Gravedigger [Complete]
Characters: Odd Thomas, James Sunderland.
Content: Weary but restless, Odd Thomas decides to spend some quality time beneath Cassiopeia upon the cathedral rooftop after writing.
Location: Rooftop of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
Time of Day: Midnight.
Warnings: Spoilers and Silent Hill. Discussions of Heaven and Hell, and possible use of synonyms for fornication.
Cracking his knuckles over his head and leaning back in the chair, the odd one stretched. He pushed the chair out with his legs as his eyes skimmed the typed words on the carbon paper before him. Rarely did he take the time to read what he’d written so soon after the words came out, and now wasn’t really a good time to begin the habit. Thanks to insomnia, he hadn’t felt like doing much of anything. Actually, when he got right down to it, Odd only had himself to blame for that.
No one seemed to bother him hiding away for a few hours to spend some time alone. Despite his promise to Harry, he figured Sunderland could have an outing without Odd’s company for once. It had been a long time since Odd ever cracked out his muse and started writing away.
Granted, being on the road the previous years there simply hadn’t been time to get much writing done. Between hitchhiking across the country, stopping only by roadside diners and hotels, the most Odd had written were little thoughts scrawled on napkins over meals.
Satisfied for the time being, he pulled out the piece of paper from the old typewriter and set it in the pile with the others. He didn’t think to touch his computer the entire time. It was too distracting, and he needed a few days from the network of other people. Sometimes, he just needed a break.
Rising from his chair, Odd stretched some more, yawning. He glanced at his bed. The prospect of sleep did call to him subsequent to lethargy, but he just wasn’t feeling it; writing always had him wired in the end. Must’ve been all of those thoughts swarming his head that kept his engine going, propelling his drive to staying awake. So while he did turn in some chapters of his manuscript in a secure casing, shoving it beneath his bed with his foot, Odd Thomas did not turn in himself.
He checked his wristwatch. Most in the cathedral slept this time of night; Sunderland was probably stumbling about the city looking for trouble, with any luck.
Despite the outcome, Odd was glad he had his talk with Harry the other week. It didn’t solve much, but it helped knowing where they were all coming from: Hell, basically. Like Orpheus in search of Eurydice and, like Mary, having her spirit snatched away in the maws of a hellish town.
Only Orpheus didn’t kill his wife.
The thought made Odd flinch a little, but he kept on... walking to the stairs, between the rows of pews. He had seen the same scene so many times it could be tattooed behind his eyelids: The pale room, the voice beyond the windowpane, the lamp with no light and the pills and bottles surrounding it, the cold sickbed, and the bag of bones that laid lifeless upon it...
“You’re all just stubborn.” Odd muttered to no one as he rubbed his tired eyes, wishing he could somehow rub that image from his memory as well. Deep, dark circles had since claimed their mark underneath his eyes as a result of his enduring insomnia.
Without realizing it, Odd was already on his way up the tower, creeping out through a window and onto the rooftop. It trickled some, but he didn’t care; he had his hooded sweater and that was enough. The cold was almost disregarded completely. He just needed the air. He needed the peace, and peace was always to be found the higher up he went. There had already been enough of the noise and the fuss that went on down below. The cathedral bustled with noise all the time anymore, and it was rare to ever find quiet. As Sunderland had stated, there was almost always someone awake. Odd himself was proof of that, wandering outside on such an ungodly hour.
Carefully, Odd side-walked out the window and onto the roof, heading over to his usual quiet spot on the ledge. You almost wouldn’t be able to tell that there had once been a giant hole stomped dead center in the cathedral, the way it looked now.
Thoughtless and exhausted, the odd one sat, his feet hanging over the edge of the cathedral, as he craned his head to look up at the clouded sky. Behind those clouds was the constellation, Cassiopeia, which he had seen so many times he could point it out in his sleep. Being here made him feel closer to her, closer to where he felt he ought to be. While he found no guidance in this place, he at least found refuge. And that had been enough.
