And The Silence Drips From Your Tongue
I was trying to write the other day in school and couldn't do shit, even though I really wanted to. So, I did a 15 minute ficlet because I have the better part of half of a page just full of words that I like. Yeah, so here's what came out, because even though it's a bit of everything, and jumps around and I think changes perspective, I still like it.
I don't really like changing these after I write them, because I think it takes away from the point of them. So the slightly edited just-so-it-makes-sense version is first, followed by the orignal.
Word: Silence
Word Count: 307 (Same as the original even though I changed a few things completely)
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Harry's POV
Silence pervades the room and you sit, still as stone. Draco moves closer to you in the darkness, words spilling from his lips. You don’t hear them, but you understand what he’s saying, truthful yet false, both at the same time. There’s beauty, as always (everything he does is beautiful) but it’s like poetry--beauty with no logic. He sits next to you and takes your hand, his fingers warm and grasping. He keeps talking but still, all you can hear is silence.
Thoughts prance behind your closed eyelids, thoughts of your parents and of your godfather and of your headmaster, thoughts of stags and rats and werewolves, full moons and new moons and the translucent skies in between. Draco’s hair reflects your thoughts and finally you see logic in his demeanor.
Your mind wanders back to the here-and-now and you see that he’s still looking at you, his eyes traveling over the plains of your skin, searching for something that he’s never found, the answers to his questions and the meaning behind his life. He’s never been expected to be the savior (of his side, evil and bigoted) as you have been, and he failed at the first chance to prove himself.
A weakness you never had, he couldn’t commit murder, too worried about how the words would feel on his tongue. Bitter and spoilt, like something out of his nightmares: haunting and ominous, too real to be imagined. Nothing but silence between him and his magic, he looked into blue eyes and found fault, and salvation, and forgiveness; saw a little of what he wants to become.
He looks to you still, looks into your eyes, forgiving you with the same grace once offered to him. He fingers the scar across his chest, the smear on his forearm, bloody and burned and Darker than ebony.
THE ORIGINAL
Silence pervades the room and you sit, still as stone. Draco moves closer to you in the darkness, words spilling from his lips. You don’t hear them but you understand what he’s saying, truthful and false all at the same time. There’s beauty, oh yes, as always (everything he does is beautiful) but it’s like poetry, beauty with no logic. He sits next to you and takes your hand, his fingers warm and grasping. He’s still talking but still, all you can hear is silence.
Thoughts prance behind your closed eyelids, thoughts of your parents and your godfather and your headmaster, thoughts of stags and rats and werewolves, full moons and new moons and the translucent skies in between. Draco’s hair reflects your thoughts and finally you see logic in his demeanor.
Your mind wanders back to the here-and-now and he’s still looking at you, you see, and his eyes are traveling over the plains of your skin, searching for something he’s never found, the answers to his questions and the meaning behind his life. He’s never expected to be the savior (of his side, evil and bigoted) as you have been, and he failed at the first chance to prove himself. A weakness you never had, he couldn’t commit murder, too worried about how the words would feel on his tongue. Bitter and spoilt, like something out of his nightmares, haunting and ominous, too real to be imagined.
Nothing but silence between him and his magic, he looks into blue eyes and finds fault, and salvation, and forgiveness; sees a little of what he wants to be. He looks to you still, looks into your eyes, forgiving you with the same grace once offered to him. He fingers the scar across his chest, the smear on his forearm, bloody and burned and Darker than ebony.
I don't really like changing these after I write them, because I think it takes away from the point of them. So the slightly edited just-so-it-makes-sense version is first, followed by the orignal.
Word: Silence
Word Count: 307 (Same as the original even though I changed a few things completely)
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Harry's POV
Silence pervades the room and you sit, still as stone. Draco moves closer to you in the darkness, words spilling from his lips. You don’t hear them, but you understand what he’s saying, truthful yet false, both at the same time. There’s beauty, as always (everything he does is beautiful) but it’s like poetry--beauty with no logic. He sits next to you and takes your hand, his fingers warm and grasping. He keeps talking but still, all you can hear is silence.
Thoughts prance behind your closed eyelids, thoughts of your parents and of your godfather and of your headmaster, thoughts of stags and rats and werewolves, full moons and new moons and the translucent skies in between. Draco’s hair reflects your thoughts and finally you see logic in his demeanor.
Your mind wanders back to the here-and-now and you see that he’s still looking at you, his eyes traveling over the plains of your skin, searching for something that he’s never found, the answers to his questions and the meaning behind his life. He’s never been expected to be the savior (of his side, evil and bigoted) as you have been, and he failed at the first chance to prove himself.
A weakness you never had, he couldn’t commit murder, too worried about how the words would feel on his tongue. Bitter and spoilt, like something out of his nightmares: haunting and ominous, too real to be imagined. Nothing but silence between him and his magic, he looked into blue eyes and found fault, and salvation, and forgiveness; saw a little of what he wants to become.
He looks to you still, looks into your eyes, forgiving you with the same grace once offered to him. He fingers the scar across his chest, the smear on his forearm, bloody and burned and Darker than ebony.
THE ORIGINAL
Silence pervades the room and you sit, still as stone. Draco moves closer to you in the darkness, words spilling from his lips. You don’t hear them but you understand what he’s saying, truthful and false all at the same time. There’s beauty, oh yes, as always (everything he does is beautiful) but it’s like poetry, beauty with no logic. He sits next to you and takes your hand, his fingers warm and grasping. He’s still talking but still, all you can hear is silence.
Thoughts prance behind your closed eyelids, thoughts of your parents and your godfather and your headmaster, thoughts of stags and rats and werewolves, full moons and new moons and the translucent skies in between. Draco’s hair reflects your thoughts and finally you see logic in his demeanor.
Your mind wanders back to the here-and-now and he’s still looking at you, you see, and his eyes are traveling over the plains of your skin, searching for something he’s never found, the answers to his questions and the meaning behind his life. He’s never expected to be the savior (of his side, evil and bigoted) as you have been, and he failed at the first chance to prove himself. A weakness you never had, he couldn’t commit murder, too worried about how the words would feel on his tongue. Bitter and spoilt, like something out of his nightmares, haunting and ominous, too real to be imagined.
Nothing but silence between him and his magic, he looks into blue eyes and finds fault, and salvation, and forgiveness; sees a little of what he wants to be. He looks to you still, looks into your eyes, forgiving you with the same grace once offered to him. He fingers the scar across his chest, the smear on his forearm, bloody and burned and Darker than ebony.