katiefoolery

I was supposed to hang around at work for PD today, but it turns out I don’t have to go after all. Splendid! Instead, I may sit here on my own in the afternoon, listening to my music and maybe catching up on my beta‑ing. And I can go home at a normal time, instead of staying forty‑five minutes late. I cannot find anything to complain about in that.

In further good news, the

15minuteficlets community posted a prompt word this week. And because I can rarely resist the lure of writing another ficlet... I wrote another ficlet. I’m not sure about this one, although the voice was very strong in my head. At first, I wasn’t going to write it, because the prompt word reminded me of a drabble that’s giving me a lot of trouble and made me very sulky indeed. And then the three words that start this ficlet popped into my head, so I just went with it, dodgy sentences and all.

As per usual, I welcome any guesses at the prompt word. I actually used it in the story this time, so you’ll see it if you look carfully. The standard bonus points and icon offers apply of course. :D

Title: Untitled
Fandom: Original (sort of AU/historical)
Rating: PG
Word count: 479 words
Prompt word: moon

Quiet. Peaceful. Dark. All good words, but only one of them applies to me.

I am not peaceful. I am more angry than I can possibly say. If I were not clutching at the ground like this, you would see how my hands are shaking. Perhaps you can see how I’m gritting my teeth, or how my eyes are narrowed with pain. I am most definitely not peaceful.

It is night‑time, but I am not surrounded by darkness I am burning with my anger. Every moment I recall is bathed in furious light. The sun does not burn as brightly as my outrage and humiliation. The moon certainly comes nowhere close.

But I am quiet. I am just sitting here, digging my hands into the ground and being quiet. I tried words earlier but they didn’t work. In my anger, I could not touch the eloquence I so desired. And I will not swear. I cannot win this fight with vulgar words.

I will ignore those tears as they slide down my cheeks. They are not there. I will not cry over this.

If there are tears, then that means I am hurt and I am not going to give her the power to hurt me.

I am not wiping the tears away. I am not feeling the evening breeze cooling against the moisture on my hand.

I am not gulping for breath as grief overwhelms me.

The images in my head will not go away, no matter how insistently I petition them. It is not necessary to see it so many times. Yet my memory insists, as though it is so shocked by what it saw that it must repeat the scene until it is certain there can be no mistake.

There is no mistake. I can still feel the heat of the ball‑room, the stiff prickles of my dress. I can hear the roar of conversation around me; I can taste the perfume on the air. And I can remember the heat of anticipation that was almost strong enough to shake my entire body.

I can feel it all as though I am still there, not here in the cold evening air. For a moment, I can remember the thrill of life that hummed in my veins and I can forget for just a moment that I am going to see again the scene that brought everything to a stop.

She is there with him. With him holding her close as they dance. Dancing through the other couples as though they are alone on the floor. Alone.

And then she will lean in to kiss him, pulling back and laughing as she meets my eyes. As though I and my words and my heart and my love are nothing, merely a joke at which she may laugh.

Joyful. Heartless. Lover. All good words, but only one applies to her.

(My inner beta wants to change much of that.)

Comments and feedback are most appreciated. :D