Clare-Dragonfly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2013-03-22 10:41 pm
clare_dragonfly) wrote in rainbowfic2013-03-22 10:41 pm
The Fork in the Road
Name: Clare
Story: The Wasteland
Colors: Tyrian Purple 7, three seeds; Heart Gold 29, Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction. - Saint-Exupery
Supplies and Materials: Bichromatic, pastels (darkfantasybingo: crossroads)
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG
Notes: I sure seem to write a lot of Wasteland stories about people wandering and finding nothing. Well, I guess there's a reason I called it The Wasteland.
They had been walking this same road for days—for weeks—for months.
There was no one else on the road. It was not straight, but it continued and continued, and it was always clear which was the same road. There was no need to leave it, even to sleep; they pitched their tent (theirs now, not his or hers) in the middle of the road, made their fire for food there, stretched and slept and made love there.
The first day they met, they had looked at each other’s newly eerily double-pupiled eyes and knew they had kindred spirits. They had never seen one another before, but that did not stop them from walking in step, from sharing resources, from falling in love through near silence and walking the same road.
Though they hardly talked, they knew each other’s mind; perhaps part of it was the rushing of power that came with the double-pupiled eyes. They both knew what they were looking for, though neither wished to articulate it for fear of breaking the truth.
Civilization. People. Others to care for, to work with, to help. To care for them, as well.
They had resources that were not much use on the road, but that would be useful when they found somewhere to settle down, perhaps somewhere already settled: seeds of fruit and vegetables and grains, the knowledge of how to care for sheep, a way of testing whether fish caught in a stream could be eaten or were poison. They had no land to plant, they had no sheep to shear, they had no streams to fish.
But for now, they had each other.
It was only after two days of walking together that they began to hold hands, and do so at all times, except for the hottest part of the day. They did not need to look at each other. They simply reached out and found each other while one looked left and one looked right, out over the land the road traversed, seeking a place to land.
And then they came to a crossroads.
They looked down the road. It split, going two ways, and there was no indication of which branch of the split was the main road. Both looked the same. Both were dry and dusty and barren, but either might lead to civilization. Either might be their goal. He looked left and she looked right, but they could see nothing that told them which was the right way to go.
Finally they looked at each other. Double pupils met and they knew that they must make a choice. They could go right. They could go left. Or they could separate.
She let go of his hand. She unshouldered her pack. She thrust her hand inside and pulled out a small paper packet.
“I have three pumpkin seeds,” she said. “But from one pumpkin seed a great plant can grow, with many fruits, and many, many more seeds.”
He crouched down and dug a hole for her in the dirt, just between the two forks of the road where it split. She poured out one pumpkin seed into her hand and dropped it into the hole. Together, they covered the seed with soil.
They stood up and looked into each other’s eyes again. She poured out another pumpkin seed and put it into his hand. She poured out the third pumpkin seed and held it in her own hand.
“Wherever one of us goes,” he said, “there will be civilization. There will be life and food.”
“And if one of us does not find a place to plant the seed,” she said, “we will return here, and find our pumpkin plant.”
He nodded and tucked away his seed carefully. She returned her seed to her pack and lifted it again.
They walked apart. She took the right fork and he took the left.
He looked left and she looked right.
They walked.
Story: The Wasteland
Colors: Tyrian Purple 7, three seeds; Heart Gold 29, Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction. - Saint-Exupery
Supplies and Materials: Bichromatic, pastels (
darkfantasybingo: crossroads)Word Count: 661
Rating: PG
Notes: I sure seem to write a lot of Wasteland stories about people wandering and finding nothing. Well, I guess there's a reason I called it The Wasteland.
They had been walking this same road for days—for weeks—for months.
There was no one else on the road. It was not straight, but it continued and continued, and it was always clear which was the same road. There was no need to leave it, even to sleep; they pitched their tent (theirs now, not his or hers) in the middle of the road, made their fire for food there, stretched and slept and made love there.
The first day they met, they had looked at each other’s newly eerily double-pupiled eyes and knew they had kindred spirits. They had never seen one another before, but that did not stop them from walking in step, from sharing resources, from falling in love through near silence and walking the same road.
Though they hardly talked, they knew each other’s mind; perhaps part of it was the rushing of power that came with the double-pupiled eyes. They both knew what they were looking for, though neither wished to articulate it for fear of breaking the truth.
Civilization. People. Others to care for, to work with, to help. To care for them, as well.
They had resources that were not much use on the road, but that would be useful when they found somewhere to settle down, perhaps somewhere already settled: seeds of fruit and vegetables and grains, the knowledge of how to care for sheep, a way of testing whether fish caught in a stream could be eaten or were poison. They had no land to plant, they had no sheep to shear, they had no streams to fish.
But for now, they had each other.
It was only after two days of walking together that they began to hold hands, and do so at all times, except for the hottest part of the day. They did not need to look at each other. They simply reached out and found each other while one looked left and one looked right, out over the land the road traversed, seeking a place to land.
And then they came to a crossroads.
They looked down the road. It split, going two ways, and there was no indication of which branch of the split was the main road. Both looked the same. Both were dry and dusty and barren, but either might lead to civilization. Either might be their goal. He looked left and she looked right, but they could see nothing that told them which was the right way to go.
Finally they looked at each other. Double pupils met and they knew that they must make a choice. They could go right. They could go left. Or they could separate.
She let go of his hand. She unshouldered her pack. She thrust her hand inside and pulled out a small paper packet.
“I have three pumpkin seeds,” she said. “But from one pumpkin seed a great plant can grow, with many fruits, and many, many more seeds.”
He crouched down and dug a hole for her in the dirt, just between the two forks of the road where it split. She poured out one pumpkin seed into her hand and dropped it into the hole. Together, they covered the seed with soil.
They stood up and looked into each other’s eyes again. She poured out another pumpkin seed and put it into his hand. She poured out the third pumpkin seed and held it in her own hand.
“Wherever one of us goes,” he said, “there will be civilization. There will be life and food.”
“And if one of us does not find a place to plant the seed,” she said, “we will return here, and find our pumpkin plant.”
He nodded and tucked away his seed carefully. She returned her seed to her pack and lifted it again.
They walked apart. She took the right fork and he took the left.
He looked left and she looked right.
They walked.