pipistrellafelix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pipistrellafelix) wrote2005-08-06 10:25 pm
pipistrellafelix) wrote2005-08-06 10:25 pm
Entry tags:
writing: random prompts
Hooray for prompts that get me typing.
The click and swish of the window opening behind her told Isabel that Gabriel had followed her. “I thought I shut that window,” she said pointedly, without moving.
“You did,” Gabe said. He climbed through the window and sat down on the roof a few feet away from her.
He didn’t say anything more, and Isabel refused to talk to him. She didn’t want to give him the idea she liked his company, after all. Not after that despicable performance in the living room. She stared into the waving tree branches and the glinting sky behind them, breathing slowly.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Gabe said suddenly, breaking into Isabel’s near-meditation. Without thinking, she turned her head to look at him, and was blinded by the sunlight.
“Fine thing to say now,” she shot back, rubbing her eyes.
“Well, it’s true,” he replied, seemingly unperturbed by her irritation. “I am sorry. If I’d known what Scott was planning I would have stopped him.”
Isabel sat up. “Even I knew he was planning something,” she said scathingly, glaring down into the backyard.
“Are you ever polite to anyone, I wonder?” Gabe asked, almost absently. Before she could reply, he added, “Nevermind. And yeah, I knew he was planning something. But with Scott you can never tell.”
“You’ve known him for fourteen years,” Isabel said, choosing to disregard his first question.
Gabe shrugged. “He’s a funny one. And I don’t think he meant to really hurt you. He teases people all the time. It’s his way of saying he likes you; you’re important enough to him that he spends time playing practical jokes on you.” Isabel snorted. “I’m serious,” Gabe said. “You wouldn’t believe the number of things he’s done to me. At least I know I’m loved.”
I cannot remember the first time I saw the ocean. There must have been one; and surely I was old enough for memories, for I have memories before the ocean—the small house my parents owned, the stray cat that used to come around the back, my little bed in the corner of my parents’ room. We first came to the ocean when I was four, but I cannot remember it. It is my fondest friend, my dearest love; it is as though I have always known it.
“They have white sands in the south,” Ilanna told me once, as we sat watching the tide. She was my best friend, my nanny, my older sister, though officially she was none of these. “They say the sands are smoother than rabbit fur, and the sea is bluer than topaz.”
I remember thinking for a moment, staring over the rocky beach and graying, choppy waters, and pronouncing loudly, “then our oceans are much better.”
The click and swish of the window opening behind her told Isabel that Gabriel had followed her. “I thought I shut that window,” she said pointedly, without moving.
“You did,” Gabe said. He climbed through the window and sat down on the roof a few feet away from her.
He didn’t say anything more, and Isabel refused to talk to him. She didn’t want to give him the idea she liked his company, after all. Not after that despicable performance in the living room. She stared into the waving tree branches and the glinting sky behind them, breathing slowly.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Gabe said suddenly, breaking into Isabel’s near-meditation. Without thinking, she turned her head to look at him, and was blinded by the sunlight.
“Fine thing to say now,” she shot back, rubbing her eyes.
“Well, it’s true,” he replied, seemingly unperturbed by her irritation. “I am sorry. If I’d known what Scott was planning I would have stopped him.”
Isabel sat up. “Even I knew he was planning something,” she said scathingly, glaring down into the backyard.
“Are you ever polite to anyone, I wonder?” Gabe asked, almost absently. Before she could reply, he added, “Nevermind. And yeah, I knew he was planning something. But with Scott you can never tell.”
“You’ve known him for fourteen years,” Isabel said, choosing to disregard his first question.
Gabe shrugged. “He’s a funny one. And I don’t think he meant to really hurt you. He teases people all the time. It’s his way of saying he likes you; you’re important enough to him that he spends time playing practical jokes on you.” Isabel snorted. “I’m serious,” Gabe said. “You wouldn’t believe the number of things he’s done to me. At least I know I’m loved.”
I cannot remember the first time I saw the ocean. There must have been one; and surely I was old enough for memories, for I have memories before the ocean—the small house my parents owned, the stray cat that used to come around the back, my little bed in the corner of my parents’ room. We first came to the ocean when I was four, but I cannot remember it. It is my fondest friend, my dearest love; it is as though I have always known it.
“They have white sands in the south,” Ilanna told me once, as we sat watching the tide. She was my best friend, my nanny, my older sister, though officially she was none of these. “They say the sands are smoother than rabbit fur, and the sea is bluer than topaz.”
I remember thinking for a moment, staring over the rocky beach and graying, choppy waters, and pronouncing loudly, “then our oceans are much better.”