воскресенье, 18 апреля 2004
Как я выяснила, если для начала наслушаться Аланис Мориссетт, а потом перейти через Апокалиптику к Бон Джови до комплекта, можно написать вот такой саючий фанфик. Но больше всего здесь всё же Апокалиптики.
A Better Morning
---------
Hakkai wakes up with a start. The first thing he sees is the sky, tinged with violet and pink shades of a dawn. The first thing he comes to feel is a sandy bitter taste in his mouth. The second is a familiar aching all over his body as he tries to move. Ah, yes, that's how it felt to be alive for the past week.
Finally he raises his head. Eyes come to focus loosely on the dashboard, still grey from the lack of light, not that it'll be any other colour when the sun rises, too much dust, no cleaning, strangely no intent of.
He idly muses if he could just stay in this chilly greyish twilight forever, when -
“If you aren't asleep, we'd better get moving.”
Don't think, his mind says as he turns on ignition and reaches out to shift gear. He complies. Still the background whispering persists, like an echo of falling sakura blossoms, a rustle of turning pages.
“Jeepu…” he calls, barely audible.
Don't think, don't think, until that's no more than a mantra, a handful of syllables, scattering brushstrokes over a landscape rolling back.
Bickering breaks in, colour chalks over a dark surface; Hakkai won't turn his head. It fades, counterparts obviously still more sleepy than hungry or anything else.
The day resides in memory by splashes of red, to be drowned in the sunset sky over a town.
A routine is accomplished swiftly and the plum-coloured nightfall finds him over a map. Smoke is thick in the air, but he can barely make out a scent of sandalwood underneath. It’s not only the name that changes. He has never thought he would be able to feel so much. Still - don't think, it'll drink you up, drain you out.
I won't, he assures, but then gives in to random musings, as he sleepily watches the priest, leaning over the windowsill, paces his own thoughts back and forth, cigarette after cigarette. Worn out to the point he can't fall asleep.
It’s not only the name that changes. Hakkai doesn't need light to see the opposite bed, in disarray, the robes, in a neat pile on a chair, Hakuryuu dreaming its mysterious dragon dreams on top of it. He doesn’t need to strain his hearing to know he isn’t the only one alive tonight.
But something overly sensitive may mislead. As Hakkai’s weary gaze sweeps over his own moonlight-stained palm, for a moment he believes he can imagine tresses of hair impossibly, unbelievably bright. The image slips away faster than he could wonder where it came from.
It may deceive. Hakkai can’t switch off the world when the other’s tension is flickering on the edge of perception.
“Sanzo, exhaustion never induces any valuable thoughts.”
No answer, but he knows better than wait for one.
Sacrificing stillness for tranquillity, he takes three steps barefoot across the intricate shadows, manages to catch a movement, to catch a gasp; it sets off gaudy swirls in his head, but the bothering tension seeps away. With that, Hakkai takes three slower steps to return, and his definition of personal space shifts - till morning. Blood, and sweat, and smoke, and sandalwood are the last his senses are able to tell apart from a dream.
~owari~
Я больше не буду лениться, честно-честно. Только отосплюсь и всё.