First things first: I have here a pretty short, mostly observational bit of writing.
It's from Spikes POV, and... I don't know, OOC? I think I have his voice down good enough, but made him a bit softer. Anyway. Observational, as I said, and short.
You might want to listen to "Work Song" by Hozier while reading. It's what I listened to in a loop while writing, and it makes for a good setting.
Also, a Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop or the poem I partly used (Do not go gently into that good night by Dylan Thomas). I also don't earn any money with this.
And last, but not least: Thanks to my friend Sarah, who read over it for me – any mistakes left, are my own fault :)!
Enjoy!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
He woke up to off-key singing. Or singing in a key that was strange to his ears after the dreams of the past minutesdaysyears, anyway.
Blinking his eyes open and turning his head to the side revealed The Shrew sitting across from him, like always playing with her deck of cards (he didn't even know why she did it – he tried it once, only to find every ace and king missing - and then he wondered about the symbolism in that long enough to give himself a headache).
She was still humming, which meant she hadn't realized he was awake and watching her yet.
The fluorescent tube above was flickering, giving of a slight buzzing noise, strangely underlining her voice; the light coming from it painted harsh, cold shadows on her – not managing to erase the unusual soft set of her features - and he thought she looked more like a ghost than any of his dreams and flashes to the past ever had.
Like something that would not (could not) ever belong here.
She once said something about a „brave new world" and living, breathing and flourishing in it.
He didn't understand what she had been talking about then and he didn't now, only... sometimes, looking at her when she felt no one was paying her no never mind, he nearly did. She was a strong woman, even if he would never admit it out loud, so lying down and giving up just didn't suit her. Also, just... stopping would be way too quiet for a woman who couldn't do anything without making some kind of noise.
And there was a kind of bravery in not just giving up, giving in and lie back down and... god, there were so, so many bad clichés packed in there, he nearly gave up on being stealthy in favor of snorting out loud. Something about "do not go gently into that good night" and a million other poems-songs-quotes-sayings.
Looking at her sometimes gave him the strange feeling of seeing himself, only inverted. And maybe sat on his head and turned around for good measure.
As much as he had lived and lost and nearly died, he never had been stuck in his dreams long enough to miss... everything.
Life and death and everything in-between. She must have had a family and friends once, before all had gone pear-shaped, and now it was all just gone. He wondered what it was like – did she hear a crashing noise, screams, chaos and then nothing, until she just suddenly woke up again? Did she feel the cold, could she hear things happening around her or was it like... falling asleep on the couch, and waking up disoriented not even realizing what happened, and how long she was out?
He would ask her, if he could believe for a second that she wouldn't just shoot him for the audacity. Just like he would return the favor if she ever went and ask about his past.
And at that thought he sighed, as he always did, and broke the peace by alerting her of his conscious presence.
It was like watching someone freeze to death on fast forward. The nearly gentle smile on her lips dropped to a neutral setting, the lines in the corners of her eyes straightened out with it, and the soft look in said eyes vanished between one blink and the next. She changed her slouched-over position into a leaned-back one, uncrossed her ankles and instead laid one leg over the other. Even the dark, bruise-like rings under her eyes (sleepless nights because she had worried about him, again. He knew the drill) seemed to vanish a little bit.
Ladies and Gentleman, The Shrew is back in The House.
He answered her unvoiced challenge with some nonsense about her singing and general uselessness, she threw her cards (and a pillow for good measure) at his face, and everything was back to the status quo.
It didn't pay to wonder what her dreams were like, if she got lost between may-have-beens and reality, as well.
It was hard enough to ignore the lure of the long sleep when it called for him from inside his own head... he didn't need it in surround sound thathad to exist in her, too.
Yeah. Go back to sleep, dream about his Julia, wake up and get into an argument with Faith about mundane bullshit. Rinse and repeat, until he either left the dreams behind – or embraced them forever.
The End.
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Well, that was weird, right? I TRIED to get him right, but inside voices can be hard, because we usually don't get to hear them.
Anyway, what do you guys think? Did I do well, or not? Let me know if you want. There is this little box meant for your thoughts, and I'd really like to read them!
So long,
Zora