Disclaimer: I don't own and I never will.
This is just a little something that was bothering me today, the 14-year-old that I am … Inspired by random science fiction books and the wonderful Kansas song, "Dust in the Wind".
Summary: Amid the intricacy of understanding, no one person can find their place … A rather deep, uncanny one-shot that I felt like writing.
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- Dusk -
The world, ever so sullen, lay on his weary shoulders.
Sometimes, when he was alone, he would traipse broodingly down to the grounds, wrapped snugly in his father's old cloak, and just lie there, on the browning summer grass, staring up at the stars that reminded him so much of his deceased godfather. He would do this unbeknownst to anyone, for he despised pity in all its disgusting forms, and the unnecessary amount lavished from his friends would only make matters considerably worse. He did not like to think of himself as ungrateful, but he certainly held no desire for revelry.
And then his thoughts would wander, straying from the dog-star Sirius, and focus on thoughts that created no purpose but to depress.
He was blatantly disheartened. It was that simple. He looked up at the millions, even trillions, of stars, and knew not of his purpose. He felt like a speck, a particle of dust, blowing across the plains of time - it would not be he who was important … it would be no person. How could one so small, so unimportant, make even the slightest dent in history? And then he corrected himself. How could one so small manage a feat that would last throughout history? When the Earth was gone, when it was obliterated … it did not matter. Earth was but one planet in a system of planets; one small system in hundreds of galaxies; one small galaxy in millions of universes. He did not matter.
There would be others after him as there were others before him.
He closed his eyes, ill, terrified, lonely. He was absolutely nothing to time. He was insignificant.
A soft rustling of grasses roused him from his thoughts.
Her.
She was wandering too. He watched her as she trailed aimlessly across the grounds, her eyes on her feet, coming to a rest by the lake, where she sat, pulling her legs protectively to her chest … And he watched in fascination as she pulled off her boots and stockings, dipping her bare foot into the dark, colorless water.
He did not hear a sigh, but he could see her shoulders slump in dismay. Her foot swirled, creating vast ripples.
Without a sound, he crept closer, watching her as intently as a hawk watches his prey, and found himself sitting next to her, unnoticed under the silken cloak. Her foot continued to ripple the lake's smooth surface, but otherwise he was left undetected, and she made not the slightest movement. The only sound in the night was the cooing of owls and the gentle swish of water. The stars gleamed brightly above them.
Her underlying beauty shone radiantly, and he embraced it without question. She was not simply pretty, not exotic or gorgeous, but beautiful. The sheer power of it made his breath catch. He wanted to tell her, but no words could describe what he saw that night - a shadow of innocence; the prominent spark of brilliance … a passion, all throughout life he had not yet seen - the mere existence of which comforted him.
He did not understand, or he would have known that sudden comfort for what it was.
He restrained himself from attempting anything rash; anything superior to the limits of his merits - the likes of which that could never be pardoned.
Yet to restrain such a heartfelt attempt was ill devised indeed. He opened his cloak and engulfed her inside, amid her startled gasp and his cunning grin. She then saw him and relaxed, and chastised him for upsetting her. He knew she would. She smiled warmly at him, the smile that pardoned him without words, the comfort he craved so desperately. Was it so wrong to need her so?
She, in all her selflessness, did not ask him why he was wandering late; and he, whose complex feelings could never be illustrated by words alone, was immensely, timelessly thankful.
It was then that his world changed - a reverse from what he had thought it to be. But it was a change he welcomed with compassion and understanding - the first step, the process of beginning, the acceptance of sorts. The acceptance. It made it sound like he had been deaf, dumb, and blind - like what he finally had come to see as reasonable had been standing in front of him for so long, it had become a part of his being. It was true, whatever the cause - she was in a place where he could not see her - beside him, waiting, tolerant, supportive. His guide. His friend.
Why not?
Hundreds of years from now, no one would know. The world would not care. If he were to live; live for the present; live for the mere sake of living … If he could protect the ones he cared for, turn them away from the hateful nature of the time … would everything not be worth it?
He could not dwell on such pressing matters, and yet he had to. It was his duty, his compromise. He would not take without giving.
Her foot continued to graze the translucent water, her hazel eyes watching its progress intently. Her cheeks were flushed a suiting cherry color, assailed again and again from the slight mist of the lake before them.
Suddenly, her eyes were watching his, her shoulders trembling as if from the wind's chilly breath.
He asked if she was cold.
'No,' she said. 'I'm fine.'
'If you need anything -,' was his beginning.
'I know.'
Her eyes were upon him again, scrutinizing, watchful. After a moment's pause, her voice spoke. 'How do you do it?'
'Do what?'
'Understand me.'
The answer was slowly formed, unsuccessfully hiding a teasing grin. 'I try.'
She smiled, all in good humor. 'You're wonderful.'
There was a brief, complete, pleasurable silence, in which both friends gazed over the lake at the waning moon.
Their eyes met for not the first time that night. They laughed carelessly at their silly encounter.
It was then, invisible to the world, that she smiled and kissed him softly.
Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens.
He was not faithless.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! Funky, eh? Hee hee.
I own almost all the words on this page except for Harry and Hermione (or anything else related to Harry Potter, owned by J.K. Rowling, of course), and the phrase, "Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens." The masterful, brilliant J.R.R. Tolkien said that. ^_^