Just One More Time
A quick one that I just thought of and wanted to get on document. It's a one-shot.
Another sun set, another sun rose.
It was different here. The glowing lights of the city made the sunset not as terrifying as it was back there. Fire licked and writhed in the sky as the desert sun rose, warming the cool sand of the night. It pulled the sleeping from their beds and into the day of work and toil. It's heat beat down on the inhabitants that it kept alive. But the oppressive glare could be avoided, the small arches of shade and the breezy gardens of the wealthy. The fire stoked the people of Helion Prime and at the same time, held a tight leash over their lives. Their schedule was built around the sun, from prayer to eating.
She had seen all of this.
The night was enveloping. Deep, maybe endless. But the desert city became a flame in the night, so it was never too dark. There was never the black shadow that brought them out. She was glad it was never that dark. The night brought out other people that slept during the heat of day. Their movement, their lives, were sculpted and shaped by the biting cold of a desert night.
She had seen all of this, as well.
She hadn't moved from the balcony of Imam's home, watching life move and change. Everything move and change except her. Her tears were warm and dried quickly during the day, and at night they were cold and lasted a little longer. The choking feeling that clogged her throat the same way the sand on T2 did was no stranger to her.
He watched from the door of the room, the drapes hiding her form at times, but it was always behind the cloth, never moving. She would hear him sigh, shake his head and move on. He moved too, but she wouldn't. Could she?
Downwind of the holy man's home and he already caught the salty smell, picking it out of the threads of incense, perfume and spice. That smell didn't belong, but he didn't know where it was supposed to be. That and he wanted the scent not to be with him.
He was the dark water among the ripples of light that kept the city thriving. He lapped the edges of the buildings, in the shadows that hid anything. The door opened and he slipped in, the scent intensifying.
No words were spoken.
"If it doesn't change, why watch?" He asked, lifting the curtain up and over his head.
"I watch it because it doesn't change. How many stable things have we had in our lives, Riddick?" The young girl asked, her pale face looking sunken in.
"Not enough, kid." He agreed, leaning on the archway of the balcony.
"There is a man who pulls out his cart of fresh vegetables and fruits out of that doorway every morning and returns with an empty cart, carrying wrapped pieces of food. He's always there, I think he goes to a market not far from here." Her eyes lighted on the streets below.
"And there, over there," she lifted a frail arm and gestured to the left of the house. "Two girls meet every morning, veiled and quiet on that corner. I've seen strings of coins they hide in the folds of their robes, it's always lighter when they part ways in the evening. They separate on the same corner they meet."
She was silent for a moment, her eyes closed. Riddick noticed how her head unnaturally fell back onto the stone archway, as if she were dying. He blinked when she began to speak, but her eyes were still closed.
"Across the street, on top of the building, there is a large patch of roof that is always in the sun, no matter what angle. Stray cats lounge there during the day, sunning on their backs and bellies. I think one of the cats just had a litter, I hear small mews from here when the streets aren't too busy." She breathed deeply, inhaling the same smells Riddick had not that long ago.
The city was laid out before both of them, one ready to conquer and one just wanting to find stability. Yet that spirit was combined in both of them.
"I'd be ignorant to ask where is it." She suddenly blurted, sitting up. Riddick didn't need to ask, she felt his questioning glance. "Home. Where is it? But to answer that, you have to ask what it is and home can't really be defined. You get that crap – home is what you make it. I can't make it anymore. I just need it."
"You ran away. To find what?" Riddick traced cracks in the stone of the balcony with his mind.
"I wasn't sure. I was running away, I never had a destination in mind." Her reply was weak.
"You never tried finding home?" He pushed further.
"How could I when I can't even define it for myself?" She returned the question with one of her own.
They both breathed in again, and to his relief, there was no salt. But his troubles weren't over yet.
"Tell me, Riddick. Where is my home?" Her eyes locked with his, uncertainty warred with confidence. Scratched innocence beat feebly against the gates of locked emotion, guarded by anger. The lost wanted to be found, but she was still groping in the darkness.
She slipped off the balcony, stumbling to the floor. But before she hit her head, he had her secured with one arm, pulling her back up.
Jack looked up into the shined eyes that gave her nothing but everything at the same time.
"It isn't with me." He finally answered.
She leaned into him, her forehead pushed against his chest, one hand balancing on his arm, the other wrapped around her thin waist.
"I just want to go home, Riddick." She finally whispered into him. "How do I go somewhere that I don't even know exists? That I don't even know where it exists?" Jack pulled back, looking for answers.
"Look hard enough and you find what you want." His reply was short, but to both of them it made sense. Her determination to run away and his determination to not ever be caught; they shared the same emotion differently. "You've never found home before?" Why had he asked?
"Once. It was on an emergency skiff off a planet that a ship I was on passage to New Mecca for crashed. A small metal home with a dysfunctional family that I could call my own," a smile broke through the darkness, through the dried tears.
"That family is splitting up." He tried to remind her gently.
Silence again. They looked out over the glowing lights of the city and somewhere in the night's dark noise she found courage.
"Let me be home with just part of that family," her voice fell to a brave whisper. "Let me be with you. Just one more time."
He stepped away from her and walked back towards the curtains of the balcony. He lifted the drape and turned to her, his eyes not meeting hers.
"That's one time too many."
Another sun rose, but the city was empty now. Her eyes saw life move that held no importance. She knew what she was now, she knew that she just a stray with no home.
A stray that would never have a home.
An angst piece. Just a filler while I pull plots together for other stories.
-Shamrock