bookblather (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bookblather) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-01-11 09:17 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2015-01-11 09:17 pm
Spring Green 14: loss
Author: Kat
Title: loss
Story: In the Heart - Spartacus AU
Colors: Spring green 14 (different people with a common pain)
Supplies and Materials: Eraser (Spartacus AU), miniature collection, glue (Your nerves may be on edge today as you contemplate the uncertainty in your future.), novelty beads (Judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn/Tell us why, given Life, we are meant to die, helpless in our cries?)
Word Count: 500
Rating: R
Summary: After the end.
Warnings: Aftermath of a traumatic and violent event, slavery.
Notes: none.
It's dark and cold, and she is alone.
She would think that she is afraid, but she is afraid all the time now, and to say that she is afraid of what is happening now seems silly. She's not afraid of anything. She's just afraid.
She can't remember what happened. She's been trying, but there's nothing there. Only an afternoon, warm and sunny, sitting in the courtyard with her mother and spinning, and then-- clean as a cut, the memories run directly to now, to dark and cold and alone.
Her throat hurts. She thinks she must have been screaming.
--
There's blood in his mouth, sharp copper. He spits and his mouth floods again. Someone laughs.
Pain is red, he thinks. He hasn't felt much of it before. His father was a solider but he is nothing of the kind, and so all the pain of training fell to his sister-- he became a reader, a scholar, dedicated to the comfortable browns and blacks of words. But he knows now pain is red, red as blood and fire and the hair of his mother and sisters, who he will never see again.
He spits again. Blood flowers on the dirt.
--
She can't feel anything now but a dull anger.
There should be something more. She should feel something else. Loss, fear, grief, but none of that is there, only anger.
She wants to hurt somebody, anybody. They've tied her hands, but that doesn't stop her lashing out. She's already left bloody furrows in the cheek of one of the slavers, and bruised a slave's eye so badly he can't see. She'll do worse before she's done, if she gets her way.
Her family would be horrified by her behavior, but they're gone now.
She can't feel anything but the rage.
--
They're gone.
It hits him like a blow to the chest; like the warhammer he once barely blocked. First the shock, the stolen breath, then the pain radiating outward. He's stumbling now, erratic. They're gone.
There's blood-- at least one person died here and he can't help seeing their faces, his wife, his children. Was it one of them? Does it matter? They're gone.
They're gone and he does not know what happened, where they are, if it was a raid and by which side, if he's made an enemy all unknowing.
They're gone, and he can't seem to breathe.
--
She is perfectly calm.
That's the strange part, the part she can't account for. She's calm, and has been since she woke up in a cell, her body spiked with pain and her children gone. She has not fought. She has not so much as spoken a cross word. It feels as if everything is flowing past her, floating away.
Except.
Except this, her one crystal-clear certainty. She is perfectly calm, so it is not anger that drives her. She just knows this to be true: they have taken her children, and they will pay.
She will make them pay.
Title: loss
Story: In the Heart - Spartacus AU
Colors: Spring green 14 (different people with a common pain)
Supplies and Materials: Eraser (Spartacus AU), miniature collection, glue (Your nerves may be on edge today as you contemplate the uncertainty in your future.), novelty beads (Judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn/Tell us why, given Life, we are meant to die, helpless in our cries?)
Word Count: 500
Rating: R
Summary: After the end.
Warnings: Aftermath of a traumatic and violent event, slavery.
Notes: none.
It's dark and cold, and she is alone.
She would think that she is afraid, but she is afraid all the time now, and to say that she is afraid of what is happening now seems silly. She's not afraid of anything. She's just afraid.
She can't remember what happened. She's been trying, but there's nothing there. Only an afternoon, warm and sunny, sitting in the courtyard with her mother and spinning, and then-- clean as a cut, the memories run directly to now, to dark and cold and alone.
Her throat hurts. She thinks she must have been screaming.
--
There's blood in his mouth, sharp copper. He spits and his mouth floods again. Someone laughs.
Pain is red, he thinks. He hasn't felt much of it before. His father was a solider but he is nothing of the kind, and so all the pain of training fell to his sister-- he became a reader, a scholar, dedicated to the comfortable browns and blacks of words. But he knows now pain is red, red as blood and fire and the hair of his mother and sisters, who he will never see again.
He spits again. Blood flowers on the dirt.
--
She can't feel anything now but a dull anger.
There should be something more. She should feel something else. Loss, fear, grief, but none of that is there, only anger.
She wants to hurt somebody, anybody. They've tied her hands, but that doesn't stop her lashing out. She's already left bloody furrows in the cheek of one of the slavers, and bruised a slave's eye so badly he can't see. She'll do worse before she's done, if she gets her way.
Her family would be horrified by her behavior, but they're gone now.
She can't feel anything but the rage.
--
They're gone.
It hits him like a blow to the chest; like the warhammer he once barely blocked. First the shock, the stolen breath, then the pain radiating outward. He's stumbling now, erratic. They're gone.
There's blood-- at least one person died here and he can't help seeing their faces, his wife, his children. Was it one of them? Does it matter? They're gone.
They're gone and he does not know what happened, where they are, if it was a raid and by which side, if he's made an enemy all unknowing.
They're gone, and he can't seem to breathe.
--
She is perfectly calm.
That's the strange part, the part she can't account for. She's calm, and has been since she woke up in a cell, her body spiked with pain and her children gone. She has not fought. She has not so much as spoken a cross word. It feels as if everything is flowing past her, floating away.
Except.
Except this, her one crystal-clear certainty. She is perfectly calm, so it is not anger that drives her. She just knows this to be true: they have taken her children, and they will pay.
She will make them pay.
no subject
no subject
no subject
THIS FIC
IT IS SO...
I know brutal isn't your thing, but when you do it, you do it so well. Thank you.
no subject