(no subject)
Apr. 15th, 2003 08:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI've just had my best friend visit for the afternoon. Well it was supposed to be for a few hours but we got talking and next thing we knew it was early night lol. It didn't help we'd logged on to Friends Reunited and looked up our old school. God, I feel old, it was over 10 years ago that we left school.
Managed to post my dues at SA before she arrived. I really want to crack on with my new TS fic so posted something that I experimented with a while ago, messing with style. It seems to have gone well. It's here It's 12.30 am and you stand on the balcony, just staring into the
darkness. Your feet are cold, you're wearing no shoes -- just socks --
and the wind caresses your skin with icy fingers. The temperature
has dropped sharply since you came outside, and you know that you
should go inside. It's warm in there, the fire's blazing and the TV
plays softly to itself. But you won't; not yet.
The fire's on to keep the loft warm, not for you -- for Blair. And
the TV is permanently on a news channel. In the last three hours
you've heard how the Queen of Britain is to visit, and property
prices have risen again. That a fire took the lives of a whole family
and Wonderburger is being sued for too hot coffee. That a pig escaped
from a slaughterhouse and that Blair Sandburg is still missing
presumed dead after his car was found abandoned in a ditch four weeks
ago. That report lasted less than a minute. Yesterdays news now.
When you hear that your heart seems to stop a moment, and you clench
the railings hard, causing pain to flair in your arms. They still
hurt after spending over two weeks searching the woods near the car.
Digging in the dirt, tearing apart undergrowth, climbing trees to see
further. You absently scratch at the bandage that encircles your arm,
covering the place where you'd been scratched by some thorns. A thorn
that made your skin itch and break into hives within seconds. But you
hadn't stopped, just pushed the pain aside and kept on looking. Blair
was out there, and you would find him.
You don't know if you'll ever forgive Simon, who found you half dead
with exhaustion , and made you come home. Despite
your anger and later your pleas he pulled you to his car, and you had
to follow, too tired to resist. Made you shower and eat and put salve
on your burning skin. Then sleep for the first time since Blair went
missing, since he went to pick up some takeaway and never came back,
leaving you first annoyed, then worried, then out of your mind until
his car was found two days later with congealed pizzas on the
backseat.
Then you'd gone crazy, searching the woods, needing to find Blair,
ignoring those who tried to talk, intent on one thing only -- Blair.
But he wasn't there. And you'd listened and looked and smelled and
once had even sat on the ground and tried to use the spiritual
connection that Blair was sure you had. Then had surged to your knees
and beat the ground with dirty hands as you felt nothing but the
crazy beat of your own heart.
Now you searched by day, were made to rest at night, someone making
you go home as soon as the clock struck nine. Your babysitter would
watch you eat something, then leave, knowing you'd be waiting at six
in the morning. Your eyes feel gritty, your skin tight and hot. But
you kept the loft warm -- for when Blair came home. And you spend the
night on the balcony, senses thrown out for miles in the night. You
hear
babies cry and dogs howl. The rustle of sheets as people whisper
sweet nothings in their bed, a thousand arguments and a million
words. You see lights flash on and off across the city like some kind
of code and the boats bobbing in the sea.
It's life in all its sordid and splendid glory, and you embrace it
all, your senses moving through it on the quest for what is
familiar. Blair's voice -- Blair's smell -- Blair's face. But night
after night you fail, and you lose a little of your soul as the sun
rises each morning, each bright new day signifying nothing but
failure.
So you stand at the railings, with the TV on and the fire blazing,
and you wear no shoes because you forgot to put them on as you hurry
to take your spot. And you're cold and heartsick but you hold one of
Blair's hair ties in a death grip, twanging the band against your
skin when you feel tired. As a guide it's pathetic, but it's all
you've got, so it'll have to do. Because you're not going to move.
Not until you see the next days babysitter drive towards the loft and
you'll choke down some toast and coffee and change clothes before
leaving to start another day.
You'll be here every night until Blair's found, so you twang your
band and look to the north. It's going to be another long night.
if anyone wants to see. I'm still not sure on the style. But I needed dues soon and that was the best that I had.
Now I have to catch up on what I missed by chatting all afternoon.
Managed to post my dues at SA before she arrived. I really want to crack on with my new TS fic so posted something that I experimented with a while ago, messing with style. It seems to have gone well. It's here It's 12.30 am and you stand on the balcony, just staring into the
darkness. Your feet are cold, you're wearing no shoes -- just socks --
and the wind caresses your skin with icy fingers. The temperature
has dropped sharply since you came outside, and you know that you
should go inside. It's warm in there, the fire's blazing and the TV
plays softly to itself. But you won't; not yet.
