Took My Buffalo To The Store
"I could talk about heroes for days on end," she looked up at the man standing his guard at the front of the door. He was barring the way of people she knew, people who were trying to rescue her and the people sitting next to her. And she was scared, but she had to do something, because a standstill wasn't ever going to get anyone anywhere, and this man would certainly never be the hero he was hoping to be. "Would you like to know what a hero truly is?"
The man seemed to debate whether or not he should just ignore her, or finish whatever he was trying to do and, by some stroke of luck, make his way past the police cars that were surrounding them. She knew they were there, she could very nearly feel their presence. She'd been around them too much in the past, in the present. And she could certainly say that she planned very much on being around them in the future.
"A hero is someone who gets other people killed," she was kind of rambling, running her mouth on instinct alone, and the need to say something, anything to try to distract him, to buy her more time, to buy the people outside more time. Time was her most precious commodity, and, if she could capture it somehow, control it, make it go at her tempo, she'd have the situation completely in hand. She'd be capable. Something she always needed.
"And, maybe you haven't noticed, but most heroes are dead." She gave the man roving glance, trying to size him up, "So, our question would be, who wants you to die, while you're pretending to be a hero?"
Maybe, evidently, this wasn't entirely the correct direction to go. And she mentally thanked the heavens about for an police force who had no time for patience. If he hadn't been distracted by the doorway shuddering, he probably would have done something-something she'd rather not put a name to, rather not think about, because the option, the possibility was still looming, a presence that couldn't go unnoticed.
It was funny, but she hadn't realized how afraid she was that she would never see him again, never get to be in his arms, never get to listen to the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart beneath her ear, until she heard his voice. She wanted them to stay out of it, to talk her way out of this somehow, but hearing his voice made her realized that what she really wanted was him. What she really wanted was to feel his arms around her and have his scent surround her and breath it in and never have to wake without finding him next to her.
Now that she'd heard his voice, she was afraid of her time. Afraid it would be over for one of them before they saw each other again. Hearing a person was not the same as feeling, and her body seemed to shudder as it let itself give into her worry, her fear. Her fear for him and losing him and him losing her.
She didn't notice much, just his face appearing in the doorway, raised voice, arguments in the background. A dead silence following as a stare down. But she did clearly notice the look of longing, of worry, of fear in his eyes. He couldn't hold her like she wanted, like he wanted, not when the situation was like this. She needed it, though, needed to feel his arms holding her to him, needed to feel her body pressed against his and know that they were both alive and well and one with each other.
"I don't know whose hero you're trying to be," she murmured, lowly, trying to keep her tremble, her fear, from her voice, "But it's not worth dying for. And I think you and I both know that."
That I'm posting because I don't want to delete it. Bah. You know how I am, right? That I write something to get one specific word, phrase, line, description on paper, and the rest of the story builds around it (and sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't). I didn't even get the single phrase and image I wanted to convey out of this. That's how...bad I am at time management, I guess.
If you're curious, the image I was looking for was her actually being able to be in his arms, and the words "I've got you." being stated repeatedly. It might be/have been a bit of random Flack nonsense (because I'm good at nonsense). Whatever.
Who wants to fail a Physics test?
Actually, I really don't want to. But it's entirely possible. Ugh. I really despise the fact that they put all the tests in the same week. Physics and Calculus, and homework in my ECE class, which rarely has homework. I guess is normal, though, 'cause no matter where you are, people always throw everything at you at once.
But I have good news. Wednesday's my last lab, and my PSs are over (unless I really need help...).
So. There's that.
Woo.
Okay. I'm gonna read fanfic. Because that's what I do.
Peace
Cam
The man seemed to debate whether or not he should just ignore her, or finish whatever he was trying to do and, by some stroke of luck, make his way past the police cars that were surrounding them. She knew they were there, she could very nearly feel their presence. She'd been around them too much in the past, in the present. And she could certainly say that she planned very much on being around them in the future.
"A hero is someone who gets other people killed," she was kind of rambling, running her mouth on instinct alone, and the need to say something, anything to try to distract him, to buy her more time, to buy the people outside more time. Time was her most precious commodity, and, if she could capture it somehow, control it, make it go at her tempo, she'd have the situation completely in hand. She'd be capable. Something she always needed.
"And, maybe you haven't noticed, but most heroes are dead." She gave the man roving glance, trying to size him up, "So, our question would be, who wants you to die, while you're pretending to be a hero?"
Maybe, evidently, this wasn't entirely the correct direction to go. And she mentally thanked the heavens about for an police force who had no time for patience. If he hadn't been distracted by the doorway shuddering, he probably would have done something-something she'd rather not put a name to, rather not think about, because the option, the possibility was still looming, a presence that couldn't go unnoticed.
It was funny, but she hadn't realized how afraid she was that she would never see him again, never get to be in his arms, never get to listen to the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart beneath her ear, until she heard his voice. She wanted them to stay out of it, to talk her way out of this somehow, but hearing his voice made her realized that what she really wanted was him. What she really wanted was to feel his arms around her and have his scent surround her and breath it in and never have to wake without finding him next to her.
Now that she'd heard his voice, she was afraid of her time. Afraid it would be over for one of them before they saw each other again. Hearing a person was not the same as feeling, and her body seemed to shudder as it let itself give into her worry, her fear. Her fear for him and losing him and him losing her.
She didn't notice much, just his face appearing in the doorway, raised voice, arguments in the background. A dead silence following as a stare down. But she did clearly notice the look of longing, of worry, of fear in his eyes. He couldn't hold her like she wanted, like he wanted, not when the situation was like this. She needed it, though, needed to feel his arms holding her to him, needed to feel her body pressed against his and know that they were both alive and well and one with each other.
"I don't know whose hero you're trying to be," she murmured, lowly, trying to keep her tremble, her fear, from her voice, "But it's not worth dying for. And I think you and I both know that."
That I'm posting because I don't want to delete it. Bah. You know how I am, right? That I write something to get one specific word, phrase, line, description on paper, and the rest of the story builds around it (and sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't). I didn't even get the single phrase and image I wanted to convey out of this. That's how...bad I am at time management, I guess.
If you're curious, the image I was looking for was her actually being able to be in his arms, and the words "I've got you." being stated repeatedly. It might be/have been a bit of random Flack nonsense (because I'm good at nonsense). Whatever.
Who wants to fail a Physics test?
Actually, I really don't want to. But it's entirely possible. Ugh. I really despise the fact that they put all the tests in the same week. Physics and Calculus, and homework in my ECE class, which rarely has homework. I guess is normal, though, 'cause no matter where you are, people always throw everything at you at once.
But I have good news. Wednesday's my last lab, and my PSs are over (unless I really need help...).
So. There's that.
Woo.
Okay. I'm gonna read fanfic. Because that's what I do.
Peace
Cam