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minervasoloA bunch of tiny short stories, to short to be evencalled stories, realy. All a bit dark, but that's because I've just been reminding myself who bloody amazing Rowan's fanfiction is, and some of that's _really_ dark. Most of these stories could be fanfiction as well, just pick the most relevant charactrs for any fandom and plug them in as and when you like.
You tasted of ash. You know what they say about ashes to ahes, dust to dust. I guess that should have clued me in, all the way back when.
And you smoked. You said the burning made your lungs feel like fire, and that made you feel like some kind of phoenix, awash with flames, inside and out. That should have clued me in too, once upon a time.
I can't remember what else you said, on those liquid nights, I just remember the ash and the burning. I guess you never said much. Silent as the grave. I'd say that should have clued me in, but I'm a quiet person too.
A grave is just a hole and rock. I don't think that's quite fitting. Hole. Rock. You, you liked burning. You wanted to burn out, don't think I never saw that. That was what it was always about, burning your life away like a candle. What made you want to live your life so fast, so young? I never thought to ask. Really, i neve knew you, just thatyou were burning out faster than anyone else I knew, immersing yourself in the ardent flames. Ardere: the latin 'to be burnt'.
So those silent nights are long gone now, and I've grown. I don't burn, I meander like a stone cold river, edging through life. I'm not ardent, like you. You let yourself burn out, but I kept the ashes. And low and behold, you rose from them again, safe and warm in my womb.
Do you remember those nights in Wales? That river and those waterfalls... yes that's right, the place they filmed 'Robin Hood Prince of Theives', or the Sherwood bits at least. And there was that particularly deep one, high rocks on either side, that deep dark pool so cold and inky, and you said - do you remember? - you said we should dive into. You'd swum it before, you said. Really deep, you said.
And it was. And the sky was black with speckled stars and the water was inky in the darkness and the mountains in the distant brooded. It was fun, remember? But cold, so very cold. The sort of cold you don't feel, it's that cold, but suddenly your heart is racing to keep hte sluggish blood running through your body and it feels like it's shivering, because the heart's just anothe muscle after all, right? That sort of cold, that you don't feel til it's right inside you.
Yes, I can see that you remember it well. They were good nights, weren't they? And when you were that cold you had to get out immediately, because your hands and feet weren't working and suddenly you were so cold it hurt, inside and out, and the bitter night air seemed positively tropical after that swim, didn't it?
I can feel that cold again, love, I can feel it inside me. So cold it hurts. This pain has been here for ages, between us, but it's only just reached my heart and it's starting to work it's way back out again. I'm cold, love.
Yes, you understand me. I'm sorry it had to end like this, after so long, but that sort of cold just can't be endured.
You're dreaming. It's dark, tonight, and you're fast asleep. You're dreaming. Hold on to that thought.
It was dark, that night.
It was cold as well.
Did that bother you? It bothered me, just a bit. More than a bit, really.
The water was cold.
You said it would be fine, you said to come on in.
I was a trusting fool. You said I'd be fine, that we wouldn't go far from the boat, that a midnight skinny dip would revitalise our relationship. Don't think I didn't know about her... Well, I guess you do know, or why else would you have done it?
You didn't tell me it would kill me, that cold cold water. Kill me in the dark, cold like ice. It iced over the next morning, and there I was trapped under the ice, pressed against it. Trapped in our lake, and you lied to hte police whilst staring at my bloated naked corpse, trapped against the ice like a grotesque doll.
You never told me my heart would stop because of the cold. You said 'the water's loverly, come on in' and I believed you. Why wouldn't I? And when we were deep and you knew I couldn't swim all that well, you got back in the boat and floated off. Did you know the lake would ice over that night? You watched the weaher report, I remember that.
Dying of the cold isn't fun, and neither is drowning. I think you should find out first hand, don't you? Cold and dark and drowning, and then the ice.
Yes, I'm dead and this is just a nightmare. You're a rational being, you know that. It's just a dream and you'll wake up in the morning next to her.
Or have you forgotten that you sleep walk?
One night, I went for a walk. Just a walk, nothing special. The day was dying and it had rained earlier that day, so everything smelt of something between life and death, decaying leaves and freshly cut grass and budding flowers all at once. You know the sort of smell. Well, I'll assume you do, but if you live in a city you won't, and I pity you.
