Obligatory notes: This is not really a story, just something I wrote as I was falling asleep after watching the pilot last night. It's not even meant to be coherent - more stream-of-consciousness with images and thoughts that came into my mind about River and Mal. 'Tis written from Mal's point of view. Anyhow, this is my maiden and perhaps only voyage on ff.net… feedback is certainly welcome, here be no spoilers or anything requiring a rating past G, and "Firefly" belongs to the inimitable Joss Whedon and the strangely deluded Fox, and a whole horde of other people who are not me. – cordelia
Serenity
This is the story of a child who wandered in from the darkness, clutching a bear to her chest. She's thinking about greenery and orphanages, wondering where the next hurt will be. She hears violins in her head and writes things down when she can. These are her stories, although right now they are only a few letters long. She has snow in her hair – small flakes. They are delicate, more delicate than babies… she can't think of anything more delicate, except perhaps hearts. She can see people's hearts that are behind old craggy faces or the people who never stop smiling. Observation? Is a gift, the gift of the alien, the outsider, the lonely child, and all children are lonely at some point. And so all of us learn to observe, know what the lines in a man's face really mean, hear the heart of a flower, although most of us forget how to listen to life as time goes by. I'm wanted here – the warm voices of the world are calling to me, asking about the next job to be done, where to find the wrench or the courage, but I'm still here most of the time, watching. And I am watching with her, with you, although neither of you know it.
I can't sleep in the night for fear of explosions, and neither can she. Her brain is finely tuned, so finely finely tuned that nothing escapes her – or she cannot escape it. Me, my soul is like an old untuned piano, my brain is sloppy, my heart light-years away. The part that I bring with me – the traveling part – is simply that. The one who walks – or flies – through time and space with little thought for thoughts, or regret, past or future, even though that is where all the rest of me resides. Give me a home on earth? I'd go crazy in half a day if I knew I had to stay there. I like the sky, and that is really my only explanation. I like the sky and I like to keep moving with my Serenity.
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