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31_days2007-02-26 06:47 am
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-02-26 06:47 am
Things Made of Glass
Title: Beginning to Shatter
Day/Theme: February 26: things made of glass
Series: Labyrinth
Character/Pairing: Jareth
Rating: PG
The orbs spun around him. Perfect circles, delicate as soap bubbles, reflecting the world around him. Glittering, decaying splendor, distorted into a fisheye lens and in the middle of it sat his own reflection.
He couldn’t stand it. Dreams were beautiful things, but they crumbled so quickly, fell into a glittering dust that coated everything. It crunched under his boots, and gritted under his fingertips. Not just the castle, the whole Labyrinth seemed to have a layer of crushed fancies on it. He started wearing gloves all the time, partly to keep from feeling the dead dreams, partly just to have something tangible against his skin.
The orbs also reflected him. At first he had enjoyed it. Then he noticed that he was starting to blend in with the background. Gray and shiny, fading and decaying into the walls of the world made from imaginings. Was he made from dreams too? Was he being forgotten? Was he less real than he had been? How long had it been since someone had said the words?
He lashed out, slapping the crystals out of their small orbits around him. They bounced across the floor with silver, ringing sounds. He held his head in his hands. He had wanted them to smash, wanted to see the sharp pieces, maybe even cut himself on one by accident. It would give him something to do, to nurse a small wound, to shout at the goblins, and watch them hurt themselves trying to clean up after him.
Maybe they didn’t break because they weren’t real glass. Maybe they were dreams too. His dreams. And since he still wanted them, they still existed. Maybe he was a dream. Had he even touched the girl? He had wanted to. Silk of hair, silk of blouse, silk of skin… She had been real and alive.
He had conjured the peach because that’s what she had reminded him of. Soft and warm and full of rosy, golden color, smelling like summertime’s sweetness… A gift to her of what she had made him remember. He had longed to touch her, but had he? Wouldn’t he remember if he had? What would have stopped him?
He remembered dancing with her in the dream, but that hadn’t been real, except in both their dreams. Dreams trapped inside the little balls of glass. It hadn’t been enough. He had to have something real soon. Something. Anything
He rolled his wrist in a graceful, sensual way and a new crystal appeared in his palm like a purr from a cat’s throat. He rolled it to his fingertip and it stopped there for him to peer into it. He saw his own face, looking owlishly back at him. Maybe that’s what he needed. To fly on owl wings to the real world and leave the dust and dreams behind for a little while. To inspire new dreams. To inspire someone to say the words.
Day/Theme: February 26: things made of glass
Series: Labyrinth
Character/Pairing: Jareth
Rating: PG
The orbs spun around him. Perfect circles, delicate as soap bubbles, reflecting the world around him. Glittering, decaying splendor, distorted into a fisheye lens and in the middle of it sat his own reflection.
He couldn’t stand it. Dreams were beautiful things, but they crumbled so quickly, fell into a glittering dust that coated everything. It crunched under his boots, and gritted under his fingertips. Not just the castle, the whole Labyrinth seemed to have a layer of crushed fancies on it. He started wearing gloves all the time, partly to keep from feeling the dead dreams, partly just to have something tangible against his skin.
The orbs also reflected him. At first he had enjoyed it. Then he noticed that he was starting to blend in with the background. Gray and shiny, fading and decaying into the walls of the world made from imaginings. Was he made from dreams too? Was he being forgotten? Was he less real than he had been? How long had it been since someone had said the words?
He lashed out, slapping the crystals out of their small orbits around him. They bounced across the floor with silver, ringing sounds. He held his head in his hands. He had wanted them to smash, wanted to see the sharp pieces, maybe even cut himself on one by accident. It would give him something to do, to nurse a small wound, to shout at the goblins, and watch them hurt themselves trying to clean up after him.
Maybe they didn’t break because they weren’t real glass. Maybe they were dreams too. His dreams. And since he still wanted them, they still existed. Maybe he was a dream. Had he even touched the girl? He had wanted to. Silk of hair, silk of blouse, silk of skin… She had been real and alive.
He had conjured the peach because that’s what she had reminded him of. Soft and warm and full of rosy, golden color, smelling like summertime’s sweetness… A gift to her of what she had made him remember. He had longed to touch her, but had he? Wouldn’t he remember if he had? What would have stopped him?
He remembered dancing with her in the dream, but that hadn’t been real, except in both their dreams. Dreams trapped inside the little balls of glass. It hadn’t been enough. He had to have something real soon. Something. Anything
He rolled his wrist in a graceful, sensual way and a new crystal appeared in his palm like a purr from a cat’s throat. He rolled it to his fingertip and it stopped there for him to peer into it. He saw his own face, looking owlishly back at him. Maybe that’s what he needed. To fly on owl wings to the real world and leave the dust and dreams behind for a little while. To inspire new dreams. To inspire someone to say the words.