15minuteficlets: Word #78

Firinel (

firinel) wrote in

15minuteficlets,
@ 2004-10-25 21:36:00

Word #78
Please post a link here to your ficlet, but ficlets in comments are fine as well. If you do write the ficlet in your own journal, please put the word behind an lj-cut tag (or hidden in some way), so as not to spoil anyone for the word.

Word for today is: Deserted.

Happy writing!

Apologies for this being an entire day late.

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Wolf stride, original, one-shot, crazy.

cytrink_dareth
2004-10-25 07:15 pm UTC (link)

><><><><
The lone wolf – he is a solitary note in an unintentional trumpet solo during the fermata rest.
The bottle drifted past his eye’s fingertips, brushing the outskirts of far away, a message that would be lost to the forever never.
A hawk was chased from the blue jay’s nest, the egg unnoticed on the floor. Happy to be alone, the woman finally got to talk to her friends.
“Yes, I’m listening,” she affirmed with a shy nod as her mind drifted towards the bottle, buffeted by the wolf’s blows as it rain with god speed. The message was clearly unheard; do not imagine the island alone, and into his mind came the island, alone.
Secrets leaked, the hawk chased the blue jay from its nest, apathetic in the absence of the egg of the jay. Secrets melted, and so did the egg. Secrets cracked and hatched, and so did the egg.
The chick sang a staccato solo, picking up where the trumpet left off. Grains of dust shivered from the rooftop, falling to the floor, encasing all in a fine, white layer.
The wolf kept running, dodging the unintentional mind mud, circumnavigating the increasing jostling of activity in the direct vicinity of the hawk and jay and nest and egg-chick. Sunlight filtered through the treetops, moonlight from below.
Faster, the wolf ran to the door. Up the stairs he dove, climbing lower and lower with every stride, every leap, every desire. He was faithful, he was worthy, he would not fail. Failure, in all of its esteemed glory, was not an option.
The chick sang faster, sharp of its intended note, warning the cautious and cautioning the wary. A glass ceiling and a glass elevator, hanging in the balance of his peripheral vision, descended as it ever rose higher, meeting the clouds at the center of the earth, twirled gently in the air as string on a spindle.
The knitting hooks brought together the ends of up and down and made them the same, made them coincide, forced them to peacefully resent each other.
“What,” asked the shy boy, “is the matter?” The matter is, of course, the matter. His greatest fear is of falling into the reach of the wolf and the sharp note and the jayhawk.
Orange is blue and red is green; the wolf broke the glass door with titanium plating using his own twelve hooves, and strove into the wide open nothing.
><><><>

(Reply to this)

fanaticalone
2004-10-25 08:29 pm UTC (link)

Valkyrie Profile fic. Guess the character. ;p

---

"Why did you desert us?"

He stayed silent. If he spoke, his father would hear... he could not lie, but if he told the truth he would break the solemn oath he had made to his king. He only bowed his head and waited for the judgement to come.

"Why did you desert your country and your gods and go to shoot an ally in the back? Did you wish to incite war between our nations?"

That was almost more than he could bear. But he could not speak. He felt his father's eyes on him, knew the anger and pain that he felt... he knew that this news would kill his mother. He would lose everything he'd ever held dear.

He'd made his promises in their honor, to please them. What was he but an extension of them? He had carried out their wishes, and it was those wishes that would destroy them both. His shame was too great to allow him to speak a single word in his defense, even if he had been free to speak.

"Answer his Highness, traitor!" the Captain shouted, making as if to strike him. But the King stayed his hand.

"Do not touch him," he said, his face devoid of emotion. "I will spare his life, for he has served me well until this day. Drive him from Crell Monferaigne and all its holdings, and if he should return before five years have passed, he is to be put to death. So I have ordered."

"And so it will be done," the high priest echoed in the old formula, sealing his fate.

His pride did not let him grieve. He had chosen this.

