I told Terrie I couldn't think of anything for her latest Banna Weekend Challenge, but then inspiration(?) struck. I enjoy twists on familiar stories/tropes, and I hope you do, as well. This is a Modern Banna AU fic, exactly 500 words just because.
I'd just post it on Tumblr, but I thought I'd post here as sort of an apology to my few but lovely non-Tumblr readers, who probably don't know that I just started (law) school and haven't been able to find the time for an update! Also, sorry for the relatively unedited nature of this. (See: Law school.)
He remembers her smile, her gaze, her hair, and even the unnaturally sharp angle of her elbow, raised and bent just out of sight. She looks confident; easily but not frivolously entertained; beautiful.
He found the photo in the jungle of a botanist's – his – dream, unnervingly out of place.
It is also there in the jungle that he found the snake – just a flash of color – and its venom. Her face is the last thing he studied in detail, peering at this curious discovery among the plants. If he had known then –
But it's no use hypothesizing. Twenty years of a carefully-built career disappears into a black vacuum, along with his sight.
He can hear the people scurrying away from his cane, nervous and pitiful (some jeer instead), and he feels his jaw clench tighter and tighter over time. His once-boyish cheeks sink inwards, and gravity pulls them downwards. And still he refuses all charity, even from his former comrade and only friend (that rich old bastard with a golden heart). But his bank account cannot support his fierce pride any longer. A solution must be found.
Sometimes, he ponders the darkest of solutions.
Mostly, though, he tries to push such thoughts away; in their stead, his thoughts often turn to the woman in the photograph. What was she so amused by? And her gaze – that direct, unflinching gaze – he wonders if he would feel it, if a gaze as powerful as hers were to settle on him directly. Even now, just from his memory, he can feel it boring into his mind.
He finds himself wondering if he has ever encountered her – if, for example, she is a guest seated at the next table over – but of course, he could never recognize her anyway.
With a sigh, he heaves himself out of the seat and heads for the door. Even in the bustling, hectic diner, he can feel the waiters and customers swerving out of his way. That suits him fine. He appreciates the distance between himself and everyone else. For a moment, he even feels powerful, like Moses parting the seas.
But then something – a boot? – collides into his leg, and he crumples to the ground, powerless and broken.
For a moment, he cannot gather the strength to stand, to fight. He can hear the derision and pity from the others. He wants none of this. Again, the dark thoughts return, unbidden but not unwelcome.
Suddenly, small hands, unusually strong, grip his arms. "Are you all right?" Without hesitation, without fear of his unyielding bulk, the two hands pull him back onto his feet.
He can hear the silence around him – feel the stares fixed on him.
Her hands linger on his, comforting and firm. Her resolute strength shames him, and he pushes her away. "Please," he says, more harshly than is necessary, "Don't pity me."
Wordlessly, she returns his cane back to his grasp. Then, with a curt nod, he nods in her direction and walks away.