yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2004-04-11 02:37 pm
marginalia) wrote2004-04-11 02:37 pm
Entry tags:
ficlet m&c in verona beach. part 2
as yet untitled m&c vb au part 2
i have no idea what to call this. also, hello AtS-verse. because, why not? part one is here. i don't own anything. 350-ish words.
Someone whistles, high and sweet, and someone else turns on a car stereo, bass thumping. Esteban is drawing back, waking up, cutting himself on the sharp edges. Palm to chest, he feels the outline of the scapular under Tomas's shirt. I'm sorry, he says, and he runs, slip-sliding on the sand. He finds the wall through some miracle, and pauses to put on his shoes. He does not look back. He knows Tomas will not follow. Back at the hotel he doses himself and tumbles into dreamless sleep.
In the morning, the sun burns through the curtains, shimmering waves across the sky. He showers the grit away and dresses in something cool and loose. He asks at the front desk, and they direct him to a restaurant a short walk away. He finishes his cigarette, grinds it out with the toe of his shoe, and enters. The heavyset waitress brings him coffee, and he drinks it quickly, scalding away the sour remains of the night.
Over a simple breakfast - rice, eggs, beans - he reads through the current intelligence. The remains of his meal grow cold as he loses himself in the paperwork, one hand drifting unconsciously, brushing at the top of his head. He comes back to himself suddenly, flips the portfolio closed, and traces the monogram with his fingertips - WRH embossed in the leather. He slips it into his haversack, pays his bill, and decides to take some time to explore the city.
He supposes it safer now, the world all alight, but it's rarely that simple. He steps around a tangled knot of children, sing-song stories that he thought he had left at sea. Dusty bookshops, stalls full of cheap jewelry and bruised flowers. Sleek and heavy cars tear up the streets, squealing away.
For a moment he sees a man, hair shining golden in the sun, and memory rises, sharp like incense. Esteban doubles back and ducks into a chapel, spilling coins into the offering box and lighting candles to drive away ghosts.
i have no idea what to call this. also, hello AtS-verse. because, why not? part one is here. i don't own anything. 350-ish words.
Someone whistles, high and sweet, and someone else turns on a car stereo, bass thumping. Esteban is drawing back, waking up, cutting himself on the sharp edges. Palm to chest, he feels the outline of the scapular under Tomas's shirt. I'm sorry, he says, and he runs, slip-sliding on the sand. He finds the wall through some miracle, and pauses to put on his shoes. He does not look back. He knows Tomas will not follow. Back at the hotel he doses himself and tumbles into dreamless sleep.
In the morning, the sun burns through the curtains, shimmering waves across the sky. He showers the grit away and dresses in something cool and loose. He asks at the front desk, and they direct him to a restaurant a short walk away. He finishes his cigarette, grinds it out with the toe of his shoe, and enters. The heavyset waitress brings him coffee, and he drinks it quickly, scalding away the sour remains of the night.
Over a simple breakfast - rice, eggs, beans - he reads through the current intelligence. The remains of his meal grow cold as he loses himself in the paperwork, one hand drifting unconsciously, brushing at the top of his head. He comes back to himself suddenly, flips the portfolio closed, and traces the monogram with his fingertips - WRH embossed in the leather. He slips it into his haversack, pays his bill, and decides to take some time to explore the city.
He supposes it safer now, the world all alight, but it's rarely that simple. He steps around a tangled knot of children, sing-song stories that he thought he had left at sea. Dusty bookshops, stalls full of cheap jewelry and bruised flowers. Sleek and heavy cars tear up the streets, squealing away.
For a moment he sees a man, hair shining golden in the sun, and memory rises, sharp like incense. Esteban doubles back and ducks into a chapel, spilling coins into the offering box and lighting candles to drive away ghosts.