Well Aimed Chaos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2013-08-05 03:39 am
whitemage) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-05 03:39 am
Entry tags:
Surgical Steel #7; Bone #19; Angel Cake #20
Name: Ardy
Piece/Story: Help Me Wrestle the Unseen/Blood Saint
Colors: Surgical Steel 7 (scrubs); Bone 19 ((im)mortality); Angel Cake 20 ( And even they may not look directly upon God)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Surgical Steel and Bone for Summer of Whump)
Word Count: 1198
Ratings/Warnings: PG - language, death/afterlife is discussed; No standard warnings apply
Notes: I swear actual vampires show up in this story at some point.
“Hey, lady! You’re late.” Vidisha tried to look stern, pointing at the clock in our locker room.
“I’m sorry! I forgot my clothes!” It took me a frustrating number of tries to get my locker open. I threw my bag in and began changing rapidly.
She chuckled, her tone singsong with the much-used cliche. “You would forget your head if it weren’t attached.”
“I...” Everything screeched to a halt for a moment as I wracked my brain. The smirk I had ready for the retort that never materialized turned glum. “Yep.”
Vidisha stopped mid-air on her imaginary drum kit. “... That’s not exactly one of your signature ba-dum-swish moments.”
“Kind of having one of those days...” I walked over to the mirror as I dressed. The navy scrubs emblazoned with our college crest in gold were comfortable, if not exactly the most tailored things. The most professional pajamas known to humankind.
And usually the most sturdy and reliable--except today--snap! My drawstring came flying out, one parted half in each hand. “Dammit!”
Vidisha turned slowly, eyebrow raised. “Did you just swear?”
Bright red, I glared at her, one hand holding my pants up, one attempting to remove my shoelaces.
She cleared her throat, shaking her chocolate brown bob.
“What?”
With a click of her tongue and a sigh, she reopened her locker, tossing me a spare pair of shoelaces. “Clearly you were never in Girl Scouts.”
I scoffed. “That’s the Boy Scout motto!”
Vidisha laughed. ‘Okay, so maybe I wasn’t, either.” She motioned to me as I struggled to get them tied and strung around my waist.
“I’ve got it.” Even protesting, I still relented to her kneeling down to gird me, trying not to cross my arms like a petulant child. She had a kind of easy grace and competence to her, while I felt like a complete spaz. Then again, she often told people the same about me. One of those friendships.
“You know...” She stood back up, straightening her scrub top back to its tunic-like state. “I really didn’t expect to see you back here--after a couple weeks, I decided you found yourself a cute doctor and eloped. Free medical care and a salary worthy of supporting your regal lifestyle--I would have!”
I rolled my eyes. “You would not have, because your parents would disown you.”
“Actually, you know full well my parents already disown me--now, answer my veiled question: did you finally meet someone, or did you waste all your time in that godawful place just pining away like a gothic heroine?”
I frowned, turning my nose up in the air with an exaggerated gesture as I laid my stethoscope around my neck. “I’m still offended you think you know the first thing about being disowned.”
“Fine, so they only look at me sympathetically and make a show of keeping the alcohol at the other end of the table from me like I’m going to set it on fire. But my question!” She chased after me, yelling.
I turned around, sticking my tongue out before darting into our classroom. Sometimes Vidisha is like my surrogate younger sister, Elly. I miss her now, even more than I missed Luke growing up. I thought we were closer, I thought she could tell me everything, but judging by what she did? Likely not.
And that’s where Vidisha differs. Her family is large, and close, without closets full of secrets like ours. I love her for it, for the fact that she can fill both Elly’s role and Luke’s in a way, having those moments of maturity and wisdom that give me a firm sounding board. We both know when something is bugging the other one, and we actually discuss it.
Which is why she felt comfortable cornering me over our dinner at the new vegan place downtown, and why it only took me a few pokes of my pineapple curry to actually confess.
“It was... kind of morbid, honestly. I was thinking about what happens after we die.”
Vidisha didn’t blink an eye. “Well, you’ll go to ‘Heaven,’ right? Or have you been naughty?” She winked.
I shook my head. “It’s not that--not what my religion believes. I mean, what actually happens. To our consciousness.”
She wiped her hands on her napkin, slowly. “Are you?”
“What?”
“You know: dying?” Her voice had lost its buoyancy, but still sounded fearless. I loved her for it.
