(no subject)
Title: through a pinhole in the night.
Summary: See him in the mess.
Author's Notes: Gen Mal via River's POV. Title from "Go Fly Blind" by Matthew Good.
through a pinhole in the night.
See him in the mess. See him sitting at the table with a cup of tea, leaning over it, hands around it as if it is his own beating heart. See him--thinking. Your captain. See him--thinking of the past. See inside of him, see him from inside. Your protector, your rescuer, your hero, see him.
See him from inside the flour bin. The bin is empty, long empty, dark, closed tight, you are crouched inside of it, see him outside, at the table. This has never happened. Not with him. You are inside of him. Crouched inside of him, see him like through a hole in the metal plating of the bin. See him like through a hole in his own skin--see him.
See him in the mess, standing. Empty-handed, empty-bodied, empty-souled, empty-minded, empty-mouthed. See him see the bodies all around, the bodies spread all down the valley like topsoil, empty-eyed. See him stand weaponless as they come upon him on the mountainside, their weapons drawn. You see him from inside, he sees himself fall to his knees, hands raised. Empty-voiced.
See him. Submit to the chains--around his ankles, his wrists. Feel that weight, inevitable, unbearable. See him bear it. See him, one in a line. See him stand in the sun for hours, burned and spoiled in the sun, see him--one in a line of many.
See him march. See him proud in his brown coat, see his insignia on his shoulder, see him place his feet in time to the drum and the flute, see his rifle on his shoulder. See him walk behind another, head down, in front of another, cold and fevered and aching, one in a line of many.
See them--his compatriots, his fellows, his brothers and sisters in arms. See them in a crowd, in the belly of a ship. See them in the red-black light, sweaty and dirty, see them like a herd of cattle. They do not know what they are.
Hear them, hear the past of them speaking in hushed tones.
Hear--"will they kill us" "execute" "transport ship"
"or murder."
Hear--
"slavery" "indentured servant"
"treason"
"heretics" "blasphemers."
Inside, hear him silent in their fear, hear their fear, inside of him. Silenced.
Hear the yards of chain rattle and shift as the ship's engines fire, hear the roar. Feel the comfort he takes in that sound. This is the first time. See him, lean his head against the bulkhead and close his eyes. Become the vibration of escaping atmosphere.
See him silent, empty.
Hear--"prisoners of war" "camp" "mines" above the engines.
Inside, hear him scream for quiet, but only inside.
Hear the quiet of the flour bin, hear him put his tea cup on the table top with a purposeful sound. Silence in the bin, silence in the mess, after a while there is silence on the ship too.
See him give the appearance of sleep in the red light. A time passes, and he sleeps, with the distant growl of the engines and the deep thrum of them, and the frantic chatter of his fellow prisoners.
He dreams, of small points of white in blackness. He dreams of moonlight on open dead eyes on the valley floor. He dreams of Zoe convincing him to move to the lowlands, of digging a foxhole and of disguising it with bodies. Sleeping with a their coats and a body drawn over them. He dreams of waking to see points of white sky through a mass of black ships. He dreams that he slept through the last two weeks of Serenity, and that is when he knows he dreams, and he wakes.
Inside, see him. See him watching the others sleep, see him value each of them at half of Zoe and wonder why they're here and she is--elsewhere. Separated. Gone. Dead, for all the use she is now, for all the help.
There are no portholes on the transport, but he can see what is outside. It is inside too. His mouth is terribly dry. See him imagine himself asking them for water. See him know he will.
See him know he will beg. See him observing the empty places inside himself.
See him try to fill these places with purpose. Busywork. See--Zoe, on another line, stretchers chained together. See him see her open her eyes.
Hear him reach out, hear him grasp. Hear the wheels turn and metal slide.
See--light.
Your captain.
"And just what are you doin' in the flour bin?"
Feel the muscles in your neck as you tilt your head to get a straightways view of him. His tired profile in red-black light.
"Objective observation."
See--space, outside. See the silence of it, the void of it, empty.
See fascination become interest, become desire, become need. See kinship, for the first time.
"You want out of there?"
Hear the darkness calling back.
"No. Thank you."
See understanding, see--aloneness.
"All right. I want you out and about by supper. Got that?"
"Loud, somewhat clear."
See a small smile. See it inside yourself as well, because--he knows he does not comprehend. "Good."
Hear the final movement of it, the shove back, the slide and lock, like a morgue drawer, and darkness again.
Hear his footsteps leading away and toward. Hear--the squeal of landing gear, the heavy thud of rawhide, the snap of bone. Inside, outside.
