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31_days2005-09-03 10:16 pm
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-03 10:16 pm
[September the Third] [Original] the miles to babylon
Title: the miles to babylon
Day/Theme: September 3: Being as yet but a girl
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Girl, confused, ruminates on Boy, indifferent. Names are Gale and Palomir, respectively, and it isn't quite as simple as all that, but that's all you really need to know.
Rating: PG
She is too old to be infatuated and far, far too young to be in love, and she knows this because she's read the stories, reams of butterfly romances and honeysuckle sweetness that always, it seems, ends up in marriage or happy endings or riding into the sun.
Girls are supposed to be betrothed and pawned off at fourteen, she knows, and then they will eithermeet some kind of swashbuckling outlaw to sweep them off their feet as they travel to meet their fiance, or their fiance will turn out to be some terribly tragic boy with a past that has forced him to hide his true self. In the latter case, curses are usually involved. In the former, copius amounts of rivals and rum substitute.
But then, she's never had a family to speak for her, much less provide a dowry.
There's always times when the girl's portrayed as heroic and defiant, she supposes, and finds love her own way. But she's always cringed at having to hurt people, and anyway, those girls always kick and spit and generally end up with their clothes half-torn off and their faces tearstreaked but dignified.
The idea seems nice, but it certainly won't work, as she knows full well how much she resembles a blighted beet when she cries.
Who's to know if this really is love, anyway? She's mentally wrung her hands about it time and time again, but she cannot make head or tail of it all. She doesn't have butterflies in her stomach. She feels as though she's somehow swallowed a ferret whole, and it's making its tiny furry presence known, leaping in her guts and sending her heart plummeting into her knees every time she sees him smile.
It hurts to breathe when he comes near, like some invisible hand is gently, affectionately crushing her lungs. She finds she can't speak quite as smoothly if she's looking straight at him, so she's made a habit of only meeting his eyes when she has a point to make. It terrifies her to think that he might notice; the last thing she wants him to do is ask what happens to be wrong with her, and if she's certain of anything, the last thing she should be blurting out is 'I'm having a little trouble breathing, could you lend me some air? It didn't work the first few times but I'm sure it will when we cooperate' because she doesn't even want to think how well that is going to go over.
She is not actually thinking about any of this. She is not. In a heartbeat, she compresses her thoughts into a wad of bad memories and hurls it somewhere towards the back of her mind, hoping they never return.
Just barely, though. Despite her denial of them, they begin to slip back in, wedging themselves into niches in her subconscious and ready to rear up again at a moment's notice.
She's too busy to notice them, by now, because she's far too distressed and preoccupied about the problem that hasn't gone away, and probably never will, unless she figures out what to do.
In the end, she can come to only one conclusion.
This would all be much easier to deal with if I was a boy.
((A/N: Interpret that last line as you wish -- it's meant to be a shout-out to all the slash/shounen-ai fic conventions, though; Gale's personality and overall comportment really does suit a male stereotype more than a female one. XD
Ooogh, so dorky. I missed one and two, but I'll have a go at them in my own LJ, and we'll SEE how things proceed from there.))
Day/Theme: September 3: Being as yet but a girl
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Girl, confused, ruminates on Boy, indifferent. Names are Gale and Palomir, respectively, and it isn't quite as simple as all that, but that's all you really need to know.
Rating: PG
She is too old to be infatuated and far, far too young to be in love, and she knows this because she's read the stories, reams of butterfly romances and honeysuckle sweetness that always, it seems, ends up in marriage or happy endings or riding into the sun.
Girls are supposed to be betrothed and pawned off at fourteen, she knows, and then they will eithermeet some kind of swashbuckling outlaw to sweep them off their feet as they travel to meet their fiance, or their fiance will turn out to be some terribly tragic boy with a past that has forced him to hide his true self. In the latter case, curses are usually involved. In the former, copius amounts of rivals and rum substitute.
But then, she's never had a family to speak for her, much less provide a dowry.
There's always times when the girl's portrayed as heroic and defiant, she supposes, and finds love her own way. But she's always cringed at having to hurt people, and anyway, those girls always kick and spit and generally end up with their clothes half-torn off and their faces tearstreaked but dignified.
The idea seems nice, but it certainly won't work, as she knows full well how much she resembles a blighted beet when she cries.
Who's to know if this really is love, anyway? She's mentally wrung her hands about it time and time again, but she cannot make head or tail of it all. She doesn't have butterflies in her stomach. She feels as though she's somehow swallowed a ferret whole, and it's making its tiny furry presence known, leaping in her guts and sending her heart plummeting into her knees every time she sees him smile.
It hurts to breathe when he comes near, like some invisible hand is gently, affectionately crushing her lungs. She finds she can't speak quite as smoothly if she's looking straight at him, so she's made a habit of only meeting his eyes when she has a point to make. It terrifies her to think that he might notice; the last thing she wants him to do is ask what happens to be wrong with her, and if she's certain of anything, the last thing she should be blurting out is 'I'm having a little trouble breathing, could you lend me some air? It didn't work the first few times but I'm sure it will when we cooperate' because she doesn't even want to think how well that is going to go over.
She is not actually thinking about any of this. She is not. In a heartbeat, she compresses her thoughts into a wad of bad memories and hurls it somewhere towards the back of her mind, hoping they never return.
Just barely, though. Despite her denial of them, they begin to slip back in, wedging themselves into niches in her subconscious and ready to rear up again at a moment's notice.
She's too busy to notice them, by now, because she's far too distressed and preoccupied about the problem that hasn't gone away, and probably never will, unless she figures out what to do.
In the end, she can come to only one conclusion.
This would all be much easier to deal with if I was a boy.
((A/N: Interpret that last line as you wish -- it's meant to be a shout-out to all the slash/shounen-ai fic conventions, though; Gale's personality and overall comportment really does suit a male stereotype more than a female one. XD
Ooogh, so dorky. I missed one and two, but I'll have a go at them in my own LJ, and we'll SEE how things proceed from there.))