“Not anymore than usual.”
Vidisha smiled, her tone turning philosophical. “My mother would say we’re reincarnated into a thousand lives, our souls growing in wisdom...” She fanned her fingers over the air between us, dramatically widening her eyes.
I speared a piece of pineapple. “What do you believe?”
“I’m no imam.” She returned to eating.
“I don’t need a doctrinal discussion.”
She paused, looking me over. “Then why do you need to know so badly?”
“Let’s say I’m trying to sort out some things in my soul.” It was the truth--sort of. Not a crisis of faith, really, but there was still something from that hospital visit that was creeping to the surface of my consciousness. I hated laboring with trains of thought that required long and wandering gestations.
“Heavy.” She gave a noncommittal reply.
“So I just want to know what you think.”
Her gaze went distant for a moment, and she took a sip of water with an air of contemplation. “I think... what comes after death is so remote and unknown, that we are not equipped to handle it. So God above urges us to live a good life here, as full as we can, and let him handle arrangements for our inevitable meeting.”
Vidisha’s eyes landed on me, and we shared a moment of deep vulnerability and horrible isolation all at once, like the cosmos was closing in on us.
We occupy a strange resolution here, humans do. There are some things that are too small for us to see, but there are also some things too large. While we have a great many aids to help us with the small things, no tool exists yet to overcome our upperbounds.
“Telescopes aren’t meant to truly show us large things, only the distant.” I muttered.
She sighed. “You are so weird sometimes, Annie-Banannie.”
“It’s true, though.” Some people say that stargazing troubles them, because it makes them feel so small. The big things of this universe are like that, vast to our perspective as the Milky Way spattered against a background navy as our uniforms. But knowing the microscopic worlds around us, I don’t agree about our smallness. I think, rather, the sensation bothers us because it makes us feel so very finite. It reminds us there are boundaries we can’t cross as we are, mortal, frail, and occupying a narrow, liminal space of existence.
“Whatever! Are you staying over for my bi-annual B-rate monster movie marathon?”
And then we come safely back indoors, fire up the electric stars we control, and forget what’s out there--because it’s how we keep from going mad as these incarnate spirits we are. I smiled. “I did remember the popcorn.”
Piece/Story: Help Me Wrestle the Unseen/Blood Saint
Colors: Surgical Steel 7 (scrubs); Bone 19 ((im)mortality); Angel Cake 20 ( And even they may not look directly upon God)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Surgical Steel and Bone for Summer of Whump)
Word Count: 1198
Ratings/Warnings: PG - language, death/afterlife is discussed; No standard warnings apply
Notes: I swear actual vampires show up in this story at some point.
“Hey, lady! You’re late.” Vidisha tried to look stern, pointing at the clock in our locker room.
“I’m sorry! I forgot my clothes!” It took me a frustrating number of tries to get my locker open. I threw my bag in and began changing rapidly.
She chuckled, her tone singsong with the much-used cliche. “You would forget your head if it weren’t attached.”
“I...” Everything screeched to a halt for a moment as I wracked my brain. The smirk I had ready for the retort that never materialized turned glum. “Yep.”
Vidisha stopped mid-air on her imaginary drum kit. “... That’s not exactly one of your signature ba-dum-swish moments.”
“Kind of having one of those days...” I walked over to the mirror as I dressed. The navy scrubs emblazoned with our college crest in gold were comfortable, if not exactly the most tailored things. The most professional pajamas known to humankind.
And usually the most sturdy and reliable--except today--snap! My drawstring came flying out, one parted half in each hand. “Dammit!”
Vidisha turned slowly, eyebrow raised. “Did you just swear?”
Bright red, I glared at her, one hand holding my pants up, one attempting to remove my shoelaces.
She cleared her throat, shaking her chocolate brown bob.
“What?”
With a click of her tongue and a sigh, she reopened her locker, tossing me a spare pair of shoelaces. “Clearly you were never in Girl Scouts.”
I scoffed. “That’s the Boy Scout motto!”
Vidisha laughed. ‘Okay, so maybe I wasn’t, either.” She motioned to me as I struggled to get them tied and strung around my waist.
“I’ve got it.” Even protesting, I still relented to her kneeling down to gird me, trying not to cross my arms like a petulant child. She had a kind of easy grace and competence to her, while I felt like a complete spaz. Then again, she often told people the same about me. One of those friendships.
