acidpop25: "I Remember," PG-13
Title: I Remember
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13, maybe soft R
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #21, "Memory"
Word Count: 471
Summary: "I remember, Padma."
Warnings: Some implications of incest, sort of... they seem to have wormed their way in without my realizing it.
Notes: Luna/Padma, sequel to "I Never Cried For My Sister."
"Do you-"
I remember.
The sun on your face, so alone in the market, in all the bustle and the silk and the brilliance and smell of the curry and the fresh-baked naan. The way your hair shone blacker than raven's wings and the way you couldn't make yourself smile. The way even your voice became foreign in that place. The sound of the sitars, the dust in the road, the earth. Untamed; too real.
"Yes, but-"
I remember.
Don't drink the water, sacred but dirty, the rush over stone, the fire-brilliance in the afternoon when heat made the world shimmer. There's a word for it, mirage, but there the world becomes one, even you, the heat and weight of you and still you looked like you were made of air and paint. Tattooed hands, henna you told me, and there were flowers in your hair and your sari was slipping off your shoulder, soft and pink like Parvati's dress robes, the girl you could not cry for.
"But do you really?"
I remember.
In the mirror and over my shoulder; why did you chose sun-yellow for me? It was cool again, but still I fell prey to the insanity of hopeless dreams and a lost young woman and all I could smell was lotus and sweat, all I could taste was lotus and salt-tang and your cinnamon candies and the sun-silk fell and through everything I still liked you best in the grass by the river and your hair tumbled down, down, down, and I never had a sister but you made me understand, and the lotus blossoms were on the floor.
"I remember, Padma."
Then why can't I?
Impressions of skin, pale skin burnt angry red and pale hair so out of place in crowds of shiny black. Arch of spine and clutch of fingers. The only piece of past I could keep. The river, and the way you said my name.
"That was just the start. That's not how it ends."
Give me a memory.
There was a look in your eyes; you were not who you were but what did it matter? I had run and she was dead and anything, anything to stop the reminders. Only two skips of the stone, one, two, sink. Death. Parvati, makeup and butterflies and the readiest smile. Nothing alike. Lotuses, lotuses, I got my oblivion; I got too much.
"Would you like to know the end?"
Please, Luna, please.
She kisses me, and the English sun is pale.
My place, this used to be my place, yes. The grey skies and pleated skirts and soft, muted colours and cloaks in the wintertime, yes, and here there are no lotuses, only snow. This was my place.
But something longs for brilliant yellow and heat-sickness all the same.
I remember.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13, maybe soft R
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: #21, "Memory"
Word Count: 471
Summary: "I remember, Padma."
Warnings: Some implications of incest, sort of... they seem to have wormed their way in without my realizing it.
Notes: Luna/Padma, sequel to "I Never Cried For My Sister."
"Do you-"
I remember.
The sun on your face, so alone in the market, in all the bustle and the silk and the brilliance and smell of the curry and the fresh-baked naan. The way your hair shone blacker than raven's wings and the way you couldn't make yourself smile. The way even your voice became foreign in that place. The sound of the sitars, the dust in the road, the earth. Untamed; too real.
"Yes, but-"
I remember.
Don't drink the water, sacred but dirty, the rush over stone, the fire-brilliance in the afternoon when heat made the world shimmer. There's a word for it, mirage, but there the world becomes one, even you, the heat and weight of you and still you looked like you were made of air and paint. Tattooed hands, henna you told me, and there were flowers in your hair and your sari was slipping off your shoulder, soft and pink like Parvati's dress robes, the girl you could not cry for.
"But do you really?"
I remember.
In the mirror and over my shoulder; why did you chose sun-yellow for me? It was cool again, but still I fell prey to the insanity of hopeless dreams and a lost young woman and all I could smell was lotus and sweat, all I could taste was lotus and salt-tang and your cinnamon candies and the sun-silk fell and through everything I still liked you best in the grass by the river and your hair tumbled down, down, down, and I never had a sister but you made me understand, and the lotus blossoms were on the floor.
"I remember, Padma."
Then why can't I?
Impressions of skin, pale skin burnt angry red and pale hair so out of place in crowds of shiny black. Arch of spine and clutch of fingers. The only piece of past I could keep. The river, and the way you said my name.
"That was just the start. That's not how it ends."
Give me a memory.
There was a look in your eyes; you were not who you were but what did it matter? I had run and she was dead and anything, anything to stop the reminders. Only two skips of the stone, one, two, sink. Death. Parvati, makeup and butterflies and the readiest smile. Nothing alike. Lotuses, lotuses, I got my oblivion; I got too much.
"Would you like to know the end?"
Please, Luna, please.
She kisses me, and the English sun is pale.
My place, this used to be my place, yes. The grey skies and pleated skirts and soft, muted colours and cloaks in the wintertime, yes, and here there are no lotuses, only snow. This was my place.
But something longs for brilliant yellow and heat-sickness all the same.
I remember.