Rating: PG (if that)
Distribution: Oralfxatn's site, otherwise ask and ye shall receive.
Notes: English spelling where relevant.
Dedication: To Gina G as always
Summary: Random ficlet
I can picture the scene right now. Well I say picture,
but it's not really a visual thing. It's too confusing for that. Vague fragments,
glimpses from the corner of your eye. What I really remember from a good
fight is the noise, the crack of bone and the dull slap of flesh on flesh.
Bring weapons into the mix and it becomes almost impossible to describe.
Crunches and whistles, the whisper of steel: an orgy of violence in stereo
surround. Not forgetting the voices - breathless gasps or outright screams,
the cries of hunter and hunted. No, you never forget the voices.
It's the whole of existence, writ large on the back of a stamp.
So try to picture this. The visuals do come into play this time - in fact
her image has burnt itself onto the back of my eyes. I couldn't get rid
of it even if I wanted to. It's so much more than just a pretty picture
though. Again there is sound, but there is also texture. Add in that aroma,
and finally the taste. Always save the best to last. Simmer gently, and
then bring to the boil.
All the ingredients are there, but it just doesn't do justice to the reality.
No matter how hard I try, the mental image just doesn't sustain me. I try
to remember that I'm supposed to be the cool one. Aloof, mysterious, I don't
need anyone or anything. So why do I keep going back?She's life, and death,
and the whole of my existence.