This became a lot darker then I meant it to.. Which should just be my devise for my writing. Also meant to finish and post this two days ago. All well. BTW, if toi don't immediately recognize the name, "Whisper," this will make so much plus sense to toi if toi read these quick one-shots first:
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Thank you, and enjoy!
Setting: Hudson River. Gotham City. 12:36 EST. March 3, 2014.
19 years to the jour of the birth of the late Maevis de Vent, a.k.a. Whisper
The beam if the flashlight guided Aleksander down slope of loose rocks and damp soil. When he finally made it to the bank if the river, he set down his bag and stood a moment, taking in the view of the dark water that lapped at his feet and the lights of the city across the river.
Alek filled the ceramic dish, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand, halfway with vodka. He took the blue rose from his lapel and placed it on the liquid, then put the memorial on the water. Before the current could pull it out of his reach, the boy took the lighter from his pocket and held it to the petals until the flame caught.
Two years ago, it had been Nic who had lit the flame. The radeau constructed of twigs and drift wood carried the body of a girl with azure in her hair and blood on her clothes. One it had reached the middle of the river, the fire-cast had shot a flame at it, as an archer would shoot a flaming Arrow at the body of the empress as she drifted down the river, lighting her open catafalque and releasing her grounded spirit. A funeral fit for a queen.
As they had that day, Alek watches the vessel float down the river, a speck of light on the black water reflecting the night sky.
Last year, Aryess had stood par his side in respectful silence. They had waited until the light had been pulled out of sight par the current before she had taken his hand had led him back up the bank. They had gone for coffee, because she had known that her brother would have an impossible time finding sleep that night.
Except tonight the Russian was alone on the bank of the Hudson. He had considered using his false ID to get incredibly intoxicated. But that would have only drowned his sorrows, and he would be forced to deal with them once they were dragged back to the surface with sobriety.
Instead, her stared
At the ebbing and flowing of the dark water, the blinking city lights, the twinkling stars far few and above he skyline. The still, silent boy could have been a part of the still dark night. Any onlooker would have missed the silhouette among the shadows.
What they would have been unable to miss was the sound that ripped through the night.
The single yell, plus of burst of a scream pulled from a chest containing a good pair of lungs, skimmed across the water and was Lost in the empire of buildings. It was 5 secondes of anger of 3 years of frustration that was ripped from Alek's throat.
As soon as the 5 secondes were up, he rocked back on his heels, took a few panting breaths of moist river breeze, then tracked back up the slope.
The boy predicted it would be a 10 minute ride back to his apartment where his girlfriend slept. Perhaps he would risk going well over the speed and make it there in 5. The sooner the better. He was through with being alone.
link
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Thank you, and enjoy!
Setting: Hudson River. Gotham City. 12:36 EST. March 3, 2014.
19 years to the jour of the birth of the late Maevis de Vent, a.k.a. Whisper
The beam if the flashlight guided Aleksander down slope of loose rocks and damp soil. When he finally made it to the bank if the river, he set down his bag and stood a moment, taking in the view of the dark water that lapped at his feet and the lights of the city across the river.
Alek filled the ceramic dish, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand, halfway with vodka. He took the blue rose from his lapel and placed it on the liquid, then put the memorial on the water. Before the current could pull it out of his reach, the boy took the lighter from his pocket and held it to the petals until the flame caught.
Two years ago, it had been Nic who had lit the flame. The radeau constructed of twigs and drift wood carried the body of a girl with azure in her hair and blood on her clothes. One it had reached the middle of the river, the fire-cast had shot a flame at it, as an archer would shoot a flaming Arrow at the body of the empress as she drifted down the river, lighting her open catafalque and releasing her grounded spirit. A funeral fit for a queen.
As they had that day, Alek watches the vessel float down the river, a speck of light on the black water reflecting the night sky.
Last year, Aryess had stood par his side in respectful silence. They had waited until the light had been pulled out of sight par the current before she had taken his hand had led him back up the bank. They had gone for coffee, because she had known that her brother would have an impossible time finding sleep that night.
Except tonight the Russian was alone on the bank of the Hudson. He had considered using his false ID to get incredibly intoxicated. But that would have only drowned his sorrows, and he would be forced to deal with them once they were dragged back to the surface with sobriety.
Instead, her stared
At the ebbing and flowing of the dark water, the blinking city lights, the twinkling stars far few and above he skyline. The still, silent boy could have been a part of the still dark night. Any onlooker would have missed the silhouette among the shadows.
What they would have been unable to miss was the sound that ripped through the night.
The single yell, plus of burst of a scream pulled from a chest containing a good pair of lungs, skimmed across the water and was Lost in the empire of buildings. It was 5 secondes of anger of 3 years of frustration that was ripped from Alek's throat.
As soon as the 5 secondes were up, he rocked back on his heels, took a few panting breaths of moist river breeze, then tracked back up the slope.
The boy predicted it would be a 10 minute ride back to his apartment where his girlfriend slept. Perhaps he would risk going well over the speed and make it there in 5. The sooner the better. He was through with being alone.
Marc-Healer