(Reply to this)

	lady_silver 2004-10-25 08:49 pm UTC (link)
	Original, 236 words, PG-13ish. Nothing Left to Forget (Reply to this)

	consectari 2004-10-25 09:26 pm UTC (link)
	This is rated PG-13 for mild language and adult sexual situations. Also, I didn't use the word itself, but the concept...hope that's OK! (Reply to this)

	anitchka 2004-10-25 09:43 pm UTC (link)
	West Wing, Josh/Donna, R-rated Fluff (Reply to this)

silverag
2004-10-25 10:11 pm UTC (link)

Taylor watched them walk away. He felt awkward, alone, and slightly sweaty in his plastic seat. The incomprehensible public-address system announced the arrival and departure of several buses before Taylor finally convinced himself that he should move.

The three bags suddenly seemed a great deal heavier. When Taylor glanced up to see the wall-mounted clock, he could see, in his mind's eye, the white expanse of his back, and the small pink shape of hers. He blinked, then returned to lifting his bags, stumbling to the waiting bus outside. Huh. At least the bus waited for him.

Once inside, Taylor leaned his head against the cool window, stared out at the sunny day (should it be sunny? It was so odd...), crossed his fingers, and wished that everything would be all right.

(Reply to this)

	An untitled (as of now) ficlet the_sweet 2004-10-25 10:35 pm UTC (link)
	Yu-Gi-Oh/G/Anzu-centric Find it here. (Reply to this)

	one900 2004-10-25 10:42 pm UTC (link)
	Untitled R Original all i have left is the air in my lungs (Reply to this)

	blackjackrocket 2004-10-25 11:19 pm UTC (link)
	Alone, Pokémon fic, Tracey-centric. (Reply to this)

	She paused for a moment, the quill between her lips, and then flung the book from her lap lyras 2004-10-26 05:10 am UTC (link)
	My offering for this week. Harry Potter fandom: Ginny's first encounter with Riddle's diary. www.livejournal.com/users/lyras/2811.html#cutid1 (Reply to this)

d_angel
2004-10-26 06:25 am UTC (link)

Word: Deserted
Time: 10:07 p.m. - 10:22 p.m.
Original fic
Rating: PG-14.

She hadn't expected it would feel like this.

Oh, sure, she had expected some sting, some hurt. She had expected to cry for a few days, maybe a few weeks. She had been preparing herself for rejection that was to come. And yet, when it finally did come, she found herself wholly unprepared.

They were standing in her living room. He was rubbing the back of his head, wincing at the bump that was growing larger. Across from him, she stood, hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides, breath coming in hitching heaves. She knew she sounded like an enraged rhinoceros or something else just as unflattering, but she couldn't bring herself to care right now. Between them, a heavy pot, the kind for cooking soups in, lay on its side on the plush cream carpet. The lights were dim, the curtains partially shut. The TV in the corner was playing some asinine comedy, the laugh track filling the tense air between them. In its own way, it all seemed so appropriate for what was going on right now. This scene. This time.

"Look, Scar -" The man, your typical tall and handsome named Allen, was - had been - a friend. Until recently, she had harboured hope that they would be more than that, but as the lump on his head was proving, perhaps that was just too much to ask for.

"Fuck you," she hissed.

He sighed, running his hand over the lump one more time, before dropping his hand. "I'm sorry." He sounded more resigned than anything else. He met her eyes, searching for some sign of yielding from her, but came up with only the cold narrow obsidian that had been glaring murder at him for ten minutes now. He shook his head again. "What can I do to make it better?"

At that, Scarlet bit her lip, looking down and away, determined not to let him see her fall. "It's too late for that," she ground out, her voice sounding harsher than she had intended.

"Why would it be? Look, I'm sorry that you thought it was something more than it was, I never intended to mislead you. But you and I... we're just not..."

Her head snapped up. "Where do you get off spewing this shit, anyway? Since when is it okay to sleep with your friend and then pretend it's all hunky dory?"

He raised his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry -"

"Stop saying that! I'm so sick and tired of hearing it!" she screamed.

He hung his shoulders in defeat. "I'm -" He caught himself. Looked into her eyes one more time for some hint that he might be able to get through to her. Realizing that it was a lost cause, he slowly made his way to the door. Just before he shut it, he spoke softly. "You deserve better than me."

She heard every last word.

