[identity profile] vilakins.livejournal.com

This week's challenge is departures and arrivals. It was sheer coincidence that what I thought up turned out to be the other side of [livejournal.com profile] astrogirl2's Harbinger. Set in season 4 with major spoilers, 240 words.

Strategy )

[identity profile] redstarrobot.livejournal.com
CHORUS:   'Tis lightning doth play and part our dark'n'd skies,
          And in its wake, our sins are made most plain,
          Frozen in stony flesh with arms out-stretched,
          While in broad fields, nuclear winter's frosts
          Of dust and wretchedness blanket our bones.

GIROC:    What summons is this, pray, that calls us here?
          Is not my rest more sacred than this ship
          Of fools that squabble and mewl like children?

SINOFAR:  Bestir yourself, old witch.  No rest is ours,
          Nor sacredness, for 'tis our lot to bear
          The curse of folly past all measuring:
          When Doomsday arrived, it came at our call;
          'Twas our missiles did fast convey it hence
          And these, our greatest minds, conceived it, yea,
          In all its glorious rains of fire and blood.
          Our highest science and diplomacies
          Did bear this fruit whose cost outweighs all gold
          In long-locked coffers, and 'tis solely this,
          Our toil and labor, doth redeem its price.

GIROC:    What cost! O, why, then, shall we pay so dear,
          When any spit-stained boy can tell thee that
          The sweetest fruit is that which is stolen
          From high atop the tree and savored ripe,
          The juice running so sticky down the chin,
          Enjoyed even as the price goes begging?

SINOFAR:  Bite thy tongue, for the core of this fair fruit
          Is worm'd and rotten, and has spoiled its flesh
          And thine, and all flesh that did once reside.
          In having tasted it, thy tongue again
          Does crave its sickly, creeping tang,
          So bite, that thou might taste those most desired
          Sweet drops of blood but only, hag, thine own,
          And feel, too, the sharp pain of their release.

GIROC:    Most fair thy face, and yet what a most sour
          Demeanor; nay, 'tis deathly, Sinofar,
          For what is life but tasting sweet of blood
          And yet released of pain most sharp, endured?

Witches exeunt.

CHORUS:   This hath been our most grievous lot, this coin
          That spins from blood to blood and life to death
          And lands, most soft, there clatt'ring to the floor,
          Then, casting off its faces, Giroc, here,
          And Sinofar, condemns; we live no more.
          Our weapons of destruction so long sought,
          When found, consumed us whole in heart and thought.
[identity profile] astrogirl2.livejournal.com
235 moderately depressing words of 4th-season fic.


I wonder if the rest of them have noticed. Maybe it's one of those things we all think about and nobody ever talks about. There's enough of those these days it's a wonder we ever open our mouths at all, except to say "pass the salt."

But surely I'm not the only one who's noticed a pattern. It's too bloody obvious, isn't it? We show up somewhere, anywhere, everywhere... and people die. Not that people didn't die when Blake was around, but mostly they were Federation. Soldiers. Nasty people with guns. Not random scientists or the entire populations of neutral planets. At this rate, I'm half expecting people to start running when they see us coming. Look out, it's the Scorpio gang! They arrive in orbit and by the time they've departed, so has everybody else, in one way or another.

And Avon doesn't care, does he? Plaxton who? She was just another body to him, just another nobody, but I can't stop seeing her face. And I can't stop wondering. Is that all any of us are to him now? I don't like to think about it, but I do, anyway, and the same prickly feeling crawls down my back every time. Because every time I'm more and more certain. One day we're going to arrive somewhere, and we're none of us going to leave. And Avon... Avon will just stand there and laugh.
[identity profile] astrogirl2.livejournal.com
As we prepare to see another year out and welcome a new one in, we do so with the topic of arrivals and departures.


b7friday: (Default)
Weekly Blake's 7 Ficlet Challenge

April 2017

910111213 1415


Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags