acidpop25: "Jump. Fall. Die." R
Title: Jump. Fall. Die.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: R
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #56, "Jump"
Word Count: 244
Summary: "The descent is utter and absolute."
Warnings: Minor character death, suicide.
Notes: Set at Hogwarts during the war. One line shamelessly stolen from "Cloud on my Tongue" by Tori Amos.
Jump.
They run, run, run up the spiral stairs. Running away, up up up the tower, in circles and circles and circles again. The pounding of feet, the clicks of school shoes on stone, clickclickclick so many feet and it sounds like the skitter of beetles, herds of them. Up into the open, the thick night air and the endlessness of stars and the edges of stone; the lines are so, so clearly drawn, but they intersect at uncomfortable angles, here more than anywhere, the harsh cross of duty and desire and dread and death and defiance and desperation, and it's open air but the night closes in, and you can hear the screaming as everything is rent in pieces by the sharp edges of causality.
Fall.
The descent is utter and absolute; indisputable within a cyclone of not-for-sure. Rushing, rushing, the air screams past skin but they never scream and the look in their eyes says "dead." Cowards, is this what they're fighting for killing for dying for down there?! Black robes white flags, and do you feel better now?! You could have you might have you should have, but no instead it's night air and blurring stone and later under stone with all the others because you did not stand up you lay down fell down took it; lemmings.
Die.
Is this what you wanted?
Author: acidpop25
Rating: R
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #56, "Jump"
Word Count: 244
Summary: "The descent is utter and absolute."
Warnings: Minor character death, suicide.
Notes: Set at Hogwarts during the war. One line shamelessly stolen from "Cloud on my Tongue" by Tori Amos.
Jump.
They run, run, run up the spiral stairs. Running away, up up up the tower, in circles and circles and circles again. The pounding of feet, the clicks of school shoes on stone, clickclickclick so many feet and it sounds like the skitter of beetles, herds of them. Up into the open, the thick night air and the endlessness of stars and the edges of stone; the lines are so, so clearly drawn, but they intersect at uncomfortable angles, here more than anywhere, the harsh cross of duty and desire and dread and death and defiance and desperation, and it's open air but the night closes in, and you can hear the screaming as everything is rent in pieces by the sharp edges of causality.
Fall.
The descent is utter and absolute; indisputable within a cyclone of not-for-sure. Rushing, rushing, the air screams past skin but they never scream and the look in their eyes says "dead." Cowards, is this what they're fighting for killing for dying for down there?! Black robes white flags, and do you feel better now?! You could have you might have you should have, but no instead it's night air and blurring stone and later under stone with all the others because you did not stand up you lay down fell down took it; lemmings.
Die.
Is this what you wanted?