Our Pan
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,510
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,510
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter Four
((Can anyone tell I've been reading too much Lovecraft and Carver and Gaiman? Good heavens. Blame them. And I think I know what's going on now... who everyone is... and who the bad guy is. Woo hoo! That's always a plus, isn't it?
Haywire: Oh dear.. well, I'm sure that things will turn out well, any way they happen to. I'll miss your comments if you can't get back! :( And parents can be like that. I hope all turns out okay! ))
Our Pan
The grass is to his waist. Gabriel brushes his fingertips along the tops of seeded grass, watching how it soundlessly shifts under the slight pressure. There is no wind. There is no sound.
Gabriel frowns, looking up. Something niggles at the back of his mind. He's been here before.
"You really should choose one place to remember or you'll have nowhere," a small voice calmly interjects.
Turning, Gabriel sees a small child with light brown hair and cold black eyes. "I'm sorry?" he asks, confused.
"The memories. You're drifting through them all," the child laughs and the laugh sends a shiver through Gabriel. "How do you expect to get anywhere if you can't recall where you've been?"
Gabriel turns back, staring at the field. He has been here before. Something says that, but he cannot imagine forgetting such a peaceful place.
"I suppose," the small voice drawls laconically, "that this will be like all of the other times. You're going to forget all about it when you wake up. That's the nice thing about dreams, you see. They're apart from reality. You can't ever seem to recognize them when the sun is up and high."
"I'm dreaming," Gabriel states, staring at the green and gold tipped grasses.
"Of course. You think places like this are real?"
Gabriel frowns and turns back to the small child. "Are you real?"
A rolling of the black eyes shows more in the child's face instead of the actual eyes. "Tch, you're really reaching, aren't you? You know, you've only got two days left. Things come in threes. You've been to our house twice, but you've only been to his room once. That puts us into a logistical nightmare. I'm sure you'll work it out somehow. And you've been here twice. Let's call it a day and a half? Or really a day and a third?"
"Left?" Gabriel kneels down to look at the child more closely. Black eyes study him and he can recognize no emotions in their depths. Rather it seems as if he were looking into the darkness of an eternity.
"Well, I shouldn't give you that many," the child sighs. "But fair is fair. And the rules and all." The child's slender hand spins in the air, drawing circles in the air.
"Huh," Gabriel stands again, uncomfortable with the attitude of the child, blithe and cold.
"Well then, best of luck!" the child sniggers and when Gabriel looks down, he finds himself alone, staring at grass and earth and nothing else.
Trying to get his bearings, suddenly feeling with the leaving of the child, as if he were released and now is entirely taken up with the need to find... something. No, someone. Gabriel spins slowly, looking all around the field. Three times three, nine. Nine times total.
Was this the third or the second time? He can't recall. He sets out in one direction and his feet slide to one side. A pressure wanting him to go more to the left, more toward where the sun is setting. He turns and suddenly the going is easy, simple, and he smiles.
A sound behind him, a cry, like that of a dying bird. He stops, the inertia of his movement slides him forward a few more steps. The cry echoes and he turns with some difficulty, looking behind him.
A small darkness shows on the edge of the forest around the meadow. Before him a shape, under the shadows, pale as a flame, flickering with the coming dark. He tries to call out, finds he hasn't a voice. And the bird's cry continues to echo.
Gabriel sits up with a gasp, his sheets tangled about him and his eyes wide. Grabbing his chest, he winces. Pain radiates from there and for a moment, he wonders if he's having a heart attack.
A dream slides into his head, a field, green, black eyes. He grasps at it and it slips past. With a whimper of frustration, he turns on a light and grabs for a journal at his bedside table. Until now, it's been little more than a decoration.
Fields, green, silent grass. I'm looking for someone. And I'm going away from the light. I think maybe I'm dying. There's a Childe there. I call it a Childe because it seems right. I don't think it's human but I can't remember. Will write again. Numbers. 9 and 2 and 3. Why these numbers? I think there is a crow or something black. I can't remember. I can't remember! But I think it's important. Do I believe in portents? Do I believe that one can foresee one's death?
Laying back down with a sigh, Gabriel frowns, staring at his ceiling and holding his journal to his chest. The pressure reminds him of something and he moves the journal and looks down at his bare chest. A rash has begun, red and demanding attention. He rubs at it again and scowls. The rash doesn't hurt, though it should. In a way, it is like it isn't there, his fingers can't feel heat, cannot sense any raised skin, yet it looks terrible, painful. Much like a burn might look before it bubbles to release the torment of the skin.
Without pain, however, there's little he is willing to do, always citing the body's ability to heal itself. He twists his hand and catches up the journal, already having forgotten what he's written there, why.. and he places it to the side. Then he turns over and closes his eyes. And for some reason, he fears putting out the bedside lamp. So he leaves it on.
