Consternation is totally a word, Chrome.
Mar. 7th, 2012 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
momebieI cannot find the word processor file that contains all the writing I did on the Dickbag Angels a couple Nanos ago. This is slightly distressing, because it was something I had very much planned to return to. On the other hand, I could only make it better if I was forced to start over, right?
TITLE: Goodnight, Sleep Tight
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
momebie
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 854
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: Tactful
WARNING: None.
SUMMARY: I'm putting out the lamps, find your own way back home.
PROMPTS: And I'll Make You Go
A/N: I'm not religious, but I still don't think I'll ever get over angels.
Araqiel sat cross legged in the sand at the edge of a glass still sea. His hands were clasped in his lap. He was not being patient, because he did not need to be patient. Or perhaps he only knew patience and therefore could not differentiate this waiting at the end of everything from the waiting he had already been doing. Whatever the case was, he was reasonably certain that there would not be an end for him, merely another change in scenery.
He had been by himself on the edge of the glass still sea for a thousand years before Seraphiel finally came for him. Seraphiel appeared in a sudden, localized clap of thunder and lightning that danced just above the reflective water. The resulting light was breathtaking, twice. When he had fully formed he hovered over mirrored surface. He studied Araqiel with dispassionate eyes.
“It did not have to happen this way,” he said. His mouth was unmoving and his face solemn. Seraphiel spoke for the Metatron and had not ever needed to work to make himself heard.
“I think we both know it did.” Araqiel talked with his teeth and lips as he had grown accustomed to doing. It felt good to move his jaw after all that time alone.
“You could have come with the others. You could have joined the fight and been forgiven.”
“Forgiveness that hinges on servitude is not forgiveness at all. I would think that He would be pleased I recognized that.”
“This is not about Him.”
“No, it is about Us.”
Seraphiel did not respond. There was silence as they stared at each other. It was roughly a year before Araqiel spoke again. “Why have you come for me now?”
“We are starting over. The whole operation is moving to another corner of this universe.”
“And you could not bear to think of me here alone when the lamps were put out? How incredibly...human of you.”
“Taunting me will not change things,” Seraphiel said.
“Ah, but you remember the words I taught you.”
“My time here was quite instructive, yes.” And then, after a week or so, “do you miss them? Is that why you stay?”
“If I missed them I would not be able to stay.”
“I tire of this, Araqiel. Please, let us go. Help us create again that which you were so taken by before.”
“If you create them the same way you will reach the same end.”
“You do not know that.”
“I do not know anything, but I’ve become incredibly good at guessing.”
“So do what you would do. Make them in your image this time.”
“He has given up control?”
“He has shifted His priorities.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“It is what we were created to do. It is all that we know how to do.”
Araqiel contemplated this. Seraphiel had let himself dip slightly, so that the bare soles of his feet were just grazing the calm surface of the water. A near imperceptible ripple had started to work its way toward the horizon.
“There will be so much new knowledge,” Seraphiel said.
“They are always boring in the beginning,” Araqiel replied. He stood up, letting his manifestation take over and erase the kinks and muscle memory from his limbs. The jeans and sweater and t-shirt that he had been wearing at the end of the world were threadbare. The knees and elbows were entirely worn through. There was a tear in the woven wool at his shoulder.
Araqiel stood on the land, green and blue and white and beige and every bit as stoic as the trees had once been, before they’d fallen to decay and mixed with the sand and dirt. Seraphiel perched on the water, grey and bright and clear as summer lakes and as dangerous as the winds. Araqiel knew that Seraphiel could not appreciate where they were now, but he hoped that one day he would. He did not hope to ever be in Seraphiel’s place.
“Is there anything you would liked to take with you?” Seraphiel said.
Araqiel bent down and picked up a fistful of sand, letting some of it sift through his fingers. “A grain for each of the new children should do,” he said. “So that they might remember where they came from.”
“They will come from nothing,” Seraphiel said. “Like the children before them.”
“Not from nothing.” Araqiel stepped forward and held out his hand for Seraphiel to take. “Why must you think so lowly of yourself?” And then they were gone.
The glass still sea stood lonely, kissing the unresponsive shore at the end of everything. The ripple that Seraphiel had started in it worked its way to the other side and bumped lazily against another corner of unresponsive shore. Everything everywhere was the same. The glass still sea wasn’t patient, because it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t patient because it hadn’t ever been anything else. From the beginning of time it had known this would happen. Eventually the scenery would end. Eventually the last person to leave would put out the lamps.