And so here she was. Alone, deserted by the one person she had thought she could trust above all others. She had known that betrayal came so easily with love. Those two things walked hand in hand, partners in the devious cycle. Had she ever had him to begin with?

DA

(Reply to this)

zilly14
2004-10-26 08:00 am UTC (link)

Title: Hopeless
Fandom: BtVS, future fic, Spike POV
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon's the genius, not me.
Rating: PG
Word count: 100

All alone in the world he sits, waiting, smoking a cigarette as he stares out into the darkness. She said she'd come back one day, when she was ready.

But now there is no one left.

The war was lost, and now everyone he ever knew, even some of those he didn't, are gone. And thanks to his curse of immortality he suffers – and he will forever.

Evil has won, taken over the planet. And he has lost all hope.

Demons scour the earth, and vampires feed on the few humans that remain. And he does nothing to stop it.

(Reply to this)

	annarti 2004-10-26 09:59 am UTC (link)
	Title~ Practice Series~ Yrae Chronicles (Original, but no prior knowledge required for this one) Warnings~ Nup (Reply to this)

Mine for this week

cupkeyk
2004-10-26 11:11 am UTC (link)

Her steel fan lay on the ground tattered and useless.

There was still grace in the way she picked herself up from the ground. One would be reminded of a silken kerchief that has been caught by the wind. Rested briefly, before the wind that has deserted it has discovered its error. Even the way she passed her hand upon her chin showed her strength. Her lips were blood red for an apparent reason.

“Good, you show strength,” she said her, Hiding a panting manner, if not for her restraint, “the master will be challenged.”

She bent her right knee and balanced herself upon it, swung her left leg straight between herself and the coterie. Lastly she poised her arms in a similar fashion, “I am ready.” And challenged them with her dog style kung-fu.

The three men were confused by her tenacity. “You have been disarmed; you are out-numbered. Give up and let us through. It is your master that we want. You have proven yourself a worthy warrior and your death will not bring us honor. Allow us to continue our pursuit of your master.”

“I am flattered by your compliments. As such I shall give you a boon: I was meant only to stall you for a few moments, with my life if necessary. Beyond me is a trap most devious. Rest assured that my warnings shall not save you.”

Then she attacked.

(Reply to this)

Deserted

happy_daze
2004-10-26 03:38 pm UTC (link)

Deserted
by: happy_daze, original, rated: G

She looked at the half finished coffee cup on the table.

Steam still billowed from the scalding, black liquid, meaning that he couldn't have gotten far. Crumbs still littered the table and the floor, leaving a tell tale trail to the front door where he must have left.

But she knew better. Clutching her robe tighter around herself and quietly tidying up the mess left, she knew better than to run after him.

Maybe she was stupid for believing that he'd stick around... that something more would happen between them...

As she washed the dishes, the only sound in the small apartment being of the running water, she knew that he wasn't going to come back.

He had left her... deserted her...

Yet, for some reason, she wouldn't have had it any other way.

End

(Reply to this)

	edenfalling 2004-10-26 06:40 pm UTC (link)
	Title: Means to an End Fandom: Harry Potter Summary: Not everyone wants to be in a war. (Reply to this)

mrpata
2004-10-27 12:27 am UTC (link)

Title: We Are Fighting Dreamers
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG for implied violence
Words: 405

Last man on the roof. Alvin stood there knowing that he had just done what he said he would never do. Hands shaking so hard, he couldn't feel the gun. Yeah, he'd fired the shot, the last plasma bullet out of there, a chamber of six destinies and he'd saved the last one for the person he loved most.

Life was a contrapunctus of mixed motives in this 23rd century. He liked it better than any other century; he feared it more than any other century too. You were free to do as you pleased, but only if you were willing to pay for the consequences. He wasn't sure if he was ready to pay for this one. He caught a sniff of something biometallic on the wind. The labs were only a couple of blocks away; one glance across the profile of the city and he felt he could get there just by jumping rooftop to rooftop.

Alvin was lost like the squirrels in the hydroponic park. He thought about the squirrels and remembered middle school days just watching them with his friends, making up violent stories about how they might dispose of the furry beasts in increasingly disgusting ways. The technology behind ionoguns was still in the development process but Alvin watched enough Network to know what it was about.

