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May. 8th, 2004 03:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kbkI have a headache. And I went to the shops and got rained on. And I want to sleep lots, so I may actually go to bed fairly soon, but then again possibly not, and huge guilt for not having started studying, and I was supposed to get up in order to make a call (urgh. phones) and...
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nostalgia_lj commented on the lack of post-apocalyptic BtVS fic, and that reminded me of a little snippet I wrote at least a year ago so I dug that out and put another line on the end to round it off and here it is:
Title: Hunted
Rating: PG-13
Notes: I think this may have come partly from a dream, actually, one of those vivid images that just stays with you.
* * *
There are hunters.
She drops into a hidey-hole - an abandoned basement, this one, stark crumbling brick walls, not enough shelter even to keep animals in, but dark, safe - and listens as they jog past, an eerie echo of the time before the world ended, when they ran twenty times around the block for no reason. There are no friendly calls today, no boasts of achievement, no counting the calories burned; they conserve their strength, keep their peace to avoid alerting their prey.
She ought to be too old for them to rape and too scrawny for them to cook. She is not.
She ought to be a suburban mother with a golden daughter; her daughter ought only to worry about boys and make-up. Ought is a word she doesn't believe in any more.
She hasn't believed in it since the day her daughter died and the world ended - though it may have been the other way round.
The hunters are out of earshot now, and they will not be back for another hour or two, so this is the perfect time for her to be scavenging.
Joyce pulls herself out of shelter, and moves on.
* * *
Damn, I miss writing. I just... don't seem to have the facility for it at the moment. It's because I have a ficathon thing overdue, and the last chapter of SE still waiting pre-sugarquill-posting-revision, and... I dunno, I just. don't seem to be inspired, atm.
Enough with the self-pity, going to take some paracetamol.
nostalgia_lj commented on the lack of post-apocalyptic BtVS fic, and that reminded me of a little snippet I wrote at least a year ago so I dug that out and put another line on the end to round it off and here it is: Title: Hunted
Rating: PG-13
Notes: I think this may have come partly from a dream, actually, one of those vivid images that just stays with you.
* * *
There are hunters.
She drops into a hidey-hole - an abandoned basement, this one, stark crumbling brick walls, not enough shelter even to keep animals in, but dark, safe - and listens as they jog past, an eerie echo of the time before the world ended, when they ran twenty times around the block for no reason. There are no friendly calls today, no boasts of achievement, no counting the calories burned; they conserve their strength, keep their peace to avoid alerting their prey.
She ought to be too old for them to rape and too scrawny for them to cook. She is not.
She ought to be a suburban mother with a golden daughter; her daughter ought only to worry about boys and make-up. Ought is a word she doesn't believe in any more.
She hasn't believed in it since the day her daughter died and the world ended - though it may have been the other way round.
The hunters are out of earshot now, and they will not be back for another hour or two, so this is the perfect time for her to be scavenging.
Joyce pulls herself out of shelter, and moves on.
* * *
Damn, I miss writing. I just... don't seem to have the facility for it at the moment. It's because I have a ficathon thing overdue, and the last chapter of SE still waiting pre-sugarquill-posting-revision, and... I dunno, I just. don't seem to be inspired, atm.
Enough with the self-pity, going to take some paracetamol.
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Date: 2004-05-08 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-08 05:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-08 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-08 12:36 pm (UTC)