Each day was a step closer to Service...
Content: Weary but restless, Odd Thomas decides to spend some quality time beneath Cassiopeia upon the cathedral rooftop after writing.
Location: Rooftop of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
Time of Day: Midnight.
Warnings: Spoilers and Silent Hill. Discussions of Heaven and Hell, and possible use of synonyms for fornication.
Cracking his knuckles over his head and leaning back in the chair, the odd one stretched. He pushed the chair out with his legs as his eyes skimmed the typed words on the carbon paper before him. Rarely did he take the time to read what he’d written so soon after the words came out, and now wasn’t really a good time to begin the habit. Thanks to insomnia, he hadn’t felt like doing much of anything. Actually, when he got right down to it, Odd only had himself to blame for that.
No one seemed to bother him hiding away for a few hours to spend some time alone. Despite his promise to Harry, he figured Sunderland could have an outing without Odd’s company for once. It had been a long time since Odd ever cracked out his muse and started writing away.
Granted, being on the road the previous years there simply hadn’t been time to get much writing done. Between hitchhiking across the country, stopping only by roadside diners and hotels, the most Odd had written were little thoughts scrawled on napkins over meals.
Satisfied for the time being, he pulled out the piece of paper from the old typewriter and set it in the pile with the others. He didn’t think to touch his computer the entire time. It was too distracting, and he needed a few days from the network of other people. Sometimes, he just needed a break.
Rising from his chair, Odd stretched some more, yawning. He glanced at his bed. The prospect of sleep did call to him subsequent to lethargy, but he just wasn’t feeling it; writing always had him wired in the end. Must’ve been all of those thoughts swarming his head that kept his engine going, propelling his drive to staying awake. So while he did turn in some chapters of his manuscript in a secure casing, shoving it beneath his bed with his foot, Odd Thomas did not turn in himself.
He checked his wristwatch. Most in the cathedral slept this time of night; Sunderland was probably stumbling about the city looking for trouble, with any luck.
Despite the outcome, Odd was glad he had his talk with Harry the other week. It didn’t solve much, but it helped knowing where they were all coming from: Hell, basically. Like Orpheus in search of Eurydice and, like Mary, having her spirit snatched away in the maws of a hellish town.
Only Orpheus didn’t kill his wife.
The thought made Odd flinch a little, but he kept on... walking to the stairs, between the rows of pews. He had seen the same scene so many times it could be tattooed behind his eyelids: The pale room, the voice beyond the windowpane, the lamp with no light and the pills and bottles surrounding it, the cold sickbed, and the bag of bones that laid lifeless upon it...
“You’re all just stubborn.” Odd muttered to no one as he rubbed his tired eyes, wishing he could somehow rub that image from his memory as well. Deep, dark circles had since claimed their mark underneath his eyes as a result of his enduring insomnia.
Without realizing it, Odd was already on his way up the tower, creeping out through a window and onto the rooftop. It trickled some, but he didn’t care; he had his hooded sweater and that was enough. The cold was almost disregarded completely. He just needed the air. He needed the peace, and peace was always to be found the higher up he went. There had already been enough of the noise and the fuss that went on down below. The cathedral bustled with noise all the time anymore, and it was rare to ever find quiet. As Sunderland had stated, there was almost always someone awake. Odd himself was proof of that, wandering outside on such an ungodly hour.
Carefully, Odd side-walked out the window and onto the roof, heading over to his usual quiet spot on the ledge. You almost wouldn’t be able to tell that there had once been a giant hole stomped dead center in the cathedral, the way it looked now.
Thoughtless and exhausted, the odd one sat, his feet hanging over the edge of the cathedral, as he craned his head to look up at the clouded sky. Behind those clouds was the constellation, Cassiopeia, which he had seen so many times he could point it out in his sleep. Being here made him feel closer to her, closer to where he felt he ought to be. While he found no guidance in this place, he at least found refuge. And that had been enough.
Each day was a step closer to Service...