"I saw this thing on TV," his 12-year-old self said, "where they're making some kind of gun that shoots plasma bullets -- "

His friends called him a geek for it, and yet here he was now, holding the gun he'd heard about on TV as a kid, and wishing as hard as could be wished in a vacuum of stars that he wasn't.

Now he didn't even have friends to mock him. He had only his scratched-up conscience, the voice of no-particular-reason lecturing him for nothing that he did. Alvin strode across the rooftop and, too nervous to look directly at what he had done, tilted his head sideways at first. One eye, then the other. Hand still wobbling, he gazed down the six stories that marked the end of a fated beginning. He caught his breath and bowed reverently for the only one he ever loved. The one he brought with him; the one he destroyed.

Alvin turned around and ran, moving like the bullets he'd dispensed so gracelessly. And like the bullets, he would keep going until something stopped him.

(Reply to this)

Blind Man (HP; 800 words or so)

erised1810
2004-10-27 09:47 am UTC (link)

15 minutes sharp because i jsut had to find a hopefu lending.
There is a part of the castle grounds where hardly anyone has ever been. It's behind a small silver gate that's hidden behind some bushes. In fact, it's not too far away from Hagrid's hut but hardly anyone noticed it, not even Hagrid himself.

And after the Quidditch match, after the dementors flooded the field, after the Nimbus dissappeared into the forest, the dog had to choose between going after it and hiding in there, in tthat deserted little field of grass and flowers and...wolfs-bane. That's where he and James discovered it. He and Prongs, more likely. Oh yes, he'd have to go there, especially after the horrid sounds of wood being snapped in two. The willow had caught something, caught Harry's broomstick and Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Lily and James, how could you!"

The dog tried not to bark at the shadows coming his way. He only yelped softly as if someone had kicked him and hurried over, jumped up to unlock the gate and didn't care whether it'd close behind him with a loud thud or not. Oh, of course. This small world was protected with charms. No sounds would come from it. No-one on the other side would hear anything, see anything. Finally he could transform back again. But not before he sniffed the ground a few times, and traced the smallest clawtracks he could find. If that rat was hiding here, it'd have to be the ideal moment to find him now and snap him in two, just like his wand had been...had it been snapped in two? "Save it!" one of the ministry fools had called out. "Let Ollivanders have a look at it, to see if it's still in it's original state."
As if he, Sirius, knew how to despell wands, how to empower them with dark magic. As if it was possible at all to change the character of wands. It wasn't his wand doing all the work, it was Petigrew's, or pehaps Voldemort's own.

Finally certain that he'd found nothing, he changed back to himself again and fell down in the grass.

Oh Harry, James, Lily... "It's not your fault, Sirius," she'd have said. And James would have nodded. "We've been blind, all of us." But they weren't. They'd been simply following his lead, like they always had done. Trusting him with their lives and he was the one and only blind man here. Oh how he wanted to see one of them now. How he wished they'd jump up from behind a tree and glare at him. If anyone at all had a right to be angry with him, it'd have to be any of the Potters. And McGonagall, and Dumbledore. And Remus perhaps... He'd seen the dog, he'd seen it! Not a single reaction, not after the loud barks that were drowned by the crowd. They didn't know the truth. And knowing it wouldn't change their mind about him either. This was the perfect place for him to be. Alone on a little island and neverfinding something to calm him down.

But then he heard a meowing sound, something sniffed his hand and stared at him. Mrs. norris? Ah, no, of course not. It was the cat. The only cat, the only being on these grounds that knew the real Sirius Black.

(Reply to this)

makrothumia
2004-10-28 10:53 am UTC (link)

Fandom: Original
Length: 400 and some odd words
Time: Fourteen minutes, thirty-five seconds

---

The tune goes ever on and on, the melody playing on a lone piano.
Oh how the tune goes, full of woe and want. Your mind is lost, my dear, and shall never be seen again...

He cradled his head in his hands, keening as he tried to assert some semblance of control. The pain was too much again, and he didn't want to be hurt by his mistress if he didn't perform her instructions to the letter again.

