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31_days2009-10-12 11:06 am
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-10-12 11:06 am
[Oct. 12] [Original] Full Circle
Title: Full Circle
Day/Theme: Oct. 12, 2009 "Now this day too enters history"
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Bashir
Rating: G
Bashir had his own little room in the palace of his stepfather, though when he was much younger he had shared space first with his mother and later with Ileyo and Kiwan. Bashir stepped inside to find the room only slightly changed from how he'd left it. He wasn't exactly neat, but the shoes he had contemplated carrying and then left out by the bed were back in the closet and some books he had borrowed from the library had been spirited away, presumably returned to their original place.
The curtains, indigo and creased with silver, drooped over the icy glass, blocking out the glare of the red sinking sun. Bashir surveyed the room- the clothes in the closet, the writing desk and matching chair, the window seat, the bed all done up in crimson and gold. He felt for a moment like exhaling and just falling, face first, into that bed, the blues and grays of his clothing muted and swallowed up by the glow of the opulent, silky sheets. It would be like lying on a gilded tomato. An unusual turn of thought, to be sure, but he felt that he could appreciate it. It was the sort of phrasing that amused Ofika so much. Just connect thoughts randomly, adding up your senses one by one whether they made any sense connecting that way or not. The red of the sunset so deep that he imagined he could smell tomato soup, for instance. The plain little room was a study in contrasts color-wise, with indigo juxtaposed with scarlet and cherrywood and off-white walls. It wasn't very personal, but it was his space.
Instead of the bed, he settled on the chair. It felt like he had been gone for years. He opened the one drawer of the desk, checking over the tiny details of its contents- some pencils, quills, a bottle of ink, brownish writing paper tied together with red embroidery thread into a loose packet- almost as if to remind himself that this really was his room and his life. The top sheet of paper held a poem he liked about indigo fields copied from a library anthology. He could smell the unfinished wood of the inside of the drawer as he closed it back up.
A long day was ending quietly. He had come back to his starting place, almost as if none of it had happened at all.
Day/Theme: Oct. 12, 2009 "Now this day too enters history"
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Bashir
Rating: G
Bashir had his own little room in the palace of his stepfather, though when he was much younger he had shared space first with his mother and later with Ileyo and Kiwan. Bashir stepped inside to find the room only slightly changed from how he'd left it. He wasn't exactly neat, but the shoes he had contemplated carrying and then left out by the bed were back in the closet and some books he had borrowed from the library had been spirited away, presumably returned to their original place.
The curtains, indigo and creased with silver, drooped over the icy glass, blocking out the glare of the red sinking sun. Bashir surveyed the room- the clothes in the closet, the writing desk and matching chair, the window seat, the bed all done up in crimson and gold. He felt for a moment like exhaling and just falling, face first, into that bed, the blues and grays of his clothing muted and swallowed up by the glow of the opulent, silky sheets. It would be like lying on a gilded tomato. An unusual turn of thought, to be sure, but he felt that he could appreciate it. It was the sort of phrasing that amused Ofika so much. Just connect thoughts randomly, adding up your senses one by one whether they made any sense connecting that way or not. The red of the sunset so deep that he imagined he could smell tomato soup, for instance. The plain little room was a study in contrasts color-wise, with indigo juxtaposed with scarlet and cherrywood and off-white walls. It wasn't very personal, but it was his space.
Instead of the bed, he settled on the chair. It felt like he had been gone for years. He opened the one drawer of the desk, checking over the tiny details of its contents- some pencils, quills, a bottle of ink, brownish writing paper tied together with red embroidery thread into a loose packet- almost as if to remind himself that this really was his room and his life. The top sheet of paper held a poem he liked about indigo fields copied from a library anthology. He could smell the unfinished wood of the inside of the drawer as he closed it back up.
A long day was ending quietly. He had come back to his starting place, almost as if none of it had happened at all.