The fire's on to keep the loft warm, not for you -- for Blair. And
the TV is permanently on a news channel. In the last three hours
you've heard how the Queen of Britain is to visit, and property
prices have risen again. That a fire took the lives of a whole family
and Wonderburger is being sued for too hot coffee. That a pig escaped
from a slaughterhouse and that Blair Sandburg is still missing
presumed dead after his car was found abandoned in a ditch four weeks
ago. That report lasted less than a minute. Yesterdays news now.
When you hear that your heart seems to stop a moment, and you clench
the railings hard, causing pain to flair in your arms. They still
hurt after spending over two weeks searching the woods near the car.
Digging in the dirt, tearing apart undergrowth, climbing trees to see
further. You absently scratch at the bandage that encircles your arm,
covering the place where you'd been scratched by some thorns. A thorn
that made your skin itch and break into hives within seconds. But you
hadn't stopped, just pushed the pain aside and kept on looking. Blair
was out there, and you would find him.
You don't know if you'll ever forgive Simon, who found you half dead
with exhaustion , and made you come home. Despite
your anger and later your pleas he pulled you to his car, and you had
to follow, too tired to resist. Made you shower and eat and put salve
on your burning skin. Then sleep for the first time since Blair went
missing, since he went to pick up some takeaway and never came back,
leaving you first annoyed, then worried, then out of your mind until
his car was found two days later with congealed pizzas on the
backseat.
Then you'd gone crazy, searching the woods, needing to find Blair,
ignoring those who tried to talk, intent on one thing only -- Blair.
But he wasn't there. And you'd listened and looked and smelled and
once had even sat on the ground and tried to use the spiritual
connection that Blair was sure you had. Then had surged to your knees
and beat the ground with dirty hands as you felt nothing but the
crazy beat of your own heart.
Now you searched by day, were made to rest at night, someone making
you go home as soon as the clock struck nine. Your babysitter would
watch you eat something, then leave, knowing you'd be waiting at six
in the morning. Your eyes feel gritty, your skin tight and hot. But
you kept the loft warm -- for when Blair came home. And you spend the
night on the balcony, senses thrown out for miles in the night. You
hear
babies cry and dogs howl. The rustle of sheets as people whisper
sweet nothings in their bed, a thousand arguments and a million
words. You see lights flash on and off across the city like some kind
of code and the boats bobbing in the sea.
It's life in all its sordid and splendid glory, and you embrace it
all, your senses moving through it on the quest for what is
familiar. Blair's voice -- Blair's smell -- Blair's face. But night
after night you fail, and you lose a little of your soul as the sun
rises each morning, each bright new day signifying nothing but
failure.
So you stand at the railings, with the TV on and the fire blazing,
and you wear no shoes because you forgot to put them on as you hurry
to take your spot. And you're cold and heartsick but you hold one of
Blair's hair ties in a death grip, twanging the band against your
skin when you feel tired. As a guide it's pathetic, but it's all
you've got, so it'll have to do. Because you're not going to move.
Not until you see the next days babysitter drive towards the loft and
you'll choke down some toast and coffee and change clothes before
leaving to start another day.
You'll be here every night until Blair's found, so you twang your
band and look to the north. It's going to be another long night.
if anyone wants to see. I'm still not sure on the style. But I needed dues soon and that was the best that I had.
Now I have to catch up on what I missed by chatting all afternoon.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Eeeeeek!
Date: 2003-04-15 06:48 pm (UTC)Re: Eeeeeek!
Date: 2003-04-16 02:28 am (UTC)Will there be more? I guess there will be, every LoC I got has asked for a sequel. Which is flattering I suppose.
I really didn't think that the style would go across well, so I'm really glad that you liked it, and you took the time to tell me.
****hugs Panda*****
no subject
Date: 2003-04-15 10:03 pm (UTC)this is GOOD! The style works for me and I normally don't enjoy stuff without dialog.
But... I sure hope you tell us where Blair is. Because I don't think I'm going to get much sleep tonight (g)
no subject
Date: 2003-04-16 02:33 am (UTC)I'm incredibly shocked that the snippet was liked. I often experiment with styles and this was something that had been left on my hard drive a while. I often get close to my dues at SA, panic and post anything at hand, which isn't good but I knew I didn't have time to do anything longer.
I hope you did sleep last night, I'm not sure I could take knowing I kept you awake *g*
As for where Blair is? I suspect he'll be found soon ;)