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fellowshippers2004-05-19 06:33 pm
one900.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-05-19 06:33 pm
(no subject)
Deteriorate
PG-13
DM/EW
A/N: Meh. Big Elijah quote from the movie 'Waking Life'.
*
You sit on the bed,
Feet hanging above the carpet;
Bare soles holding echoes of
Yellowed grass and city streets.
“I think this is going to kill me.”
Dom glances sharply at Elijah, but relaxes once he sees the ever-present cigarette being cradled between Elijah’s fingers. “Then maybe you should stop,” he replies.
“Maybe.” Elijah absently flicks ashes onto the ground, then stands up. “Let’s get out of here.” He starts walking without looking back. Dom ambles after him, ducking under the slumping branches of the trees that line the sidewalk.
He looks up to see flat clouds littering the sky, as if cotton were spilling out of tears in the atmosphere.
*
The grin on your mouth
Encompasses an empty gaze-
Eyes as red as lips
Teeth glistening with dull light
Dom notices that Elijah has been sneaking off to the beach a lot. Not the marina or the pier, but the beach, where he can let wet sand seep through his jeans and watch glassy waves creep closer and closer to his bare feet.
At night, Dom brushes his fingers through hair that is damp with the ocean. Saltwater dries on his skin in frothy, white splotches, and he can almost feel himself wither, feel his bloodstream evaporate through his veins, leaving his heart to pump only empty air through his numb limbs.
Elijah comes home one day and tells Dom “Yeah, ok, I won’t go anymore” with breath that smells of damp rocks and cresting waves. Then Dom keeps finding sand stuck to the insoles of those worn black Converses day after day, but he doesn’t bring it up.
The scent of seawater sinks into Elijah’s unwashed clothes. Sometimes, when Dom knows that Elijah won’t be home, he’ll slump against a corner in the closet, letting the sandy hems of hanging jeans brush against his ears, and pretend that his raspy breaths are the sounds of the ocean.
*
Out the window,
The rain falls faint;
Dashes and slashes
Battling the glass.
His mind rises blearily from sleep, fighting its way through the fading tails of blurry dreams and echoed memories. Eyelids stay burrowed shut, lashes criss-crossed in a last attempt to fight off the ever-growing feeling of awareness.
“Dom.” A hand shakes his shoulder.
“Mm,” he mumbles unwillingly, brows furrowed around closed eyes.
“You awake?”
“Mrmm.”
“K. I wanna read you something.”
He doesn’t know what stops him from sitting up and spewing curses at Elijah for doing this, pulling the act of a barely twenties insomniac who muses over philosophical thoughts at 3 am, but something does. The noises of rustling paper fold into his eardrums as Elijah begins reading in a hoarse voice that’s not quite a whisper.
"’I know we haven't met, but, I don't wanna be an ant, you know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another continuously on "ant" autopilot with nothing really human required of us.”
A pause.
“”Stop," "Go," "Walk here," "Drive there." All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change," "Paper or plastic?", "Credit or debit?", "Do you want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be an ant...you know?"' The rhetorical question hangs in the air as Elijah exhales.
Dom’s eyes are wide open now, and staring out the window, through the fog-breathed glass, and into the dampened lights of the city. “Did you write that?” he asks against the hazy pane.
“No.” The mattress shifts in harmony with Elijah’s body. “But I feel like I could have.”
A foot comes in contact with Dom’s, toes pressing into the curve of his heel, and he has to consciously remember not to slide away.
*
Behind the pane
We grow blurry and still-
Melting figures of flesh that
Grow soft like black mud.
*
PG-13
DM/EW
A/N: Meh. Big Elijah quote from the movie 'Waking Life'.
*
You sit on the bed,
Feet hanging above the carpet;
Bare soles holding echoes of
Yellowed grass and city streets.
“I think this is going to kill me.”
Dom glances sharply at Elijah, but relaxes once he sees the ever-present cigarette being cradled between Elijah’s fingers. “Then maybe you should stop,” he replies.
“Maybe.” Elijah absently flicks ashes onto the ground, then stands up. “Let’s get out of here.” He starts walking without looking back. Dom ambles after him, ducking under the slumping branches of the trees that line the sidewalk.
He looks up to see flat clouds littering the sky, as if cotton were spilling out of tears in the atmosphere.
*
The grin on your mouth
Encompasses an empty gaze-
Eyes as red as lips
Teeth glistening with dull light
Dom notices that Elijah has been sneaking off to the beach a lot. Not the marina or the pier, but the beach, where he can let wet sand seep through his jeans and watch glassy waves creep closer and closer to his bare feet.
At night, Dom brushes his fingers through hair that is damp with the ocean. Saltwater dries on his skin in frothy, white splotches, and he can almost feel himself wither, feel his bloodstream evaporate through his veins, leaving his heart to pump only empty air through his numb limbs.
Elijah comes home one day and tells Dom “Yeah, ok, I won’t go anymore” with breath that smells of damp rocks and cresting waves. Then Dom keeps finding sand stuck to the insoles of those worn black Converses day after day, but he doesn’t bring it up.
The scent of seawater sinks into Elijah’s unwashed clothes. Sometimes, when Dom knows that Elijah won’t be home, he’ll slump against a corner in the closet, letting the sandy hems of hanging jeans brush against his ears, and pretend that his raspy breaths are the sounds of the ocean.
*
Out the window,
The rain falls faint;
Dashes and slashes
Battling the glass.
His mind rises blearily from sleep, fighting its way through the fading tails of blurry dreams and echoed memories. Eyelids stay burrowed shut, lashes criss-crossed in a last attempt to fight off the ever-growing feeling of awareness.
“Dom.” A hand shakes his shoulder.
“Mm,” he mumbles unwillingly, brows furrowed around closed eyes.
“You awake?”
“Mrmm.”
“K. I wanna read you something.”
He doesn’t know what stops him from sitting up and spewing curses at Elijah for doing this, pulling the act of a barely twenties insomniac who muses over philosophical thoughts at 3 am, but something does. The noises of rustling paper fold into his eardrums as Elijah begins reading in a hoarse voice that’s not quite a whisper.
"’I know we haven't met, but, I don't wanna be an ant, you know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another continuously on "ant" autopilot with nothing really human required of us.”
A pause.
“”Stop," "Go," "Walk here," "Drive there." All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change," "Paper or plastic?", "Credit or debit?", "Do you want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be an ant...you know?"' The rhetorical question hangs in the air as Elijah exhales.
Dom’s eyes are wide open now, and staring out the window, through the fog-breathed glass, and into the dampened lights of the city. “Did you write that?” he asks against the hazy pane.
“No.” The mattress shifts in harmony with Elijah’s body. “But I feel like I could have.”
A foot comes in contact with Dom’s, toes pressing into the curve of his heel, and he has to consciously remember not to slide away.
*
Behind the pane
We grow blurry and still-
Melting figures of flesh that
Grow soft like black mud.
*