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fellowshippers2004-03-31 10:50 am
glasgow-blue.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-31 10:50 am
Seven Days at Sea
Title: Seven Days at Sea
Pairing: None. It's just Billy.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I am still making this shit up.
Word Count: 500
Feedback: Is always welcome.
Crossposted:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glasgow_blue
If this violates the rules of the community because it's not strictly slashy, please advise and I will delete. Gracias.
Billy's been dreaming of the sea for a week solid and he's got absolutely no idea why. It makes a certain kind of sense, he supposes, surrounded as he is by concrete and brick, cars and bicyclists. There is water in Glasgow--both the Clyde and the Kelvin wind their way along stony banks, bringing mist and the smell of things aquatic--and one is never very far from the ocean in Scotland, but his surfboard sits idle in a corner of the flat. It's not like he is discontent, though. The city is home, will always be home--the sort that is spelled with a capital H, the sort that is looked fondly back upon in old age. The sort that haunts his dreams when he's elsewhere on the planet.
Sometimes, it's the warm, placid water of Mexico, with azure skies and tepid breezes. Sometimes, it's the wild surf of the South Pacific. Once, Orlando rose from the frigid, foaming Minch like Poseidon himself, swathed in kelp and sporting a crown of mussel shells. Mostly, Billy's floating on his back, looking up at a night sky, counting the stars. It could be any sea on the planet, or none of this world and he wakes with his arms and legs splayed out across the bed.
He goes to the market for the staples--bread, milk, beer, eggs, and beans--and comes out with a sack full of boxes of sea salt instead. At home, he pours them into the tub, fills it, and climbs in fully clothed, soaking until his fingers are prune-like and he can feel the saline crystallizing in his nostrils. Somewhere in the middle of things, he's reminded of the scene from Splash and wonders if maybe he's an exiled merman, doomed to live a life on dry land. He cracks open one eyelid and surveys the scene, not entirely sure whether he is relieved or disappointed to see his ankles propped up on the faucet.
That night, he dreams he is on a rock in the middle of the ocean and Dom and Elijah are swimming circles around him. Their tails glisten in the sun and they speak to him, calling in a language that is just on the edge of knowing. He wakes up smelling salt on his sheets and walks to the nearest bookstore. There, he sits cross-legged on the floor of the metaphysical section, sipping coffee and surrounded by books on dream interpretation.
The ocean, they say, represents spirituality and emotion and the state of the waves reflects your inner mind, your inner peace, your comfort level with yourself. To dream that you are walking on water means that you are in control of your emotions. To dream of murky water means you are not. Nothing is mentioned regarding friends who impersonate gods and mythic beings. He closes the books, stacks them neatly on the floor, and resolves to call Viggo, who is just crazy enough to be wise in matters like this.
Pairing: None. It's just Billy.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I am still making this shit up.
Word Count: 500
Feedback: Is always welcome.
Crossposted:
glasgow_blueIf this violates the rules of the community because it's not strictly slashy, please advise and I will delete. Gracias.
Billy's been dreaming of the sea for a week solid and he's got absolutely no idea why. It makes a certain kind of sense, he supposes, surrounded as he is by concrete and brick, cars and bicyclists. There is water in Glasgow--both the Clyde and the Kelvin wind their way along stony banks, bringing mist and the smell of things aquatic--and one is never very far from the ocean in Scotland, but his surfboard sits idle in a corner of the flat. It's not like he is discontent, though. The city is home, will always be home--the sort that is spelled with a capital H, the sort that is looked fondly back upon in old age. The sort that haunts his dreams when he's elsewhere on the planet.
Sometimes, it's the warm, placid water of Mexico, with azure skies and tepid breezes. Sometimes, it's the wild surf of the South Pacific. Once, Orlando rose from the frigid, foaming Minch like Poseidon himself, swathed in kelp and sporting a crown of mussel shells. Mostly, Billy's floating on his back, looking up at a night sky, counting the stars. It could be any sea on the planet, or none of this world and he wakes with his arms and legs splayed out across the bed.
He goes to the market for the staples--bread, milk, beer, eggs, and beans--and comes out with a sack full of boxes of sea salt instead. At home, he pours them into the tub, fills it, and climbs in fully clothed, soaking until his fingers are prune-like and he can feel the saline crystallizing in his nostrils. Somewhere in the middle of things, he's reminded of the scene from Splash and wonders if maybe he's an exiled merman, doomed to live a life on dry land. He cracks open one eyelid and surveys the scene, not entirely sure whether he is relieved or disappointed to see his ankles propped up on the faucet.
That night, he dreams he is on a rock in the middle of the ocean and Dom and Elijah are swimming circles around him. Their tails glisten in the sun and they speak to him, calling in a language that is just on the edge of knowing. He wakes up smelling salt on his sheets and walks to the nearest bookstore. There, he sits cross-legged on the floor of the metaphysical section, sipping coffee and surrounded by books on dream interpretation.
The ocean, they say, represents spirituality and emotion and the state of the waves reflects your inner mind, your inner peace, your comfort level with yourself. To dream that you are walking on water means that you are in control of your emotions. To dream of murky water means you are not. Nothing is mentioned regarding friends who impersonate gods and mythic beings. He closes the books, stacks them neatly on the floor, and resolves to call Viggo, who is just crazy enough to be wise in matters like this.
no subject
no subject
Yeah. I actually went to a website about dream interpretation because the stuff is so esoteric that I can't even make it up. :)