Now, it was just the time of year the bluebells came out. You've got to love bluebells. You know they're only native here, in Britain? So you may never have seen them. Let me tell you, the smell is amazing, and the colour? Dear god, the woods are carpetted in this bluey-purple that you just don't see anywhere else. If you come to England, come when hte bluebells are out. Find some woods and just walk.
So, it's twilight and the ground is slightly damp and the bluebells carpet the woods, adding their own smell to this after-rain scent. And I'm walking. I see a few deer, a handful of rabbits, evens a fox, but that's just nature. What came next ws supernature - supernatural.
There are two ways of spelling their name, fairies and faeries. Fairies are fair, faeries are fey. I can't put a name to thse ones, but they were pretty in wild way. Some were big, some were small, but they were suddenly there.
I guess it's my fault, wandering in the woods at nightfall, and I do regret it. You must me thinkin 'why?' I mean, I got to see something no one else ever has, and I stuck around to tell the tale. A fairy tale. I don't resent the irony. But, see, I had beliefs. I was practical, pragmatic, rational... And now they won't leave me alone.
That night, I didn't say anything, didn't do anything. Neither did they. They just stared at me, the intruder, and made it clear I wasn't wanted. I knew better than to touch they're food, and I went back the way I came. But it's almost as if I'd joined them. I saw them and the rift suddenly became so much wider and mor real.
Something's gone wong. That's why I urge you to come and see the bluebells now. Something's gone wrong in England. Someone rang King Arthur's gong and he's at loggerheads with the Prime Minister. Someone woke the mountains and there's a nest of Dragons in wales. Someone ate fairy food or danced in a fairy ring or whatever. The thing is, they're here. The fairy tales are coming true.
Think about some of those fairy tales. Witches eating children, dragons burning towns, etheral creatures seducing men away. And thos are the editted versions. Think of Snow White, the non-Disney version. In the real fairy tales people die, and the fairies come out on top.
So now i'm scared, and I'm looking for a way out. Because they stole my child and gave me a changling and I don't know what to do with it, because my husband's falen in love with a swan, because a dragon kidnapped my virgin sister...
I'm not a hero, I'm just lost. I don't like fairy tales.
Don't like that last one much, a bit rushed.
ttfn
You tasted of ash. You know what they say about ashes to ahes, dust to dust. I guess that should have clued me in, all the way back when.
And you smoked. You said the burning made your lungs feel like fire, and that made you feel like some kind of phoenix, awash with flames, inside and out. That should have clued me in too, once upon a time.
I can't remember what else you said, on those liquid nights, I just remember the ash and the burning. I guess you never said much. Silent as the grave. I'd say that should have clued me in, but I'm a quiet person too.
A grave is just a hole and rock. I don't think that's quite fitting. Hole. Rock. You, you liked burning. You wanted to burn out, don't think I never saw that. That was what it was always about, burning your life away like a candle. What made you want to live your life so fast, so young? I never thought to ask. Really, i neve knew you, just thatyou were burning out faster than anyone else I knew, immersing yourself in the ardent flames. Ardere: the latin 'to be burnt'.
So those silent nights are long gone now, and I've grown. I don't burn, I meander like a stone cold river, edging through life. I'm not ardent, like you. You let yourself burn out, but I kept the ashes. And low and behold, you rose from them again, safe and warm in my womb.
Do you remember those nights in Wales? That river and those waterfalls... yes that's right, the place they filmed 'Robin Hood Prince of Theives', or the Sherwood bits at least. And there was that particularly deep one, high rocks on either side, that deep dark pool so cold and inky, and you said - do you remember? - you said we should dive into. You'd swum it before, you said. Really deep, you said.
And it was. And the sky was black with speckled stars and the water was inky in the darkness and the mountains in the distant brooded. It was fun, remember? But cold, so very cold. The sort of cold you don't feel, it's that cold, but suddenly your heart is racing to keep hte sluggish blood running through your body and it feels like it's shivering, because the heart's just anothe muscle after all, right? That sort of cold, that you don't feel til it's right inside you.
Yes, I can see that you remember it well. They were good nights, weren't they? And when you were that cold you had to get out immediately, because your hands and feet weren't working and suddenly you were so cold it hurt, inside and out, and the bitter night air seemed positively tropical after that swim, didn't it?
