27.3.03

Here is a Present for Bex and for Ann, who were apparently born on the same day. Happy Birthday, girls!

World’s End

Dreams are liquid things, flowing through the mind like a river. They sweep through the subconscious, brushing aside all the petty dross of the everyday and mundane, and dig into the roots of the soul, dredging up long-forgotten fears and desires and connections. Things we never knew and things we never knew we knew are tumbled and swirled together in that silver flood, lies and truth both, bringing delirium and vision. Dreams are the offshoots of the Lethe, wild children of peaceful oblivion. Dreams control us, whether we know it or not.

She sighed as she crested the final ridge, the aching pull in her calves sweet and familiar. This high up, the air was thin and clear, cold in the back of her throat and misting just a little when she exhaled. The world spread out below her like a velvet counterpane, soft blurred tones of green and brown and grey in rumpled folds all the way to the horizon. The sun was going down, washing the landscape in a flood of gold and crimson that seemed to seep into the very rocks, sending flares of fiery colour across the deepening sky. It was beautiful, she thought, making her way over to the cairn that marked the summit, a simple pile of loose greyish rocks.
She had the momentary feeling that perhaps she should get out her penknife, carve her name into the topmost stone, mark her presence here in a way that could not be glossed over or erased. But then again, one of the things she had always loved about the open spaces, when there had still been more than a handful of them left, had been that they were so solid, so enduring, so indifferent to the fleeting joys and sorrows of humanity.
If she looked back the way she had come, to the east, she could see the dark muddy smudge of the city on the horizon, the blurriness and shadow of the chemicals poured into the air. To the north and south, the grey and green and brown of the protected range, mountains and meadows and even a few straggling patches of forest. To the west, the cleansing fire of the sunset, beginning to dip now behind the ragged line of the far mountains.
Moving back to the western edge, she eased herself to the ground, trying to ignore the persistent ache that was beginning to seep through her joints, the small bones of her feet and hands and back. Closing her eyes, she could feel the last light like caressing fingers across her skin, pooling in her eyelids and throat. It was warm, a warmth utterly unlike the smoggy citified heat or the dry dessication of the central-heating in her apartment. A living warmth, like skin and smiles and touch. She breathed out slowly, opening her eyes despite the glare.
Above her, the blue tones shimmering in the arch of the sky were deepening towards night. She thought she could make out the shimmering pinpricks of stars beginning to fade into view as the heavens darkened, and felt the soft warmth of tears on her cheeks. This had been part of the dream – the stars, the indigo-blue of the evening sky, the fading fire of the sunset.
It was the dream that had brought her here. Through all the long days and nights of hospital and tests and diagnosis, she had not dreamed at all. She had come to expect that she would climb into her narrow bed at night, and pull the synthetic-mix sheets up to her chin, and sleep without dreaming until dawn. At first, she had been unable to sleep at all, but as the days turned into weeks turned into months, and the illness dragged at her, she began to tire easily, began to fall into sleep as a refuge against the painful demands of the day.
But then, one night, a completely indistinguishable night really, she had awakened in the darkness with tears trailing into her thin hair and the memory of starfire like a blanket across her mind. She had been able to think of nothing else, remembered images from her long-ago childhood surfacing constantly until she finally sat down at her terminal and called up the educational pictures that were all modern children would ever see.
That second night, she had dreamed again, and the tears had continued past waking into the dim smoky light of dawn. She had gone to her window, craned her neck painfully for a glimpse of sky, but seen only dull orange-tinted smog clouds. That next day, riding the shuttle bus in to the hospital for her latest futile counselling appointment, she had looked up again at the grey-brown clouds overhead, and made up her mind.
Looking up at the stars, here, she was conscious of a sense of calm settling over her. They were showing more brightly now, their diamond fire lancing through her, sparkling across the mica-dusted rock she sat upon. She breathed deeply of the pure, fresh air, knowing that it was the last time. It had been almost twenty years since the outside air in the cities had been clean enough to breathe, another forty since she could remember being able to actually spend time outside. She had missed it terribly, she realised now, patting at the tears on her face with wrinkled fingers.
The stars overhead were forming a net of shimmering fire across the free skies. On the western horizon, only a muted glow showed the point at which the sun had vanished to its rest; to the south, a thin sickle of a moon hung lucent and calm, a handful of stars cupped in her crescent.
She felt peace stealing over her like a soft fleecy blanket, wrapping her, washing away pain and sorrow and the cares of the world. Silent and still, she sat and watched the stars spin overhead in their slow, stately dance. Yes, she thought, remembering, this is beautiful.

25.3.03

Yay! Am finally online at laaaaast and shall now post assorted rantings written while uni was refusing to let me on.

Today, I have been mostly writing. Lol. I kind of did about a page or so for Choices4, which is better than nothing, and then I realised that it was Bex’s birthday on Thursday, and I have no money to get her a present. So I kind of wrote a short piece for her. It’s pretty much descriptive, with a focus on dreams and mountains and stuff, because she’s Mountain Girl, and it has a lot of implied stuff. I only realised after I wrote it that it is in fact SF. I wrote SF. My life is over. It’s only a page and a half, though, but it’s fairly sparse, and it has a whole lot of future-speculation. I’ll post it on here after Thursday, I think. I still don’t have a title for it.

Then, later when the university dial-up service was being a pain as usual and NOT LETTING ME ONLINE, I picked up one of the ideas I had today and basically ran with it. I now have 1000 words of a Ron perspective on Harry/Draco. Joy. And then when I still couldn’t get online, I started on another little thing that occurred to me today – a lot of tiny little vignette-y pieces (practically drabbles, really) on touch and love and dreaming. And I don’t want to write any more, I want to go to bed, because I’m tiiiiiirrrrrreeeeed! But the damn service won’t let me online, it keeps saying the line is busy despite the fact that it is 20 to 1 in the morning, and I am getting pissed off here.

I want to go online, damn it! ::kicks stupid university dialup:: This service is completely pants, it needs at least twice as many modems as it actually has, and I just want to go online and read my email and check for new stuff! Grrrrrr!!!!

Weirdly, yesterday while reading an Ivy ficlet, I found myself going ‘aaargh aaaargh no that is just WRONG!’ at a passing mention of Draco/Ginny. And I was actually believing this; I had to go away and bang on the wall for a while. And I really wonder whether it was the idea of Draco/Ginny or the fact that Harry was in love with Draco at the time? Do I really think Draco/Ginny is just plain wrong? Have I been completely corrupted by Aja? I shall have to go find a D/G fic on FA now to see whether I really am totally squicked by the pairing.

23.3.03

Oh yeah, Choices is up. Go Look At It And Review It. also have submitted chapter 1 and added stuff to website. ::still wantint DV12 here::
Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai!

aaaaa aaaaa aaaaaa aaaaahhhh ahhhhahhhha haaahahhhhh aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!

::wants DV12::
::wants DV12 NOW!::
::frets and shakes and squeaks and wibbles::

[/ t00by fangirl moment]