fic: Abraham up the hill (1/1, JoA/The Ring)
For Northlight's Five Women God Never Spoke To challenge. I'm not entirely sure this came out the way she intended, but I like it anyway.
Abraham up the hill
By Gale
SUMMARY: He came to her once more, right before the end. Joan of Arcadia/The Ring, for Northlight’s Five Women challenge. Let’s just all be glad I didn’t do Go Go.
He came to her once more, right before the end.
“Hello,” he called, though he was a girl this time, eight or nine, wearing a school uniform. Sadako didn’t recognize the colors, but then, she wasn’t really paying attention. It was getting so dark, and she was so tired. Too tired, even, to ask how a child had pushed away the lid to the well; though of course she was not a child.
”Go away,” Sadako yelled. It was hoarse, rusty, but she managed. “Go away, or help me out of here.”
”That would take a miracle,” the girl-who-was-not-a-girl said, sounding regretful. “I don’t perform miracles, Sadako-chan.”
Calling her “-chan”, as if she were a child. Sadako felt herself getting angrier. “You have,” she said, lowering her voice. He could understand her just fine, and she didn’t see the point in wasting the energy if he wasn’t going to help her. “Burning shrubbery in the desert. I’ve read the books you told me to, I know the stories. You can do anything you want.”
”That’s not how this works. You knew-“
”I didn’t know anything,” Sadako said, slumping back against the wall of the well. It was damp and slimy, but that was nothing new; it had been like that the entire time she’d been here. “You came to me and said you’d ask me to do things from time to time. You made me believe you were Amateratsu-sama-“
”I never said that,” he said, his voice mild, but Sadako kept talking over him.
“You never said you *weren’t*, either. And since you appeared to me as a shaft of light, I saw no reason not to believe you.” She took a deep breath. At least she still had plenty of air. “You said you would ask me to do things from time to time, and I did. I didn’t tell anyone what I could do. I joined the theater troupe. I flirted with Toyama-san, though he was seeing someone else.”
She could feel it building up in her - the anger, the confusion, the *rage*. It felt good. She glared up at the girl, who was now flat on her stomach, staring down into the well, head resting on her arms.
But then she remembered that even though it was just a disguise, the way she’d worn a mask in the troupe, she was still looking at a child, and the anger faded away, leaving only further exhaustion.
“Sadako,” he said, dropping the honorific. Sadako was too exhausted to care. “I said that sometimes I would ask you to do things without knowing why, without explanation.”
”And I never failed you,” Sadako pointed out.
”No, you did not, and for that I thank you.” The girl looked at her for a long moment, then scrambled to her feet.
Sadako looked up, squinting her eyes against the light.
“You will understand, one day,” the girl said, and walked out of view.
A moment later, the lid to the well began to slide back into place.
“NO!” Sadako shouted, turning to climb up the well, thinking only that she had to stop him, had to make him listen. “Iiiee, no, you cannot do this, You cannot be so merciless-“
But there was no answer, and her nails had been ripped out days before in earlier attempts at escape, and the walls were wet with slime and gave her no purchase; so all Sadako could do was watch, helpless, as the lid slid back into place with an oddly hollow thunk.
For a long time, all Sadako could do was cry. There would be no escape. She would die down here, alone and unmourned, and Ikuma-san would get away with it, and no one would *care*…
And then, after a while, Sadako stopped crying - mostly because she couldn’t produce enough moisture for tears, but also because she had started thinking. *Really* thinking, the kind she hadn’t done in far too long.
He had told her, the night before, to go out and enjoy the world; and when Ikuma-san had asked if she wanted to go for a walk, it seemed as obvious a sign as any she’d been given over the years. If she had stayed behind, she could have had a vision of what Ikuma-san had been planning, could have stopped this somehow. Maybe. She might have had a chance.
Clearly, this was all *his* fault.
The anger came again, and for the first time in her memory, Sadako embraced it.
No one was coming, that much was clear. She had been in the well for six days, and though she had been limiting what she did and drinking as much water as she could, she knew in her bones that she would not last a seventh. She was already so weak, but a seventh day of treading water and making a final attempt to climb out - No. A wise woman would relax and close her eyes, would just let go.
She was dead, or as good as dead. She was dead because she had listened to a man who tricked her into believing he was Amateratsu-sama. She was dead because Ikuma-san hated and feared her, what she could do. She was dead because the world did not care about Yamamura Sadako.
