Geena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
geena) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2012-09-17 08:25 pm
geena) wrote in rainbowfic2012-09-17 08:25 pm
Entry tags:
Heart Gold 10
Author: geena
Color: Heart Gold 10. Where there is love there is life. - Gandhi
Styles and Supplies: Acrylic (photo)
Word Count: 373
Rating: PG-13
Story: _____; the title of this story is Westward.
Summary: They have their small escapes.
Notes: This takes place before Jason. Trigger warnings for sexual abuse and child abuse.
***
He comes to her at night, her father-- or rather, the man she knows as her father, though she has her doubts. Her mother certainly does.
His mother left at night, though he hardly remembers it. The bastard does, if his drunken ravings can be trusted, and he takes the brunt of the blame.
These are the essentials.
***
It rains.
Scraping his knee as he crawls through her window, he hisses a curse. She glares, lips pursed, and pulls him tight against her.
"Am I late?"
She shakes her head.
"Where is he?"
"Out. I don't know." Swallowing hard, she averts her gaze. "I don't care. Can we go?"
"The car's around the block."
She demands, "West this time."
"Does it matter?" he asks rhetorically.
They are on the road within fifteen minutes.
***
"Did he..."
She winces.
"I'll kill him."
"You won't."
He grips the steering wheel as she lights her first cigarette. "I know where my dad keeps the gun. I could."
"He'd kill you," she grinds out. "I couldn't handle-- stop talking."
They don't speak for twenty-six minutes.
***
"That's a fresh one. The bruise."
He narrows his eyes. "Is this your revenge?"
"Even if it is," she remarks, fiddling with the radio, "the point stands. What was it this time?"
"I think I breathed."
"Typical."
***
"Where are we?" she asks, blinking awake.
"Maybe Nebraska?" His eyes are bloodshot, glassy.
"I like it. It's flat. Empty."
"Christ, you're philosophical at dawn."
"It's my curse." She straightens, waving at a sign announcing a rest stop. "Turn there. You're dead on your feet."
"I'm fine," he protests.
"Well I'm not. Stop here."
They pull into the parking lot five minutes later, car creaking in complaint as the engine dies down. It takes another few minutes to spread out the blankets from the trunk, wrapping themselves in the fleece and one another as they cram into the back.
"Let's not go back," she whispers against his neck.
"We have to," he forces out.
***
When they wake, it is without a word. The blankets are returned, the seats readjusted, and the ignition turned over.
He presses on the gas. She lights a cigarette. They drive east in silence.
They drive home.
***
geenaColor: Heart Gold 10. Where there is love there is life. - Gandhi
Styles and Supplies: Acrylic (photo)
Word Count: 373
Rating: PG-13
Story: _____; the title of this story is Westward.
Summary: They have their small escapes.
Notes: This takes place before Jason. Trigger warnings for sexual abuse and child abuse.
***
He comes to her at night, her father-- or rather, the man she knows as her father, though she has her doubts. Her mother certainly does.
His mother left at night, though he hardly remembers it. The bastard does, if his drunken ravings can be trusted, and he takes the brunt of the blame.
These are the essentials.
***
It rains.
Scraping his knee as he crawls through her window, he hisses a curse. She glares, lips pursed, and pulls him tight against her.
"Am I late?"
She shakes her head.
"Where is he?"
"Out. I don't know." Swallowing hard, she averts her gaze. "I don't care. Can we go?"
"The car's around the block."
She demands, "West this time."
"Does it matter?" he asks rhetorically.
They are on the road within fifteen minutes.
***
"Did he..."
She winces.
"I'll kill him."
"You won't."
He grips the steering wheel as she lights her first cigarette. "I know where my dad keeps the gun. I could."
"He'd kill you," she grinds out. "I couldn't handle-- stop talking."
They don't speak for twenty-six minutes.
***
"That's a fresh one. The bruise."
He narrows his eyes. "Is this your revenge?"
"Even if it is," she remarks, fiddling with the radio, "the point stands. What was it this time?"
"I think I breathed."
"Typical."
***
"Where are we?" she asks, blinking awake.
"Maybe Nebraska?" His eyes are bloodshot, glassy.
"I like it. It's flat. Empty."
"Christ, you're philosophical at dawn."
"It's my curse." She straightens, waving at a sign announcing a rest stop. "Turn there. You're dead on your feet."
"I'm fine," he protests.
"Well I'm not. Stop here."
They pull into the parking lot five minutes later, car creaking in complaint as the engine dies down. It takes another few minutes to spread out the blankets from the trunk, wrapping themselves in the fleece and one another as they cram into the back.
"Let's not go back," she whispers against his neck.
"We have to," he forces out.
***
When they wake, it is without a word. The blankets are returned, the seats readjusted, and the ignition turned over.
He presses on the gas. She lights a cigarette. They drive east in silence.
They drive home.
***
no subject
This is less than 400 words.
I couldn't have gotten this out in 4000.
Or had it come out this perfect.
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Gah, your comments. Your COMMENTS. You say the best, most perfect things and just... thank you. Really and truly.
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I'm starting to really be grateful of all those drabbles I'd do.
Thank you!
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Thank you!
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(Your dialogue is amazing.)
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Seriously, great job.
no subject