"Go and kill the family that lives in the house on the Far East side of the city, my dear protector." She had commanded with a voice that was smooth with seduction. "Kill them, and return to me for your reward."

The two adults in the house were easy to kill, blood spilling from their throats like a thick wine. Even the two teenage boys were silent as he stole the life from their bodies.

What he was unable to do, however, was kill a small child.

He had finished with the two boys, wiping his blade on the curtain so he wouldn't have to polish it much when he returned to his mistress. A small girl aged six years or so, stood crying in the doorway. He readied his weapon and turned to face her, a grin of malice on his face.

She clutched her stuffed bear closer to her, and quieted, watching him in utmost fear. He tried to bring the blade to her neck, a clean cut to severe her head from her shoulders and silence the brat for all eternity.

And he found that he could not do it.

Those violet eyes were closed to him now, but not in death - Only in sleep. Not knowing what to do, he picked the child up and carried her with him as he fled the house, into the woods. She had not protested, and was soon asleep as soon as he stopped to rest.

He cried out in pain as his head throbbed, but the child did not wake. He was supposed to kill her, and finish what his mistress had sent him to do, but the blade never fell no matter how many times it was poised over her neck.

One more cry came from his throat, and a vision of his mistress appeared before him. "Bring the child to me. I might have use for her."

"Yes, my lady."

(Reply to this)

	thomasina75 2004-10-28 12:23 pm UTC (link)
	Title:Facing the Past Fandom-Jossverse (Reply to this)

	florahart 2004-10-28 11:52 pm UTC (link)
	Harry Potter: Percy, looking around, G, I suppose, 15 minutes, 550ish words. http://www.livejournal.com/users/florahart/132828.html (Reply to this)

	eva_kasumi 2004-10-29 08:06 am UTC (link)
	Title: Deserted Fandom: Fire Emblem Rating: PG Warnings: shounen-ai imply-age ^^; (Reply to this)

	labyrinthan_fic 2004-10-29 11:26 am UTC (link)
	Dark to Light Fandom: seaQuest DSV (Reply to this)

toni_nails
2004-10-29 01:34 pm UTC (link)

[Title] Dust.
[Fandom] Harry Potter.
[Pairing] Sirius/Remus
[Rating] R. Just to be sure.
[Word Count] 705.
[Time written] Around fifteen minutes.
[Disclaimer] I own nothing. I just play around.

Remus pushed his hands into his pockets and slowly walked forwards, his feet tapping loudly on the dusty, creaking floorboards, each step echoing loudly throughout the old, run-down shack. Through the grimy windows, which were coated with years of dirt that had build up over time, sunlight streamed through in tiny beams, barely lighting the dim room. He tilted his head to the side, lagging forward slightly, and his light brown hair fell over his forehead, just brushing over his eyelashes as he blinked; Remus’ face was stony as he swept his eyes across the room.

Everything was as he remembered, only dusty and murky. Each and every crevice of the room bore a memory, a memory that should have made him smile.

Taking a few more steps in, slowly turning as he scanned the room, he looked at one corner in the far side of the room, and remembered a time when James was slumped there, a spliff dangling from his fingers, giggling at incredibly unfunny jokes, of which were hysterical at the time. A slight smile flickered on Remus lips, so brief it was barely there.

He took a few more steps in, his heels clicking smartly on the wooden floors with a hollow thud, and moved his eyes towards an old table perched by the windows, covered in dust, the paint peeling off haggardly. As he scrutinised it, Remus remembered the time that Peter had covered the surface of the table with sweets that he had swiped from Honeydukes. Another brief smile flickered across Remus’ lips.

Sighing, he turned slightly on his heel and looked towards the ragged, musty sofa, which was once a deep crimson, now a faded washed out red. Remus sauntered towards it, noting the holes and tears in the fabric as he got closer. He drew his hand out of his pocket and extended it towards the arm of the chair, brushing his fingertips over it. He remembered a time when he had woken up after a transformation, naked and shaking, his body wracked with pain, blood in his mouth, Sirius crouched over him, looking worried.

Remus stood for a while and stared at the sofa, biting his bottom lip, remembering the way that Sirius had looked at him. Closing his eyes, he could remember Sirius stroking his hair gently and wiping away his sweat with his shirt. He could still hear his best friend’s voice in his ear, telling him he was okay, that he was safe. His best friend who was his lover.

