implied Ennis/Jack
Rating: PG
To Die Alive
He drank whiskey until it burned him, then poured beer on the embers later. His heavy eyes resisted closure, his weary body wiled itself to wakefulness. He didn't see the scene before him, didn't see the wood paneling or the sunken cot of his-- his home. He needed to live on. He knew it like he knew what weather the wind may bring. Still, living was a mighty generous word. It implied somehow that people saw you, noticed you, took heed of your existence. As far as Ennis could tell the only ones who ever paid him any mind were the horses and his foreman. His girls did, but-- but none of them would have wasted those minutes if they knew who he really was, what he was really thinking. Except maybe the horses. And if who you were living as wasn't you-- if no one on on God's green earth knew you as you were-- was it really existing? Or maybe just-- living? Nothing more, nothing less.
Ennis stood to get himself another beer, feet shuffling over the floor not with pain or age, but with indifference. he saw it too late, what Jack had been getting out: living wasn't no good if it didn't involve anyone else. A dead man in a grave could've had more earthly connections than Ennis del Mar. Ennis had been living like he was a dead man, and now had come his penance: to die alive.