ORIGINAL FICTION: child of summer, introduction
Piece: Original fiction; child of summer
Rating: PG
Summary: An introduction to our girl.
A/N: I've been playing with a character a bit, half-inspired by the idea of a young Kara Thrace. This is just a bit of an introduction to her, not much of a plot or anything.
Concrit: Please! I would love it.
She’s born in July, a child of summer.
Her grandpa calls her the light of his life.
--
She bites her fingernails until they bleed. It’s a habit left over from an abusive mother. At least it was pain she could control.
Her grandpa calls her a masochist and her grandma scolds him, but she doesn’t know what it means.
--
She likes to climb things. Trees and tables and walls. Her grandfather’s chair, up into his lap.
A little bit higher, every time.
She likes the way the world looks from different angles.
Her grandpa calls her Icarus, but she’s not sure what that means either.
--
Her grandpa first takes her flying when she turns seven. It’s the best birthday present she’s ever gotten.
The sky is so clear it’s almost white, wind warm on her face, skyscrapers of a distant city just visible. All the smells are different this high up. She thinks maybe they’re smells of another place, carried in the air catching in her nostrils. She thinks of Egypt, pyramids she learned about in school that are thousands of years old and thousands of miles away and maybe she’s smelling them.
It smells like brightness.
--
Rating: PG
Summary: An introduction to our girl.
A/N: I've been playing with a character a bit, half-inspired by the idea of a young Kara Thrace. This is just a bit of an introduction to her, not much of a plot or anything.
Concrit: Please! I would love it.
She’s born in July, a child of summer.
Her grandpa calls her the light of his life.
--
She bites her fingernails until they bleed. It’s a habit left over from an abusive mother. At least it was pain she could control.
Her grandpa calls her a masochist and her grandma scolds him, but she doesn’t know what it means.
--
She likes to climb things. Trees and tables and walls. Her grandfather’s chair, up into his lap.
A little bit higher, every time.
She likes the way the world looks from different angles.
Her grandpa calls her Icarus, but she’s not sure what that means either.
--
Her grandpa first takes her flying when she turns seven. It’s the best birthday present she’s ever gotten.
The sky is so clear it’s almost white, wind warm on her face, skyscrapers of a distant city just visible. All the smells are different this high up. She thinks maybe they’re smells of another place, carried in the air catching in her nostrils. She thinks of Egypt, pyramids she learned about in school that are thousands of years old and thousands of miles away and maybe she’s smelling them.
It smells like brightness.
--