AN: another random slashy-one shot from the mind of a delirious mad-woman…
*
It was one of those days, one of those quietly haunting days that don't seem important until they're over. One of those days that don't seem important until years later. The sunshine that was peeking through the trees should have been my first hint. The sun never shows his face in April in New York. I should have understood, right from the start : Today is different.
There was a slight chill in the air as I climbed out of my bunk. The floorboards were cold underneath my feet; my sheet had hardly been adequate last night. The brass band marching through my head didn't miss a beat as I stumbled towards the bathroom, eyes blurry, mouth dry, mentally cursing everyone and anyone who had anything to do with the creation of whiskey.
There weren't any voices this morning, just mouths moving and colourful blurs where their faces were supposed to be. Suddenly, everything came into focus – I had found my way to the pump, somehow.
"'ey, Skitts, ya gonna be all day about it?" I winced as Snipes' squeaky voice added to the pounding in my brain. I didn't bother to grumble a response, I merely blinked sleepily and wandered back towards the bunkroom.
My body was screaming for more sleep, my eyes were begging to close, my bed was calling my name…
My longing thoughts were disturbed, however, as Race stomped on my foot in his daily chase after his trademark cigar – dammit Snipeshooter! That kid always gets in the way, somehow.
I managed to tug on what appeared to be clothing – I've never been a morning person. The remarks of "wow, pink sure is your colour, Skitts!" coupled with Mushs' seagull laughter rolled right off me today for some reason – I should have understood why.
Jack was first in line at the Distribution Office, naturally, Davey tagging along behind him with Les at his heels. Weisel was as grumpy as ever, growling and glaring at Jack as he attempted to engage him in teasing banter. Jack seemed like a caricature this morning, his bandana too bright, his voice too loud, his jokes grating on my nerves. Today he was a Cowboy, a fake, posturing postcard of a cowboy. There was no substance behind his slicked back hair or his carefully maintained black hat – he was as empty and soulless as the candy floss they sell in Central Park.
Pointless.
Posturing.
As I turned my back on the D.O. and Jacks' empty promises of train rides and great wide open spaces, I needed to pinch myself.
I needed to feel something real.
And then you smiled at me.
And it all melted away.
*
I realize now, as I watch you sleep, one hand entwined with mine even while you dream; I realize that I should have known.
Your chest rises and falls, your eyelids flutter as you slumber and your eyelashes cast shadows across your cheeks. Rays of sunlight simper across your face and I want to kiss them away. Your thumb strays near your mouth even now, a lifetime away from childhood.
I realize now, as I watch you sleep, what I should have realized then.
That was the day when everything changed.
You gave me meaning.
You gave me something, everything, nothing.
Everything.
And so I realize now, as I watch you sleep, what I should have realized then.
I say now what I should have said then.
I love you.
*
AN: "Write", he said, "and they will review." You can't argue with bodiless voices, you know.
