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31_days2009-02-01 03:59 am
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-02-01 03:59 am
[Feb 1] [Original] Waters of the World
Title: Waters of the World
Day/Theme: 1 What hope shall we cherish, what pure premonition
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Isabel Walker
Rating: PG
Isabel had taught herself to be oblivious. She focused on little things; the way the leaves moved, the random little ways the chickadees jumped, and the twisting, twining path of yarn as she knitted. She took care to notice the designs on buttons, and the play of light and shadow in the texture of fabrics, or pavement, or painted walls. They made patterns too, patterns she could follow to the end, but focusing on their parts instead of the whole kept her from having to pay attention to the big things.
The world was full of big things. They flowed around her like river currents. She could hear the weather changing, could see people's thoughts ribboning through the air around their heads like sea snakes, smell the shift in people's emotions, and it had occurred to her how easy it would be to change those things to suit her. She could tie the people around her into knots if she wanted, as easily as she knitted scarves and afghans. Her mother had. She could too. If she wanted.
Luckily for them, she didn't. Isabel was entirely too sensitive to channel that much power. She didn't want to give them any more attention than was necessary. She didn't want to be any more aware of them than she already was. As it was, she had been pathologically shy and backwards for years until she had mastered the art of tuning out. Some days, it was all she could do to tolerate their blasting their thoughts and smells and intentions and emotions at her. Some days she hated them for it.
Then there was her mother, who was even more attuned to the world than she was, but rather than drifting in those currents, her mother rode them, directed them, capsized ships, redirected rivers, brought the storms, and broke the hearts. Isabel didn't want to do that. She had her own hopes for the future and had been careful not to look too long at that particular pattern.
She felt good about Matthias though. He felt good. The waters of the world flowed gently around him. She had known as soon as she become aware of him that he would have some part in her own pattern. So, she had raised her eyes from her knitting when she knew the scholarly Matthias would also be looking up from his books, and smiled.
Day/Theme: 1 What hope shall we cherish, what pure premonition
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Isabel Walker
Rating: PG
Isabel had taught herself to be oblivious. She focused on little things; the way the leaves moved, the random little ways the chickadees jumped, and the twisting, twining path of yarn as she knitted. She took care to notice the designs on buttons, and the play of light and shadow in the texture of fabrics, or pavement, or painted walls. They made patterns too, patterns she could follow to the end, but focusing on their parts instead of the whole kept her from having to pay attention to the big things.
The world was full of big things. They flowed around her like river currents. She could hear the weather changing, could see people's thoughts ribboning through the air around their heads like sea snakes, smell the shift in people's emotions, and it had occurred to her how easy it would be to change those things to suit her. She could tie the people around her into knots if she wanted, as easily as she knitted scarves and afghans. Her mother had. She could too. If she wanted.
Luckily for them, she didn't. Isabel was entirely too sensitive to channel that much power. She didn't want to give them any more attention than was necessary. She didn't want to be any more aware of them than she already was. As it was, she had been pathologically shy and backwards for years until she had mastered the art of tuning out. Some days, it was all she could do to tolerate their blasting their thoughts and smells and intentions and emotions at her. Some days she hated them for it.
Then there was her mother, who was even more attuned to the world than she was, but rather than drifting in those currents, her mother rode them, directed them, capsized ships, redirected rivers, brought the storms, and broke the hearts. Isabel didn't want to do that. She had her own hopes for the future and had been careful not to look too long at that particular pattern.
She felt good about Matthias though. He felt good. The waters of the world flowed gently around him. She had known as soon as she become aware of him that he would have some part in her own pattern. So, she had raised her eyes from her knitting when she knew the scholarly Matthias would also be looking up from his books, and smiled.