Silent Memories (challenge vignette - PG-13)
Posted: Fri Mar 06, 2009 11:24 pm
Disclaimer:
This one-shot was inspired by a challenge from Writers Circle back on MLL what feels like an eon ago to write Mick's turning from an unusual perspective: sleeping Mick, regretful Coraline, or an inanimate object - like a mirror who saw everything. I wrote quite a few of these challenges, but for some reason, I seem to have neglected ever sharing them here. A fact I am trying to revise now.
I do not own Moonlight, its characters, or mythos.
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He carried her in, I could tell by the sudden weight in the single pair of footsteps. The floorboards didn't complain of course. They were fairly new, not even a decade. For some reason it hadn't occured to those flattened bits of tree that these visits were always the same.
Or maybe it was just part of being the floor. Like a doormat, they were used to being walked on. Didn't really matter who or how many.
He carried her in, like so many before him. An idyllic couple. I didn't pay much attention at first. Even when he lay her down ever so gently. I felt a bit sorry for him then. That foolish groom, oh so polite. Really, people should pay more attention to fabric every once in a while. Her dress was stiff, like it was afraid and trying desperately to escape her body.
Even still, I never suspected what he would become. What I would become in association.
He climbed on top of me, holding her. Knowing humans, they talked. Knowing newlyweds, they exchanged vows of devotions. I wouldn't know. I'm a bed for crying out loud, we don't come with ears.
I didn't realize what was happening at first. I don't usually pay attention to begin with. There are only so many things that the couples who rent this room want to do with a bed. As generally none of them involved any decent music or television programming, I generally just practice my Zen.
It takes a lot of patience, being a bed you know.
Particularly a marriage bed for rent. You have no idea how much I envy beds with their own home.
It was the struggling of the man that alerted me. I could feel the warm liquid seep down through the sheets, coating the mattress. The steady flow continued as he collapsed onto the pillow. Limp as a rag doll.
I don't know how he moved the next morning. How the pulse that I'd felt go out could stay so silent and yet his body could move. He moved jerkily, I admit. A bit like a puppet.
But he moved.
But movement isn't enough. Its been decades, over half a century in fact, and I've never forgotten that night.
The night I became a deathbed.
This one-shot was inspired by a challenge from Writers Circle back on MLL what feels like an eon ago to write Mick's turning from an unusual perspective: sleeping Mick, regretful Coraline, or an inanimate object - like a mirror who saw everything. I wrote quite a few of these challenges, but for some reason, I seem to have neglected ever sharing them here. A fact I am trying to revise now.
I do not own Moonlight, its characters, or mythos.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He carried her in, I could tell by the sudden weight in the single pair of footsteps. The floorboards didn't complain of course. They were fairly new, not even a decade. For some reason it hadn't occured to those flattened bits of tree that these visits were always the same.
Or maybe it was just part of being the floor. Like a doormat, they were used to being walked on. Didn't really matter who or how many.
He carried her in, like so many before him. An idyllic couple. I didn't pay much attention at first. Even when he lay her down ever so gently. I felt a bit sorry for him then. That foolish groom, oh so polite. Really, people should pay more attention to fabric every once in a while. Her dress was stiff, like it was afraid and trying desperately to escape her body.
Even still, I never suspected what he would become. What I would become in association.
He climbed on top of me, holding her. Knowing humans, they talked. Knowing newlyweds, they exchanged vows of devotions. I wouldn't know. I'm a bed for crying out loud, we don't come with ears.
I didn't realize what was happening at first. I don't usually pay attention to begin with. There are only so many things that the couples who rent this room want to do with a bed. As generally none of them involved any decent music or television programming, I generally just practice my Zen.
It takes a lot of patience, being a bed you know.
Particularly a marriage bed for rent. You have no idea how much I envy beds with their own home.
It was the struggling of the man that alerted me. I could feel the warm liquid seep down through the sheets, coating the mattress. The steady flow continued as he collapsed onto the pillow. Limp as a rag doll.
I don't know how he moved the next morning. How the pulse that I'd felt go out could stay so silent and yet his body could move. He moved jerkily, I admit. A bit like a puppet.
But he moved.
But movement isn't enough. Its been decades, over half a century in fact, and I've never forgotten that night.
The night I became a deathbed.
