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31_days2005-08-06 09:28 pm
ex-kittu9.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-08-06 09:28 pm
[August 6] [Labyrinth] Time Capsule
Title: Time Capsule
Theme 6: To the Lords and Ladies of Byzantium
Series: Labyrinth
Character: Sarah
Rating: PG
—And she wakes up gasping as if she has just escaped from his kingdom all over again.
Sarah places one hand flat against the thin skin over her clavicle; the white flesh is pulled tightly against those little bones. Beneath that, her heart is beating with a sort of damaged quickness, as if she has run too far and still cannot escape.
She rises, the edges of the dream still dogging her. She moves into her tiny apartment kitchen, opens the refrigerator door. She removes two eggs from their carton and cradles them in one cupped hand, her fingers winding about them like the ribs of a whale. She rests her head against the door of the refrigerator, contemplating its insides, and slumps as if defeated. All she can think is, damn I have no tomatoes. She reaches inside and retrieves a badly cut bell pepper (green) from the top shelf. Her hair falls softly against her face, her bangs tangling with her eyelashes like entwined fingers.
She is not thinking about breakfast. Instead her mind has thrown itself back relentlessly to fixate upon Jareth, the look in his eyes that to this day, still, ten years after the nightmare and the falling stairs and all of the wrong words, she cannot decipher. It has been half a lifetime since then, one considerably more sedate than that thirteen-hour existence she courted so briefly.
It has been ten years, a multiplication of days, and her body transforming into her career. She is an actress, subsisting on a thousand tiny fictions and hung up on an incident the once involved magic (chemistry, her mind whispers subversively. She ignores it, stirs the eggs—). Sarah is still thin, and tall, and her eyes have a very strange cast to them in the right light. She still trembles when she hears an owl cry—the shudder is instinctual, and shouldn't be—and she still finds herself, at twenty-six, to be weak and wanting.
She has cultivated strange distastes, she distrusts most games, and has sworn to never touch a peach again. She thinks that she wants to forget.
Her eggs are burning and she's still stuck here, in this little world, a dream within a dream, an incomplete universe beginning to unravel at the edges.
Theme 6: To the Lords and Ladies of Byzantium
Series: Labyrinth
Character: Sarah
Rating: PG
—And she wakes up gasping as if she has just escaped from his kingdom all over again.
Sarah places one hand flat against the thin skin over her clavicle; the white flesh is pulled tightly against those little bones. Beneath that, her heart is beating with a sort of damaged quickness, as if she has run too far and still cannot escape.
She rises, the edges of the dream still dogging her. She moves into her tiny apartment kitchen, opens the refrigerator door. She removes two eggs from their carton and cradles them in one cupped hand, her fingers winding about them like the ribs of a whale. She rests her head against the door of the refrigerator, contemplating its insides, and slumps as if defeated. All she can think is, damn I have no tomatoes. She reaches inside and retrieves a badly cut bell pepper (green) from the top shelf. Her hair falls softly against her face, her bangs tangling with her eyelashes like entwined fingers.
She is not thinking about breakfast. Instead her mind has thrown itself back relentlessly to fixate upon Jareth, the look in his eyes that to this day, still, ten years after the nightmare and the falling stairs and all of the wrong words, she cannot decipher. It has been half a lifetime since then, one considerably more sedate than that thirteen-hour existence she courted so briefly.
It has been ten years, a multiplication of days, and her body transforming into her career. She is an actress, subsisting on a thousand tiny fictions and hung up on an incident the once involved magic (chemistry, her mind whispers subversively. She ignores it, stirs the eggs—). Sarah is still thin, and tall, and her eyes have a very strange cast to them in the right light. She still trembles when she hears an owl cry—the shudder is instinctual, and shouldn't be—and she still finds herself, at twenty-six, to be weak and wanting.
She has cultivated strange distastes, she distrusts most games, and has sworn to never touch a peach again. She thinks that she wants to forget.
Her eggs are burning and she's still stuck here, in this little world, a dream within a dream, an incomplete universe beginning to unravel at the edges.