Remus opened his eyes again, brushed his fingertips over the fabric one last time, then drew his hand back to his pocket and stepped back, still worrying his lip. A lump was forming in his throat, his eyes stinging slightly, and he swallowed deeply, trying to suppress a wave of tears that was slowing creeping up on him.

Heaving another sigh, this one slightly shaky, Remus turned on his heel again and looked over to the other side of the room towards the bed. The sheets were still upon it, though they were moth-eaten and faded. He balled his fists in his pockets as he sidled over to it, the sound of his footsteps resonating loudly. Remus licked his lips and swallowed deeply again, blinking back tears that were now filling his eyes.

Looking over the dusty, aged surface, Remus remembered a time that Sirius and he had snuck up to this deserted shack, laughing and joking around; Sirius had coaxed Remus to take a few drags of his joint. More laughs and jokes were exchanged, Remus had poked Sirius in the side, Sirius had wrestled Remus, and before they knew it, they were kissing, clothes were stripped off and they had made love on this very bed.

Remus drew his hands out of his pockets and clasped the end frame of the bed, lolling his head forward, looking down at the floor. Tears began to roll down his cheeks and splatter on the dusty wood. He missed Sirius terribly. A sob escaped the man’s lips and he let one hand go from the where it was clutching the bed frame and drew it to his face, covering his eyes and he wept.

~FIN~
Please review.

(Reply to this)

	My submission ... Feedback welcome! deannawol 2004-10-29 03:44 pm UTC (link)
	Name: Dark Alleys World: Original Words: 285 (It's short, I know) Time: ~10 minutes Style: Sticatto Rating: R Warnings: You read the rating. This is not a piece for the kiddies. It's dark. It's gritty. And has references to adult situations and drug use. This ain't a happy piece. (Reply to this)

	catch22girl 2004-10-29 04:10 pm UTC (link)
	Title: Aftermath Fandom: 24 Rating: PG Summary: Kate. Post season two. (Reply to this)

	cephiedvariable 2004-10-29 08:18 pm UTC (link)
	Title: Betray Word: Deserted Fandom: NaNo Novel Characters: Dorian Rating: PG Warning: Unrequited love of the slashy kind... again. Spoilers for my NaNo novel Dorian had never felt so alone... (Reply to this)

christ_chexx_4u
2004-10-31 10:28 pm UTC (link)

Title: Friends Forever
Fandom: The O.C.
Rating: G.

~*~

While most girls stopped having sleepovers in about seventh grade, Summer and Marissa have been upholding the tradition all throughout high school. It's always the same thing - gossip and makeovers and giggling and getting maybe four hours of sleep. But there's always talking, whether it be the prerequisite (who Cindy Schaffer is dating now, why Paul Hunter hasn't been seen at a party in months), the inane (why they never bake any kind of cookies except chocolate chip, why the pink pumps with the black dress look better than the white ones), or the nessecary (how Jimmy is going to support himself, Summer's new stepmom's threats to send her to boarding school). Even though they see each other every day, and spend hours on the phone when they're not having sleepovers, there always seems to be something that they *have* to talk about.

Everyone in Newport has screwed-up parents. People can't have that much money without it messing them up. But Summer and Marissa bonded because they were two of the few kids that hadn't gotten *too* screwed-up yet. They both had brief struggles with alcohol, eating disorders - but these were child's play in Newport. They didn't sleep around, despite what was being passed around the rumor mill, they weren't whacked-out on drugs, and they didn't cut themselves. That was about as normal as it got here. And they counted on each other to keep themselves that way - they leaned on each other, probably more than was healthy.

But tonight, they don't speak a word. They just cling to each other on the king-sized guest bed in Summer's house, sharing a pint of Rocky Road and watching "Grease" for perhaps the seventy-millionth time. Beside the TV are other boxes from the rental store - "Down With Love", "The Princess Bride", "Sixteen Candles". Cheesy, happy movies - no horror, no depressing drama. As if watching them will make them happier.