I can feel that cold again, love, I can feel it inside me. So cold it hurts. This pain has been here for ages, between us, but it's only just reached my heart and it's starting to work it's way back out again. I'm cold, love.
Yes, you understand me. I'm sorry it had to end like this, after so long, but that sort of cold just can't be endured.
You're dreaming. It's dark, tonight, and you're fast asleep. You're dreaming. Hold on to that thought.
It was dark, that night.
It was cold as well.
Did that bother you? It bothered me, just a bit. More than a bit, really.
The water was cold.
You said it would be fine, you said to come on in.
I was a trusting fool. You said I'd be fine, that we wouldn't go far from the boat, that a midnight skinny dip would revitalise our relationship. Don't think I didn't know about her... Well, I guess you do know, or why else would you have done it?
You didn't tell me it would kill me, that cold cold water. Kill me in the dark, cold like ice. It iced over the next morning, and there I was trapped under the ice, pressed against it. Trapped in our lake, and you lied to hte police whilst staring at my bloated naked corpse, trapped against the ice like a grotesque doll.
You never told me my heart would stop because of the cold. You said 'the water's loverly, come on in' and I believed you. Why wouldn't I? And when we were deep and you knew I couldn't swim all that well, you got back in the boat and floated off. Did you know the lake would ice over that night? You watched the weaher report, I remember that.
Dying of the cold isn't fun, and neither is drowning. I think you should find out first hand, don't you? Cold and dark and drowning, and then the ice.
Yes, I'm dead and this is just a nightmare. You're a rational being, you know that. It's just a dream and you'll wake up in the morning next to her.
Or have you forgotten that you sleep walk?
One night, I went for a walk. Just a walk, nothing special. The day was dying and it had rained earlier that day, so everything smelt of something between life and death, decaying leaves and freshly cut grass and budding flowers all at once. You know the sort of smell. Well, I'll assume you do, but if you live in a city you won't, and I pity you.
Now, it was just the time of year the bluebells came out. You've got to love bluebells. You know they're only native here, in Britain? So you may never have seen them. Let me tell you, the smell is amazing, and the colour? Dear god, the woods are carpetted in this bluey-purple that you just don't see anywhere else. If you come to England, come when hte bluebells are out. Find some woods and just walk.
So, it's twilight and the ground is slightly damp and the bluebells carpet the woods, adding their own smell to this after-rain scent. And I'm walking. I see a few deer, a handful of rabbits, evens a fox, but that's just nature. What came next ws supernature - supernatural.
There are two ways of spelling their name, fairies and faeries. Fairies are fair, faeries are fey. I can't put a name to thse ones, but they were pretty in wild way. Some were big, some were small, but they were suddenly there.
I guess it's my fault, wandering in the woods at nightfall, and I do regret it. You must me thinkin 'why?' I mean, I got to see something no one else ever has, and I stuck around to tell the tale. A fairy tale. I don't resent the irony. But, see, I had beliefs. I was practical, pragmatic, rational... And now they won't leave me alone.
That night, I didn't say anything, didn't do anything. Neither did they. They just stared at me, the intruder, and made it clear I wasn't wanted. I knew better than to touch they're food, and I went back the way I came. But it's almost as if I'd joined them. I saw them and the rift suddenly became so much wider and mor real.
Something's gone wong. That's why I urge you to come and see the bluebells now. Something's gone wrong in England. Someone rang King Arthur's gong and he's at loggerheads with the Prime Minister. Someone woke the mountains and there's a nest of Dragons in wales. Someone ate fairy food or danced in a fairy ring or whatever. The thing is, they're here. The fairy tales are coming true.
Think about some of those fairy tales. Witches eating children, dragons burning towns, etheral creatures seducing men away. And thos are the editted versions. Think of Snow White, the non-Disney version. In the real fairy tales people die, and the fairies come out on top.
So now i'm scared, and I'm looking for a way out. Because they stole my child and gave me a changling and I don't know what to do with it, because my husband's falen in love with a swan, because a dragon kidnapped my virgin sister...
I'm not a hero, I'm just lost. I don't like fairy tales.
Don't like that last one much, a bit rushed.
ttfn
