Brief one-shot of vincent on his deathbed after amy and the doctor.
"Vincent and the Doctor" - possibly one of the best episodes of doctor who ever. Simply amazing.
while writing this, chances by athlete was looping, for obvious reasons.
enjoy :)
The sunflowers were beautiful this time of year. For once, they hadn't started wilting yet - they were a bright, vivid yellow, an almost orange.
Don't be afraid - that's what the madman with the blue box taught him - and it seems almost fitting that, now, the deep blue was engulfing him, the yellow and orange stars shadowing him, welcoming him into their embrace.
He missed them terribly - he missed her terribly; the touch of her tender hands, her fiery hair. He missed him, the bizarre man with the blue box.
He still remembered first seeing her under the sunlight, pristine, fierce, gentle, walking around the yard, looking at his unworthy, ugly pieces of work. Somehow, though, they became more beautiful when she would reach out and touch them, as if she'd awakened the paints and feelings, and presented them for the world.
She had lovely eyes - soft, kind but strong, like the roar of the ocean against the coming of the tides. Brief but vast, loud but ever so subtle - she was perfect. She was a sunflower.
He had tried to paint her after they left, but he couldn't seem to capture her. Any attempt to replicate her flawlessness was futile - it was just an insult to her very existence.
It's hard to believe that they had actually existed. Their presence was so fleeting, so astonishing - Vincent could have been dreaming, could have been having a fit.
But it couldn't have been a dream; he remembered the feeling of her tears on his skin as she sat, crying on the windowsill.
"Why are you crying?" he'd asked, and she raised her hand to meet his face. Then she looked away, into the darkness of the night. He remembered sitting with her, brushing away iridescent tears, his touch lingering until she could feel him cupping her cheek.
"Why are you crying?", he asked again. He retracted his hand and sat there, gazing at this beautiful, vulnerable, strong creature - this perfect woman. Yet again, she didn't respond, burying her head in her arms.
Vincent had taken her hand and held it in his, admiring its pale delicacy.
"Amy, you have the most beautiful hands. You also have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. Would you mind raising your head so I can see them?"
She'd done so, and he was enthralled. Even if they were red from crying, they were ethereal.
"Amy, your eyes, they glow with utmost depth, did you know that? To me, eyes are the window to souls, and your eyes, they cast stardust like a diamond casts fire, smoldering like the embers of a fire burning out on a dark night such as this. I should love to paint them, they are like the steadfast sunflowers, regenerating from birth to death and back again, but I feel as though any attempt to duplicate them for be an insult to you."
She'd laughed, but tears kept falling.
"You, Vincent, are one of the most beautiful men I've ever met."
Resting her head on his shoulder, she fell asleep listening to him wax lyrical about the wonders of the sky and the beauty of the world; listening to him as he mourned his past loves and declared his pains.
For the first time in his life, he felt content.
As the locks of vermillion cascaded down his shoulder, he had began weeping too.
Because at this evanescent second, this one fleeting moment, the future seemed brighter.
Brighter than sunflowers.