branching
Title: branching
Fandom: Doctor Who (?)
Characters: Eleven, Amy
Word Count: 171
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own no Who, as usual.
Summary: She’s as mad and impossible as he is.
A/N: So this is just a little piece I wrote. It's tiny and sort of fanfic, but almost obliquely so, and I don't really know what to do with it. I almost wonder if I should take out the reference and just let it be a prose poem or something, but I'm afraid it might lose something without that implied story behind it. Thoughts?
Also, no idea how to fix the font wonkiness.....le sigh.
branching
Since the night she met him he’s been tender and raw. He’s not so much young as stripped bare, as a tree’s bark is always green where it’s soft at the core.
He doesn’t know what to make of it, her intuition. She’s as mad and impossible as he is, and just as full of bluster. He can’t lie to her-he tries, but what is in his heart is in hers also and he cannot keep it secret.
She’s grass and everything that grows and changes. He’s a river, cold and erosive, always running and yet always where he started. It frightens him that something as fragile as her roots are holding the earth together around him.
She’s not been watching him for very long, but every stream has a shallow point if you know where to look. Amelia Pond knows where to look. She catches him where he’s close to the surface, plunges her fist in the icy flood and pulls him back to where it’s safe to breathe.
Fandom: Doctor Who (?)
Characters: Eleven, Amy
Word Count: 171
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own no Who, as usual.
Summary: She’s as mad and impossible as he is.
A/N: So this is just a little piece I wrote. It's tiny and sort of fanfic, but almost obliquely so, and I don't really know what to do with it. I almost wonder if I should take out the reference and just let it be a prose poem or something, but I'm afraid it might lose something without that implied story behind it. Thoughts?
Also, no idea how to fix the font wonkiness.....le sigh.
branching
Since the night she met him he’s been tender and raw. He’s not so much young as stripped bare, as a tree’s bark is always green where it’s soft at the core.
He doesn’t know what to make of it, her intuition. She’s as mad and impossible as he is, and just as full of bluster. He can’t lie to her-he tries, but what is in his heart is in hers also and he cannot keep it secret.
She’s grass and everything that grows and changes. He’s a river, cold and erosive, always running and yet always where he started. It frightens him that something as fragile as her roots are holding the earth together around him.
She’s not been watching him for very long, but every stream has a shallow point if you know where to look. Amelia Pond knows where to look. She catches him where he’s close to the surface, plunges her fist in the icy flood and pulls him back to where it’s safe to breathe.