#100-500

[nic-mccool]

Platonic: Octahedron

My perception of flying is skewed, I know. My perception of flying Is that I fall And then you catch me So that I never have to hit the ground; My perception of flying Is that I don't Have to tell you I need you to catch me, And you do anyway.

Conversation with you Is like jumping; The air is thin, But I don't need to breathe; I feel the wind Wash tears from my eyes; I feel the sun Give me wings of fire; I feel the fear of falling And I trust That you won't let me hit the ground.

I hope your clouds Are solid enough That I can rest upon them; Though logically This should not be the case. I hope your clouds Are more solid Than the one who taught me This is how you fly…

In reality I suppose I'll drop From a rain cloud Of my own design, Fall. And the rain Will catch up with me Only after I've hit the ground.

[mistwrites]

Words: 463 Fandom: Librarians, Leverage Rating: General Audiences Characters: Jake Stone, Mikel Dayan Tags: Crossover, Eliot Spencer and Jacob "Jake" Stone are Twins, Fights

“Your skills leave with your hair?”

[nic-mccool]

I wrote this story twice, once as a scene (telling it moment by moment) and then in summary (summarizing the story from hindsight). It’s a writing exercise I did in a class once. 

Hope (Scene)

The banana bread tastes like upper-class masochism. Somewhere in the back of my mind I am aware of the contrasts at play between myself and the girl making her way back to her table from the stage - my sweatshirt and her blouse, my single mother and her smiling family, my caramel and her alabaster - but none of these things are as vivid to me as the banana bread making a desert of my tongue. 

“That was short,” my mother commented from beside me, “I expected the speeches to last longer. It was nice.”

“So, what’s next?” I ask, swallowing the last of the banana bread and preparing to stand.

“I think we’re supposed to mingle. The leadership faculty is supposed to come sit and talk with us. We should stay a while!”

I bite back my thoughts like they’re pieces of banana bread coming back up to haunt me. 

They’re not going to sit with us, I think, this breakfast isn’t for us. 

“You should probably move your purse,” I say, “So there’s someplace for them to sit.”

I watch the faculty members move amongst the crowd. I ignore the fact that none of them are moving towards us. I watch them crowd around tables, standing, because the chairs are all taken. I ignore the empty chair at our table. 

~

By the time we leave the room I’m awake enough to be angry, and angry enough to be embarrassed. 

“Why do you always do this?” I ask my mother, “You always try to get us into events like these, and they ignore us every time. We just… we...”

I try to think of what it is. Is it because we aren’t pretty? Not everyone in there was pretty. Is it because we aren’t well dressed? No, I’ve done this all before, in every imaginable garb. I don’t know what it is. It’s just…

“We don’t fit in. Don’t you notice? The way they look at us?”

I look away, because I’ve said this all before, and it’s pointless to go on.  I don’t want her to think I care. Because I don’t care, not until it’s happening to me. Not until I’m being ignored so tangibly that the taste of it lingers longer than stale banana bread. Not until I’m made to feel that I’m not worth anyone’s time. Then, it hurts.

“I know.”

The conversation breaks from it predestined path. I don’t move, scarcely breathe, for fear of pushing it back to the way it always is. To denial. 

“I know,” she repeats, “I know. I just… I don’t want to give up on people, you know? I want to believe in people. I have hope that it will change.”

Of course she does. Of course she does. And I can’t find anything to say for her. I’ve found the people I won’t give up on, I’ve found the people to believe in, and it isn’t these. I wish she had somewhere else to look for hope, other than here. 

Hope (Summary)

The events of the morning slurred together like a sentence uttered by the only-nearly-awake. The receptionist didn’t seem to believe we were supposed to be there, and we had to explain that we were registered before we could go in. Of course, we went straight for the food; but what could have been the one redeeming quality of this event was instead the greatest disappointment. You would expect good food at such an obnoxiously extravagant event, but everything was mushy and bland. 

The speeches were as much an assault to my ears as the food was an assault to my tongue. They talked of Teamwork and Community and Opportunity and Success, none of which I particularly cared about just past eight in the morning. But, to the speaker’s credit, the speeches were short, and soon we were moving on to the mingling aspect of the event.

I made motions to leave, but my mom pointedly ignored them. I steeled myself. It’s always the same with these events. We eat the food and wear the clothes and go through the motions as well as we know how. We sit waiting to be noticed by people we don’t really care about, and of course they don’t really care about us. And it infuriates me as much as it embarasses me. But she stays anyway. 

And then we leave, and I say nothing, because I really shouldn’t care. But as hard as I try to silence my thoughts, the question always comes out.

“Don’t you notice? The way they look at us?”

It’s was always the same, going to these events. But today it plays out differently. Instead of brushing it off, instead of denying what I saw and heard and felt, she says - 

“I know.”

And she finally tells me why, tells me she has hope that it will change. She has hope that people aren’t all like this. 

I want to tell her they’re not. It’s just these people, the ones at parties with speeches and balloons. Other people care, other people could like us. Why look for them amongst these?

I would say this, but I don’t think she knows how to do it any differently.

[nic-mccool]

Petrichor to a Pluviophile

I lift my hands unto sky and pray for storm and hail With the ignominy of supplications I wait in vain only for this

The whisper of a shadow of a tremor in the wind The melody of your memory Alone upon the desert ground

You know as well as I do nothing soothes me quite like hardship But if simplicity reunited us I think I could endure contentment

I would prefer to have one more adventure with you, though In fisticuffs with the universe It's you and me against the world

One hand upon each shoulder and I'd dance through life with you The enchantment of the piano man One song would be enough for me

I will preserve the riff from which we hang and sing the edge Like petrichor to a pluviophile You sing to me and I am breathless