It does the trick for a few hours, at least. But once the movies are over, the tears will start to flow again. Because they've been deserted by the men that they loved, that claimed to love them back. Maybe they did. But they're gone, and Summer and Marissa are here, with no one to turn to but each other. The way it used to be. They way it should be. The way it always will be.

(Reply to this)

	askmehow 2004-11-02 08:47 am UTC (link)
	Title: Anti-acousticophobia Fandom: Harry Potter Rating: G Diclaimer: I own not, you sue not. (Reply to this)

	Ramble redwolfoz 2004-11-05 05:15 am UTC (link)
	( Ramble ) — original (Reply to this)

Fic!

wordsaremyfaith
2004-11-06 09:49 pm UTC (link)

In This Together
Fandom: The OC
Pairing: none
This just kind of... ends. Time was up and I didn't really know where I was going, so that was that.
***

Summer comes over to the Cohens' house as soon as they call her. Apparently, her so-called boyfriend took off, leaving her only a note to remember him by. Wonderful.

When she gets there, the door is open.

“Hello? Mrs. Cohen? Mr. Cohen?”

A disembodied voice that sounds vaguely like it's coming from the kitchen calls out, “In here, Summer.”

Summer walks into the kitchen, and, sure enough, there's Mrs. Cohen with a letter in her left hand and a tissue in her right. It's obvious she's been crying for a while, and Summer's heart goes out to her. It's bad enough that she's had to lose one son, but to lose two? Summer doesn't think she could stand that. Never mind that she doesn't have a son - she might, someday, and she hopes she never has to go through something like this. Maybe she'll never have children.

Mrs. Cohen is clearly attempting to look presentable, and though Summer appreciates the effort, it's really not necessary.

“Mrs. Cohen, you really don't have to do this just for me. If you want to just give me the letter, I'll go.”

“Summer, please, call me Kirsten. And you don't have to go - if you want to stay and talk about it, that's fine too. I know you must be hurting.”

“Okay… Kirsten,” Summer manages, sitting at the little island. She realizes that this offer isn't about her, it's about Seth's mom. She needs someone to talk to, and Summer's there. “Can I see the note, though?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Cohen - Kirsten - passes the note to her silently. Summer takes it out and skims it quickly.

“Oh my god.” It sounds like one word, classic Summer. “I cannot believe him. This is such a Cohen thing to do, too.”

“Excuse me?” Kirsten is clearly surprised at Summer's words.

“Oh, sorry, just, I can't believe this. I mean, I knew he was unhappy, but…” She lets the note fall onto the table, and Kirsten picks it up.

Summer,

I'm sorry.

I can't stay here. Please, don't try to understand or make me come home. I'll come back when I'm ready.

I'll miss you, but I don't want you to wait around, especially if I don't decide to come home.

Seth

“That's it?” Kirsten looks up at Summer, puzzled.

“Yeah. What's yours say?”

“Well, basically the same thing, but I thought he'd write more to you, since he's not angry at you.”

“He's mad at you? Why?”

“He thinks we let Ryan go too easily. We should have put up more of a fight, or something.”

“That's stupid,” Summer says. “Like anyone could make Ryan do anything he doesn't, like, want to do?”

“I know. But Seth doesn't see it that way.”

“Well,” Summer says, “At least we're all in this together. Right?”

Kirsten smiles weakly up at her. “Right.”

Summer doesn't know what else to say. Being here while Seth is gone feels odd, but it's nice to talk to Kirsten. She's never really spent time with Seth's parents, at least not without Seth there to make jokes and break the ice. This moment is more intense, but also more personal. The old Summer would have run at that idea, but the person she is now wants to be here, yearns to know what Kirsten is thinking and feeling at this moment. Summer figures she'll probably spend a lot of time here this summer; it's not like she has anyone else to hang out with. Anyone she wants to see, anyway. Anyone who knows Seth the way she knows Seth.

Seth's departure still doesn't feel quite real, but Summer knows it will take time. And, unfortunately, she's got plenty of that.

(Reply to this)

	tarma 2005-04-28 12:36 am UTC (link)
	Title: Working Stiff Author: Haruka tarma Fandom: Sukisyo Rated: PG (Reply to this)

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