That would change soon, she thought; looking up at the top of the well, and the light beyond it.
Abraham up the hill
By Gale
SUMMARY: He came to her once more, right before the end. Joan of Arcadia/The Ring, for Northlight’s Five Women challenge. Let’s just all be glad I didn’t do Go Go.
He came to her once more, right before the end.
“Hello,” he called, though he was a girl this time, eight or nine, wearing a school uniform. Sadako didn’t recognize the colors, but then, she wasn’t really paying attention. It was getting so dark, and she was so tired. Too tired, even, to ask how a child had pushed away the lid to the well; though of course she was not a child.
”Go away,” Sadako yelled. It was hoarse, rusty, but she managed. “Go away, or help me out of here.”
”That would take a miracle,” the girl-who-was-not-a-girl said, sounding regretful. “I don’t perform miracles, Sadako-chan.”
Calling her “-chan”, as if she were a child. Sadako felt herself getting angrier. “You have,” she said, lowering her voice. He could understand her just fine, and she didn’t see the point in wasting the energy if he wasn’t going to help her. “Burning shrubbery in the desert. I’ve read the books you told me to, I know the stories. You can do anything you want.”
”That’s not how this works. You knew-“
”I didn’t know anything,” Sadako said, slumping back against the wall of the well. It was damp and slimy, but that was nothing new; it had been like that the entire time she’d been here. “You came to me and said you’d ask me to do things from time to time. You made me believe you were Amateratsu-sama-“
”I never said that,” he said, his voice mild, but Sadako kept talking over him.
“You never said you *weren’t*, either. And since you appeared to me as a shaft of light, I saw no reason not to believe you.” She took a deep breath. At least she still had plenty of air. “You said you would ask me to do things from time to time, and I did. I didn’t tell anyone what I could do. I joined the theater troupe. I flirted with Toyama-san, though he was seeing someone else.”
She could feel it building up in her - the anger, the confusion, the *rage*. It felt good. She glared up at the girl, who was now flat on her stomach, staring down into the well, head resting on her arms.
But then she remembered that even though it was just a disguise, the way she’d worn a mask in the troupe, she was still looking at a child, and the anger faded away, leaving only further exhaustion.
“Sadako,” he said, dropping the honorific. Sadako was too exhausted to care. “I said that sometimes I would ask you to do things without knowing why, without explanation.”
”And I never failed you,” Sadako pointed out.
”No, you did not, and for that I thank you.” The girl looked at her for a long moment, then scrambled to her feet.
Sadako looked up, squinting her eyes against the light.
“You will understand, one day,” the girl said, and walked out of view.
A moment later, the lid to the well began to slide back into place.
“NO!” Sadako shouted, turning to climb up the well, thinking only that she had to stop him, had to make him listen. “Iiiee, no, you cannot do this, You cannot be so merciless-“
But there was no answer, and her nails had been ripped out days before in earlier attempts at escape, and the walls were wet with slime and gave her no purchase; so all Sadako could do was watch, helpless, as the lid slid back into place with an oddly hollow thunk.
For a long time, all Sadako could do was cry. There would be no escape. She would die down here, alone and unmourned, and Ikuma-san would get away with it, and no one would *care*…
And then, after a while, Sadako stopped crying - mostly because she couldn’t produce enough moisture for tears, but also because she had started thinking. *Really* thinking, the kind she hadn’t done in far too long.
He had told her, the night before, to go out and enjoy the world; and when Ikuma-san had asked if she wanted to go for a walk, it seemed as obvious a sign as any she’d been given over the years. If she had stayed behind, she could have had a vision of what Ikuma-san had been planning, could have stopped this somehow. Maybe. She might have had a chance.
Clearly, this was all *his* fault.
The anger came again, and for the first time in her memory, Sadako embraced it.
No one was coming, that much was clear. She had been in the well for six days, and though she had been limiting what she did and drinking as much water as she could, she knew in her bones that she would not last a seventh. She was already so weak, but a seventh day of treading water and making a final attempt to climb out - No. A wise woman would relax and close her eyes, would just let go.
She was dead, or as good as dead. She was dead because she had listened to a man who tricked her into believing he was Amateratsu-sama. She was dead because Ikuma-san hated and feared her, what she could do. She was dead because the world did not care about Yamamura Sadako.
That would change soon, she thought; looking up at the top of the well, and the light beyond it.