TITLE: Goodnight, Sleep Tight
AUTHOR:
momebieRATING: G
WORD COUNT: 854
FEEDBACK: On || FEEDBACK TYPE: Tactful
WARNING: None.
SUMMARY: I'm putting out the lamps, find your own way back home.
PROMPTS: And I'll Make You Go
A/N: I'm not religious, but I still don't think I'll ever get over angels.
Araqiel sat cross legged in the sand at the edge of a glass still sea. His hands were clasped in his lap. He was not being patient, because he did not need to be patient. Or perhaps he only knew patience and therefore could not differentiate this waiting at the end of everything from the waiting he had already been doing. Whatever the case was, he was reasonably certain that there would not be an end for him, merely another change in scenery.
He had been by himself on the edge of the glass still sea for a thousand years before Seraphiel finally came for him. Seraphiel appeared in a sudden, localized clap of thunder and lightning that danced just above the reflective water. The resulting light was breathtaking, twice. When he had fully formed he hovered over mirrored surface. He studied Araqiel with dispassionate eyes.
“It did not have to happen this way,” he said. His mouth was unmoving and his face solemn. Seraphiel spoke for the Metatron and had not ever needed to work to make himself heard.
“I think we both know it did.” Araqiel talked with his teeth and lips as he had grown accustomed to doing. It felt good to move his jaw after all that time alone.
“You could have come with the others. You could have joined the fight and been forgiven.”
“Forgiveness that hinges on servitude is not forgiveness at all. I would think that He would be pleased I recognized that.”
“This is not about Him.”
“No, it is about Us.”
Seraphiel did not respond. There was silence as they stared at each other. It was roughly a year before Araqiel spoke again. “Why have you come for me now?”
“We are starting over. The whole operation is moving to another corner of this universe.”
“And you could not bear to think of me here alone when the lamps were put out? How incredibly...human of you.”
“Taunting me will not change things,” Seraphiel said.
“Ah, but you remember the words I taught you.”
“My time here was quite instructive, yes.” And then, after a week or so, “do you miss them? Is that why you stay?”
“If I missed them I would not be able to stay.”
“I tire of this, Araqiel. Please, let us go. Help us create again that which you were so taken by before.”
“If you create them the same way you will reach the same end.”
“You do not know that.”
“I do not know anything, but I’ve become incredibly good at guessing.”
“So do what you would do. Make them in your image this time.”
“He has given up control?”
“He has shifted His priorities.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“It is what we were created to do. It is all that we know how to do.”
Araqiel contemplated this. Seraphiel had let himself dip slightly, so that the bare soles of his feet were just grazing the calm surface of the water. A near imperceptible ripple had started to work its way toward the horizon.
“There will be so much new knowledge,” Seraphiel said.
“They are always boring in the beginning,” Araqiel replied. He stood up, letting his manifestation take over and erase the kinks and muscle memory from his limbs. The jeans and sweater and t-shirt that he had been wearing at the end of the world were threadbare. The knees and elbows were entirely worn through. There was a tear in the woven wool at his shoulder.
Araqiel stood on the land, green and blue and white and beige and every bit as stoic as the trees had once been, before they’d fallen to decay and mixed with the sand and dirt. Seraphiel perched on the water, grey and bright and clear as summer lakes and as dangerous as the winds. Araqiel knew that Seraphiel could not appreciate where they were now, but he hoped that one day he would. He did not hope to ever be in Seraphiel’s place.
“Is there anything you would liked to take with you?” Seraphiel said.
Araqiel bent down and picked up a fistful of sand, letting some of it sift through his fingers. “A grain for each of the new children should do,” he said. “So that they might remember where they came from.”
“They will come from nothing,” Seraphiel said. “Like the children before them.”
“Not from nothing.” Araqiel stepped forward and held out his hand for Seraphiel to take. “Why must you think so lowly of yourself?” And then they were gone.
The glass still sea stood lonely, kissing the unresponsive shore at the end of everything. The ripple that Seraphiel had started in it worked its way to the other side and bumped lazily against another corner of unresponsive shore. Everything everywhere was the same. The glass still sea wasn’t patient, because it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t patient because it hadn’t ever been anything else. From the beginning of time it had known this would happen. Eventually the scenery would end. Eventually the last person to leave would put out the lamps.
