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31_days2006-09-06 11:05 pm
metal-goat.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-09-06 11:05 pm
[09-06-06][Original]Humane
Title: Humane
Day/Theme: Sept 06 // remember this day
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Wicked, mentioned Sun and Wind
Rating: PG
Notes: Beware choppy poem form.
Poised, spear in hand, he stands
knee-deep in ice-cold water,
the sun beating down on his back.
A lock of hair,
dark and black,
falls in front of face,
obscuring his vision,
and he wishes he had brought some twine
to tie it back.
It’s too late for that now, though,
he’s already there,
at the pond,
and leaving
would just make all his waiting
for naught.
He watches the fishes
swim by,
unnoticing of him,
and wonders why
he hasn’t tried
to get one yet.
Something,
in the back of his mind,
tells him he’s waiting for the right one,
but he’s not sure why.
Tired of waiting for so long—
how long had it been? He couldn’t remember—
he unfocuses and
let’s his mind wander.
He listens instead of watches,
and from the beach,
a quiet melody carries.
He can’t catch the words,
but he knows it’s Sun singing,
a song about the sea, of course,
and he knows Wind is singing along too,
but quietly to herself.
He looks towards the water below him,
at nothing in particular,
and notices how
pretty
the water looks,
reflected by the sun.
And in the rainbow of colors,
beautiful,
shiny
colors,
shapes begin to form,
little blurs of memories
that have long been forgotten
by tide and by time.
They are meaningless at first,
nothing more than lost memories
and maybe dreams,
but then they form,
maybe by just his imagination,
into almost faces.
A suddenly,
or maybe not,
he remembers feelings,
of anger and hate,
of harsh, bitter words said to him.
They call out to him,
making his blood boil
and his soul rage,
and he stabs,
not thinking,
his spear into the water
in a fit of fury,
trying to make the faces
and words
and memories
go away.
There is a moment of nothing,
where the spear is lodged into the pebbles below,
before he regains his senses,
and realises what he has done.
Angry at himself,
he curses;
he’ll have to go hunting
once more
if they are to have dinner tonight.
He lifts the spear out of the water,
defeated,
and finds,
to his surprise,
a fish to be on the end of it.
It is large and fat,
and he thinks to himself,
that this was the one
he was waiting for.
It flops
helplessly
on the end of the stick,
dying slowly.
He had pierced
nothing vital,
so it didn’t die instantly,
like it should have.
The humane thing
to do
would be to kill it now,
snap its neck
and kill it instantly.
And he almost does,
but then faded words
and faded memories
enter his head,
and he doesn’t feel like being humane
anymore.
He feels like revenge.
He gets out of the water
and leaves—,
he doesn’t want fish anymore—,
still angry,
and perhaps,
if he had been the kind of person,
he might have tacked some
symbolic-metaphorical shit on to the end of it
to make it meaningful.
Day/Theme: Sept 06 // remember this day
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Wicked, mentioned Sun and Wind
Rating: PG
Notes: Beware choppy poem form.
Poised, spear in hand, he stands
knee-deep in ice-cold water,
the sun beating down on his back.
A lock of hair,
dark and black,
falls in front of face,
obscuring his vision,
and he wishes he had brought some twine
to tie it back.
It’s too late for that now, though,
he’s already there,
at the pond,
and leaving
would just make all his waiting
for naught.
He watches the fishes
swim by,
unnoticing of him,
and wonders why
he hasn’t tried
to get one yet.
Something,
in the back of his mind,
tells him he’s waiting for the right one,
but he’s not sure why.
Tired of waiting for so long—
how long had it been? He couldn’t remember—
he unfocuses and
let’s his mind wander.
He listens instead of watches,
and from the beach,
a quiet melody carries.
He can’t catch the words,
but he knows it’s Sun singing,
a song about the sea, of course,
and he knows Wind is singing along too,
but quietly to herself.
He looks towards the water below him,
at nothing in particular,
and notices how
pretty
the water looks,
reflected by the sun.
And in the rainbow of colors,
beautiful,
shiny
colors,
shapes begin to form,
little blurs of memories
that have long been forgotten
by tide and by time.
They are meaningless at first,
nothing more than lost memories
and maybe dreams,
but then they form,
maybe by just his imagination,
into almost faces.
A suddenly,
or maybe not,
he remembers feelings,
of anger and hate,
of harsh, bitter words said to him.
They call out to him,
making his blood boil
and his soul rage,
and he stabs,
not thinking,
his spear into the water
in a fit of fury,
trying to make the faces
and words
and memories
go away.
There is a moment of nothing,
where the spear is lodged into the pebbles below,
before he regains his senses,
and realises what he has done.
Angry at himself,
he curses;
he’ll have to go hunting
once more
if they are to have dinner tonight.
He lifts the spear out of the water,
defeated,
and finds,
to his surprise,
a fish to be on the end of it.
It is large and fat,
and he thinks to himself,
that this was the one
he was waiting for.
It flops
helplessly
on the end of the stick,
dying slowly.
He had pierced
nothing vital,
so it didn’t die instantly,
like it should have.
The humane thing
to do
would be to kill it now,
snap its neck
and kill it instantly.
And he almost does,
but then faded words
and faded memories
enter his head,
and he doesn’t feel like being humane
anymore.
He feels like revenge.
He gets out of the water
and leaves—,
he doesn’t want fish anymore—,
still angry,
and perhaps,
if he had been the kind of person,
he might have tacked some
symbolic-metaphorical shit on to the end of it
to make it meaningful.