See--inside, outside. See--the black.
End.
Summary: See him in the mess.
Author's Notes: Gen Mal via River's POV. Title from "Go Fly Blind" by Matthew Good.
through a pinhole in the night.
See him in the mess. See him sitting at the table with a cup of tea, leaning over it, hands around it as if it is his own beating heart. See him--thinking. Your captain. See him--thinking of the past. See inside of him, see him from inside. Your protector, your rescuer, your hero, see him.
See him from inside the flour bin. The bin is empty, long empty, dark, closed tight, you are crouched inside of it, see him outside, at the table. This has never happened. Not with him. You are inside of him. Crouched inside of him, see him like through a hole in the metal plating of the bin. See him like through a hole in his own skin--see him.
See him in the mess, standing. Empty-handed, empty-bodied, empty-souled, empty-minded, empty-mouthed. See him see the bodies all around, the bodies spread all down the valley like topsoil, empty-eyed. See him stand weaponless as they come upon him on the mountainside, their weapons drawn. You see him from inside, he sees himself fall to his knees, hands raised. Empty-voiced.
See him. Submit to the chains--around his ankles, his wrists. Feel that weight, inevitable, unbearable. See him bear it. See him, one in a line. See him stand in the sun for hours, burned and spoiled in the sun, see him--one in a line of many.
See him march. See him proud in his brown coat, see his insignia on his shoulder, see him place his feet in time to the drum and the flute, see his rifle on his shoulder. See him walk behind another, head down, in front of another, cold and fevered and aching, one in a line of many.
See them--his compatriots, his fellows, his brothers and sisters in arms. See them in a crowd, in the belly of a ship. See them in the red-black light, sweaty and dirty, see them like a herd of cattle. They do not know what they are.
Hear them, hear the past of them speaking in hushed tones.
Hear--"will they kill us" "execute" "transport ship"
"or murder."
Hear--
"slavery" "indentured servant"
"treason"
"heretics" "blasphemers."
Inside, hear him silent in their fear, hear their fear, inside of him. Silenced.
Hear the yards of chain rattle and shift as the ship's engines fire, hear the roar. Feel the comfort he takes in that sound. This is the first time. See him, lean his head against the bulkhead and close his eyes. Become the vibration of escaping atmosphere.
See him silent, empty.
Hear--"prisoners of war" "camp" "mines" above the engines.
Inside, hear him scream for quiet, but only inside.
Hear the quiet of the flour bin, hear him put his tea cup on the table top with a purposeful sound. Silence in the bin, silence in the mess, after a while there is silence on the ship too.
See him give the appearance of sleep in the red light. A time passes, and he sleeps, with the distant growl of the engines and the deep thrum of them, and the frantic chatter of his fellow prisoners.
He dreams, of small points of white in blackness. He dreams of moonlight on open dead eyes on the valley floor. He dreams of Zoe convincing him to move to the lowlands, of digging a foxhole and of disguising it with bodies. Sleeping with a their coats and a body drawn over them. He dreams of waking to see points of white sky through a mass of black ships. He dreams that he slept through the last two weeks of Serenity, and that is when he knows he dreams, and he wakes.
Inside, see him. See him watching the others sleep, see him value each of them at half of Zoe and wonder why they're here and she is--elsewhere. Separated. Gone. Dead, for all the use she is now, for all the help.
There are no portholes on the transport, but he can see what is outside. It is inside too. His mouth is terribly dry. See him imagine himself asking them for water. See him know he will.
See him know he will beg. See him observing the empty places inside himself.
See him try to fill these places with purpose. Busywork. See--Zoe, on another line, stretchers chained together. See him see her open her eyes.
Hear him reach out, hear him grasp. Hear the wheels turn and metal slide.
See--light.
Your captain.
"And just what are you doin' in the flour bin?"
Feel the muscles in your neck as you tilt your head to get a straightways view of him. His tired profile in red-black light.
"Objective observation."
See--space, outside. See the silence of it, the void of it, empty.
See fascination become interest, become desire, become need. See kinship, for the first time.
"You want out of there?"
Hear the darkness calling back.
"No. Thank you."
See understanding, see--aloneness.
"All right. I want you out and about by supper. Got that?"
"Loud, somewhat clear."
See a small smile. See it inside yourself as well, because--he knows he does not comprehend. "Good."
Hear the final movement of it, the shove back, the slide and lock, like a morgue drawer, and darkness again.
Hear his footsteps leading away and toward. Hear--the squeal of landing gear, the heavy thud of rawhide, the snap of bone. Inside, outside.
See--inside, outside. See--the black.
End.