SPN Fic: His Own Private Forever (drabble, sam)
Okay, I'm jumping in with both feet, I guess. I still have no idea what the hell a drabble actually is (although I finally found a definition) or how binding, exactly, that 100 word limit is (cause, like, I can't say "Hi!" in less than 100 words), but I figure what the hell. I mean what are y'all going to do to me if I fuck it up? Feed me to the local scarecrow? So here's my first drabble. Supernatural, obviously; written for the Supernatural 100 Challenge #20: Questions and Answers. All of which I probably didn't need to tell you, as it is included in the "whateveryoucallthems" at the beginning of the story.
Anyways ...
Here 'tis.
Title: His Own Private Forever (drabble)
Author: dodger_winslow
Challenge: Supernatural100: #20 - Questions & Answers
Rating: Gen
Summary: Life seems longer when you’re dying.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I’m just stalking ’em for a while.
Author's Note: This is my first whack at this Drabble thing, so don't salt me and burn me if I screwed it up.
His Own Private Forever
Question: How do you live with that kind of guilt? Answer: You don’t. You live around it. You live in spite of it. Or you don’t live at all. You just die in slow increments, one day at a time. He’s been doing that for months now. It seems like he’s been doing it his whole life. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. Most of the time, she’s on fire. Sometimes though, she’s wrapped in a bath towel, or painting her toenails raspberry red. And that’s when he dies the most, every second his own private forever.
-*-
Anyways ...
Here 'tis.
Title: His Own Private Forever (drabble)
Author: dodger_winslow
Challenge: Supernatural100: #20 - Questions & Answers
Rating: Gen
Summary: Life seems longer when you’re dying.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I’m just stalking ’em for a while.
Author's Note: This is my first whack at this Drabble thing, so don't salt me and burn me if I screwed it up.
His Own Private Forever
Question: How do you live with that kind of guilt? Answer: You don’t. You live around it. You live in spite of it. Or you don’t live at all. You just die in slow increments, one day at a time. He’s been doing that for months now. It seems like he’s been doing it his whole life. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her. Most of the time, she’s on fire. Sometimes though, she’s wrapped in a bath towel, or painting her toenails raspberry red. And that’s when he dies the most, every second his own private forever.
-*-