quelling the rebellion, or something...
Nov. 13th, 2002 02:57 amShe broke off uncertainly, meeting the calm blue eyes across from her without flinching. "I can't do it," she said softly. "I can't tell it the way it should be told. What's wrong with me?" When a steady hand grasped her shoulder, she almost sobbed. But the quiet voice that she heard then, while she was too afraid and ashamed to look around, hadn't changed in all the years since she had heard it last. Nor had it lost any of its edge, or its power to stop her in her tracks.
"Lindsay, Lindsay! You know better than this." She began to cry, and his hand tightened on her shoulder, and he shook her gently. "One in a hundred, child. One in several hundred, now." He sighed. "And you have been one of the best, Lindsay. You have been faithful, you have tried, you have listened! But you are not listening now."
She looked up then, eyes flashing indignant. "Gabe!" "Lindsay!" He grinned mockingly. "You are not listening. And what's more, you know you aren't listening." "That's not true!" He chuckled. "You are not. You've been far too busy worrying about yourself, Lindsay. How will Lindsay tell this story? What will Lindsay say? What words will Lindsay use? What will people think of Lindsay? You haven't been listening to the story at all." Her shoulders slumped, and she looked away, flushing in anger and embarrassment. Seeing that, he shook her again, more insistently. "Look at me." She shook her head, blonde hair streaked with silver falling over her face and his hand, hiding her eyes and her tears. He knelt in front of her. "Look at me, child." She gave a strangled sound that was half sob, half laugh. "I am not a child, Gabriel. Look at me. I haven't been a child in eighty years. I'm old, Gabriel. And I can't do this anymore." "Idiot." He stood abruptly, then, and turned his back on her, staring at the wall while his jaw clenched and unclenched. "What is that supposed to mean?" She laughed bitterly behind him. "What does it sound like it means, Gabriel? I want my life back." He stopped just short of screaming at her, pronouncing his words carefully and slowly instead. "You want your life back. What does that mean, Lindsay?"
She closed her eyes for a minute, and the silence dragged on for what felt like forever before she said, not taking her eyes off him, "Just what I said, Gabe. I want my life back. It's been years of waking up in the middle of the night with other people's words on my lips, having to finish just one more story before I could sleep again. It's been a lifetime of "just one more story" and "will anyone listen if I tell it?" and "can I tell it right?" when it could have been a lifetime of what other people get, the small loves and triumphs and disappointments and their minds being their own. You can't give me back the years I've spent telling stories. But you can cut me loose now, can't you?" He didn't answer, but she heard him swallow hard, and her voice sharpened. "Can't you, Gabriel?" He turned around, and his eyes locked with hers. "Yes, Lindsay. I can." She didn't know she had been holding her breath until she let it out, one long sigh, but he went on before she could interrupt him anyway, the words seeming to tumble from him in one vehement stream. "Yes. I can do that. But if I do, there will be no second chances, Lindsay. You will have no chance to change your mind, no going back to redo it. I will take the story with me and I will go, and you will never see me again. So I suggest, before you make your decision, you finish this story. Tell it, and if, at the end, you decide you still want me to make that change, then I will."
She nodded, not taking her eyes off him until he nodded also. Then her gaze lowered to the object in her hand, and she picked up where she had left off.
... don't ask me just when they wrote themselves into Godseed, but write themselves in they have. I need to put these things in order at some point. I've given up on trying to keep the prewritten separate from the newly written, so I am not posting wordcount any longer. My goal is simply to finish. I'll be happy if I can just genuinely put "The End" after one of these before November 30th.
"Lindsay, Lindsay! You know better than this." She began to cry, and his hand tightened on her shoulder, and he shook her gently. "One in a hundred, child. One in several hundred, now." He sighed. "And you have been one of the best, Lindsay. You have been faithful, you have tried, you have listened! But you are not listening now."
She looked up then, eyes flashing indignant. "Gabe!" "Lindsay!" He grinned mockingly. "You are not listening. And what's more, you know you aren't listening." "That's not true!" He chuckled. "You are not. You've been far too busy worrying about yourself, Lindsay. How will Lindsay tell this story? What will Lindsay say? What words will Lindsay use? What will people think of Lindsay? You haven't been listening to the story at all." Her shoulders slumped, and she looked away, flushing in anger and embarrassment. Seeing that, he shook her again, more insistently. "Look at me." She shook her head, blonde hair streaked with silver falling over her face and his hand, hiding her eyes and her tears. He knelt in front of her. "Look at me, child." She gave a strangled sound that was half sob, half laugh. "I am not a child, Gabriel. Look at me. I haven't been a child in eighty years. I'm old, Gabriel. And I can't do this anymore." "Idiot." He stood abruptly, then, and turned his back on her, staring at the wall while his jaw clenched and unclenched. "What is that supposed to mean?" She laughed bitterly behind him. "What does it sound like it means, Gabriel? I want my life back." He stopped just short of screaming at her, pronouncing his words carefully and slowly instead. "You want your life back. What does that mean, Lindsay?"
She closed her eyes for a minute, and the silence dragged on for what felt like forever before she said, not taking her eyes off him, "Just what I said, Gabe. I want my life back. It's been years of waking up in the middle of the night with other people's words on my lips, having to finish just one more story before I could sleep again. It's been a lifetime of "just one more story" and "will anyone listen if I tell it?" and "can I tell it right?" when it could have been a lifetime of what other people get, the small loves and triumphs and disappointments and their minds being their own. You can't give me back the years I've spent telling stories. But you can cut me loose now, can't you?" He didn't answer, but she heard him swallow hard, and her voice sharpened. "Can't you, Gabriel?" He turned around, and his eyes locked with hers. "Yes, Lindsay. I can." She didn't know she had been holding her breath until she let it out, one long sigh, but he went on before she could interrupt him anyway, the words seeming to tumble from him in one vehement stream. "Yes. I can do that. But if I do, there will be no second chances, Lindsay. You will have no chance to change your mind, no going back to redo it. I will take the story with me and I will go, and you will never see me again. So I suggest, before you make your decision, you finish this story. Tell it, and if, at the end, you decide you still want me to make that change, then I will."
She nodded, not taking her eyes off him until he nodded also. Then her gaze lowered to the object in her hand, and she picked up where she had left off.
... don't ask me just when they wrote themselves into Godseed, but write themselves in they have. I need to put these things in order at some point. I've given up on trying to keep the prewritten separate from the newly written, so I am not posting wordcount any longer. My goal is simply to finish. I'll be happy if I can just genuinely put "The End" after one of these before November 30th.
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