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fellowshippers2004-06-25 05:39 pm
cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-06-25 05:39 pm
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lotrpschallenge #9
Title: No More Happy Songs of Heartbreak
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cloudlessclimes
Rated: G but there's no singing of Kumbaya I promise.
Pairing: OB/EW
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one
Summary: an angsty emo kinda plane ride for Elijah
Notes: Written forlotrpschallenge #9 Title and quoted song lyrics are by Teitur, who rocks!
Feedback: is a wonderful thing. Please let me know how I'm doing!
"Alone in these strange beds
I think that I’ve travelled enough.
Poetry and Aeroplanes,
I am tired of waiting for love"
The problem with fairy tales, Elijah thinks, is that they are just that—tales. Stories told so often over time and passing from one language into the next, no longer meaning what they once did. They no longer serve as cautionary tales. Happily ever after replaces the hero dying and the witch eating the children. Fairy tales are now pretty lies to placate bored children.
And dreams, no matter how sweet and wonderful, vanish into the air upon waking. Dreams are just the secret longings of subconscious thought. Eventually we all have to wake up, blinking our confusion into the bright light of day.
Movies. Elijah blames movies. All pathetic fallacy and fakery. Saccharine stories prodded along by the right angle and good lighting. Fifty-foot screens make it easy to believe that things will all work out in the end. Because there is a The End, splashed across the fade to black. Signalling that in ninety minutes or so (some times less, more often than not these days more--much much,more) the hero will get the girl (or boy), the villains get what they deserve, and goodness surely gets the big rewards. Movies make it easy to forget who you are. Easy to think you are the person you are pretending to be. Silver screens make fiction out of life.
Elijah shakes his head and smiles when the flight attendant offers him a beverage. Sighing, he looks out into the fading darkness of twelve thousand feet. The light from the cabin illuminates gossamer-wisp clouds. Like thoughts unspoken, or a held breath exhaled, they hang in the air mere seconds before they are gone. Just short of placing his ragged, half-chewed thumbnail between his lips, Elijah instead turns his wrist and looks at the digital numbers blinking and taunting him. 3:59 a.m.
Elijah can’t help thinking that in the Fairy Tale Dream Movie of Elijah & Orlando it will always be 4 a.m.
Turning his attention to the tray in front of him, Elijah stares at the jellybean-bright pile of confetti heaped in the centre. All that remains of a shorthand code. Blue for Elijah (ha! ha! Orlando, master of subtlety) and Yellow for Orlando. Carefully coloured to correspond with date and time and when and where. Neither of them had to ask why. A leap frog, hopscotch ,double dog dare checker game with longitude and latitude—pitting Greenwich Mean against Pacific Standard. Calendars, and lists, and schedules (Oh my!) are painful reminders of Fairy Tales and Dreams shredded, just as certainly as the paper in front of him.
It was easy to believe it while you were living it. Love and laughter amidst rivers and mountains on the other side of the world make their own kind of sense. Easy to be friends. Easier still to be more. Falling forever into the warm dark depths of smiling eyes. Talking and laughing until 4 a.m. Tasting the sweetness of sun-gilt skin. Whispering words so rich and ripe with promise they are impossible not to believe. Drinking in the shape and form of those same words breathed into your own mouth.
“Let’s stay here, like this, forever.” Is all Elijah ever wants. And everything he can’t have. All movies end. Waking ceases all dreams. And happily ever after seems a cop out in the end.
They are each other’s secret. A truth left unspoken. Worse than a lie
Little by little, it had slipped away. Elijah could not say exactly when, or how. He wouldn’t find it on his lists or schedules or as a date circled in yellow or blue on his calendar.
Maybe he could find it in 4 a.m.
Author:
cloudlessclimesRated: G but there's no singing of Kumbaya I promise.
Pairing: OB/EW
Disclaimer: This is purely a product of my diseased mind and has no bearing on reality what so ever, I own no one, I know no one
Summary: an angsty emo kinda plane ride for Elijah
Notes: Written for
lotrpschallenge #9 Title and quoted song lyrics are by Teitur, who rocks!Feedback: is a wonderful thing. Please let me know how I'm doing!
"Alone in these strange beds
I think that I’ve travelled enough.
Poetry and Aeroplanes,
I am tired of waiting for love"
The problem with fairy tales, Elijah thinks, is that they are just that—tales. Stories told so often over time and passing from one language into the next, no longer meaning what they once did. They no longer serve as cautionary tales. Happily ever after replaces the hero dying and the witch eating the children. Fairy tales are now pretty lies to placate bored children.
And dreams, no matter how sweet and wonderful, vanish into the air upon waking. Dreams are just the secret longings of subconscious thought. Eventually we all have to wake up, blinking our confusion into the bright light of day.
Movies. Elijah blames movies. All pathetic fallacy and fakery. Saccharine stories prodded along by the right angle and good lighting. Fifty-foot screens make it easy to believe that things will all work out in the end. Because there is a The End, splashed across the fade to black. Signalling that in ninety minutes or so (some times less, more often than not these days more--much much,more) the hero will get the girl (or boy), the villains get what they deserve, and goodness surely gets the big rewards. Movies make it easy to forget who you are. Easy to think you are the person you are pretending to be. Silver screens make fiction out of life.
Elijah shakes his head and smiles when the flight attendant offers him a beverage. Sighing, he looks out into the fading darkness of twelve thousand feet. The light from the cabin illuminates gossamer-wisp clouds. Like thoughts unspoken, or a held breath exhaled, they hang in the air mere seconds before they are gone. Just short of placing his ragged, half-chewed thumbnail between his lips, Elijah instead turns his wrist and looks at the digital numbers blinking and taunting him. 3:59 a.m.
Elijah can’t help thinking that in the Fairy Tale Dream Movie of Elijah & Orlando it will always be 4 a.m.
Turning his attention to the tray in front of him, Elijah stares at the jellybean-bright pile of confetti heaped in the centre. All that remains of a shorthand code. Blue for Elijah (ha! ha! Orlando, master of subtlety) and Yellow for Orlando. Carefully coloured to correspond with date and time and when and where. Neither of them had to ask why. A leap frog, hopscotch ,double dog dare checker game with longitude and latitude—pitting Greenwich Mean against Pacific Standard. Calendars, and lists, and schedules (Oh my!) are painful reminders of Fairy Tales and Dreams shredded, just as certainly as the paper in front of him.
It was easy to believe it while you were living it. Love and laughter amidst rivers and mountains on the other side of the world make their own kind of sense. Easy to be friends. Easier still to be more. Falling forever into the warm dark depths of smiling eyes. Talking and laughing until 4 a.m. Tasting the sweetness of sun-gilt skin. Whispering words so rich and ripe with promise they are impossible not to believe. Drinking in the shape and form of those same words breathed into your own mouth.
“Let’s stay here, like this, forever.” Is all Elijah ever wants. And everything he can’t have. All movies end. Waking ceases all dreams. And happily ever after seems a cop out in the end.
They are each other’s secret. A truth left unspoken. Worse than a lie
Little by little, it had slipped away. Elijah could not say exactly when, or how. He wouldn’t find it on his lists or schedules or as a date circled in yellow or blue on his calendar.
Maybe he could find it in 4 a.m.