“You know...” She stood back up, straightening her scrub top back to its tunic-like state. “I really didn’t expect to see you back here--after a couple weeks, I decided you found yourself a cute doctor and eloped. Free medical care and a salary worthy of supporting your regal lifestyle--I would have!”
I rolled my eyes. “You would not have, because your parents would disown you.”
“Actually, you know full well my parents already disown me--now, answer my veiled question: did you finally meet someone, or did you waste all your time in that godawful place just pining away like a gothic heroine?”
I frowned, turning my nose up in the air with an exaggerated gesture as I laid my stethoscope around my neck. “I’m still offended you think you know the first thing about being disowned.”
“Fine, so they only look at me sympathetically and make a show of keeping the alcohol at the other end of the table from me like I’m going to set it on fire. But my question!” She chased after me, yelling.
I turned around, sticking my tongue out before darting into our classroom. Sometimes Vidisha is like my surrogate younger sister, Elly. I miss her now, even more than I missed Luke growing up. I thought we were closer, I thought she could tell me everything, but judging by what she did? Likely not.
And that’s where Vidisha differs. Her family is large, and close, without closets full of secrets like ours. I love her for it, for the fact that she can fill both Elly’s role and Luke’s in a way, having those moments of maturity and wisdom that give me a firm sounding board. We both know when something is bugging the other one, and we actually discuss it.
Which is why she felt comfortable cornering me over our dinner at the new vegan place downtown, and why it only took me a few pokes of my pineapple curry to actually confess.
“It was... kind of morbid, honestly. I was thinking about what happens after we die.”
Vidisha didn’t blink an eye. “Well, you’ll go to ‘Heaven,’ right? Or have you been naughty?” She winked.
I shook my head. “It’s not that--not what my religion believes. I mean, what actually happens. To our consciousness.”
She wiped her hands on her napkin, slowly. “Are you?”
“What?”
“You know: dying?” Her voice had lost its buoyancy, but still sounded fearless. I loved her for it.
“Not anymore than usual.”
Vidisha smiled, her tone turning philosophical. “My mother would say we’re reincarnated into a thousand lives, our souls growing in wisdom...” She fanned her fingers over the air between us, dramatically widening her eyes.
I speared a piece of pineapple. “What do you believe?”
“I’m no imam.” She returned to eating.
“I don’t need a doctrinal discussion.”
She paused, looking me over. “Then why do you need to know so badly?”
“Let’s say I’m trying to sort out some things in my soul.” It was the truth--sort of. Not a crisis of faith, really, but there was still something from that hospital visit that was creeping to the surface of my consciousness. I hated laboring with trains of thought that required long and wandering gestations.
“Heavy.” She gave a noncommittal reply.
“So I just want to know what you think.”
Her gaze went distant for a moment, and she took a sip of water with an air of contemplation. “I think... what comes after death is so remote and unknown, that we are not equipped to handle it. So God above urges us to live a good life here, as full as we can, and let him handle arrangements for our inevitable meeting.”
Vidisha’s eyes landed on me, and we shared a moment of deep vulnerability and horrible isolation all at once, like the cosmos was closing in on us.
We occupy a strange resolution here, humans do. There are some things that are too small for us to see, but there are also some things too large. While we have a great many aids to help us with the small things, no tool exists yet to overcome our upperbounds.
“Telescopes aren’t meant to truly show us large things, only the distant.” I muttered.
She sighed. “You are so weird sometimes, Annie-Banannie.”
“It’s true, though.” Some people say that stargazing troubles them, because it makes them feel so small. The big things of this universe are like that, vast to our perspective as the Milky Way spattered against a background navy as our uniforms. But knowing the microscopic worlds around us, I don’t agree about our smallness. I think, rather, the sensation bothers us because it makes us feel so very finite. It reminds us there are boundaries we can’t cross as we are, mortal, frail, and occupying a narrow, liminal space of existence.
“Whatever! Are you staying over for my bi-annual B-rate monster movie marathon?”
And then we come safely back indoors, fire up the electric stars we control, and forget what’s out there--because it’s how we keep from going mad as these incarnate spirits we are. I smiled. “I did remember the popcorn.”
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Vidisha is a lot of fun to write, so I'm glad she's an enjoyable read.