Haywire: Oh dear.. well, I'm sure that things will turn out well, any way they happen to. I'll miss your comments if you can't get back! :( And parents can be like that. I hope all turns out okay! ))
Our Pan
The grass is to his waist. Gabriel brushes his fingertips along the tops of seeded grass, watching how it soundlessly shifts under the slight pressure. There is no wind. There is no sound.
Gabriel frowns, looking up. Something niggles at the back of his mind. He's been here before.
"You really should choose one place to remember or you'll have nowhere," a small voice calmly interjects.
Turning, Gabriel sees a small child with light brown hair and cold black eyes. "I'm sorry?" he asks, confused.
"The memories. You're drifting through them all," the child laughs and the laugh sends a shiver through Gabriel. "How do you expect to get anywhere if you can't recall where you've been?"
Gabriel turns back, staring at the field. He has been here before. Something says that, but he cannot imagine forgetting such a peaceful place.
"I suppose," the small voice drawls laconically, "that this will be like all of the other times. You're going to forget all about it when you wake up. That's the nice thing about dreams, you see. They're apart from reality. You can't ever seem to recognize them when the sun is up and high."
"I'm dreaming," Gabriel states, staring at the green and gold tipped grasses.
"Of course. You think places like this are real?"
Gabriel frowns and turns back to the small child. "Are you real?"
A rolling of the black eyes shows more in the child's face instead of the actual eyes. "Tch, you're really reaching, aren't you? You know, you've only got two days left. Things come in threes. You've been to our house twice, but you've only been to his room once. That puts us into a logistical nightmare. I'm sure you'll work it out somehow. And you've been here twice. Let's call it a day and a half? Or really a day and a third?"
"Left?" Gabriel kneels down to look at the child more closely. Black eyes study him and he can recognize no emotions in their depths. Rather it seems as if he were looking into the darkness of an eternity.
"Well, I shouldn't give you that many," the child sighs. "But fair is fair. And the rules and all." The child's slender hand spins in the air, drawing circles in the air.
"Huh," Gabriel stands again, uncomfortable with the attitude of the child, blithe and cold.
"Well then, best of luck!" the child sniggers and when Gabriel looks down, he finds himself alone, staring at grass and earth and nothing else.
Trying to get his bearings, suddenly feeling with the leaving of the child, as if he were released and now is entirely taken up with the need to find... something. No, someone. Gabriel spins slowly, looking all around the field. Three times three, nine. Nine times total.
Was this the third or the second time? He can't recall. He sets out in one direction and his feet slide to one side. A pressure wanting him to go more to the left, more toward where the sun is setting. He turns and suddenly the going is easy, simple, and he smiles.
A sound behind him, a cry, like that of a dying bird. He stops, the inertia of his movement slides him forward a few more steps. The cry echoes and he turns with some difficulty, looking behind him.
A small darkness shows on the edge of the forest around the meadow. Before him a shape, under the shadows, pale as a flame, flickering with the coming dark. He tries to call out, finds he hasn't a voice. And the bird's cry continues to echo.
Gabriel sits up with a gasp, his sheets tangled about him and his eyes wide. Grabbing his chest, he winces. Pain radiates from there and for a moment, he wonders if he's having a heart attack.
A dream slides into his head, a field, green, black eyes. He grasps at it and it slips past. With a whimper of frustration, he turns on a light and grabs for a journal at his bedside table. Until now, it's been little more than a decoration.
Fields, green, silent grass. I'm looking for someone. And I'm going away from the light. I think maybe I'm dying. There's a Childe there. I call it a Childe because it seems right. I don't think it's human but I can't remember. Will write again. Numbers. 9 and 2 and 3. Why these numbers? I think there is a crow or something black. I can't remember. I can't remember! But I think it's important. Do I believe in portents? Do I believe that one can foresee one's death?
Laying back down with a sigh, Gabriel frowns, staring at his ceiling and holding his journal to his chest. The pressure reminds him of something and he moves the journal and looks down at his bare chest. A rash has begun, red and demanding attention. He rubs at it again and scowls. The rash doesn't hurt, though it should. In a way, it is like it isn't there, his fingers can't feel heat, cannot sense any raised skin, yet it looks terrible, painful. Much like a burn might look before it bubbles to release the torment of the skin.
Without pain, however, there's little he is willing to do, always citing the body's ability to heal itself. He twists his hand and catches up the journal, already having forgotten what he's written there, why.. and he places it to the side. Then he turns over and closes his eyes. And for some reason, he fears putting out the bedside lamp. So he leaves it on.