Gonissa
09-11-2006, 02:15 PM
This is a short fanfiction I wrote, dedicated to those who lost family during September 11th.
--
A Quiet Moment
Even the shortest seconds that slip by are useful. You know those times. It's like when you're on the verge of doing some important task, and you have to wait on something before you can do it, like some bit of information or you have to talk to a person for research. Me, all I had to do was wait for the right time, specifically the morning, that morning. I had to be at work at seven o'clock that day, and since it takes a half-hour for me to walk there, I have to start going by at least six-thirty. It only takes twenty minutes to walk there, but I like to get there a little bit early so that I can get my stuff started. Yes, I know I should get a car. I'm saving up for it, trust me. Maybe I can afford it when I get my refund check. But I'm way off, I should get back on topic.
It was six-oh-five when everything started.
It was a foggy morning out there, and it was thick enough to where you have trouble seeing the houses across the street. Kind of chilly. Unconsciously I slipped on my little knit grey hat, I think it's called a beanie. It's the one that used to be my mom's. My sister really thinks the hat is ugly, but hey, I like it, and it's warm. So I put it on. No sense in being retentive about fashion when the head has to be warm. They say that most of a person's body heat goes out through your head.
I really like fog a lot. Is that silly? Everything is peaceful and dim when the fog is out; it's easier on the eyes with the moisture and semi-darkness. Besides that, even the simplest things seem like a poem when unusual weather is out. And the low clouds block out that bright summer sun, something I really need when it's progressing towards that time, that month. I just like to let go of reality for a bit, to not think about it. Especially then, when everything was hitting me so hard. It's been almost four years now, but it's still hard not to cry when I think about mom. You try to just stuff the pain away somewhere, but it's always certain to come back, like a bunch of springs stuck in a box.
Wandering around in fog was so peaceful, and I couldn't think of anything but dim thoughts, grey thoughts that you never really remember. I decided to wander out in it before going to work. I was pretty much ready for work anyway, so it would be alright to waste a few moments in the blissful fog. Wasn't really hungry at the time, but I knew I should get something to eat from the kitchen instead of meandering in the yard, unless of course I wanted to starve at the office until twelve. It's so weird how you don't feel hungry until after you're separated from food. But there since the shopping wasn't done, all there was in the fridge was a pack of strawberry/banana yoghurt cups and a bag of dried (not instant) rice. Likewise procrastinated, the dishes were piled in the sink. I don't think I would have found a clean spoon or bowl anyway. My conscious nagged me to at least get an apple, but I ignored it and went outside. Apples aren't my thing.
The fog was even thicker than the window revealed. This was not going to be as fun as I thought. Probably alright to wander around in, but with the humidity the walk to work would be exhausting and I'd be choking or something by the time I got to my job. It was like inhaling a cloud. I coughed, trying to get used to it. Didn't work. In fact it just thickened worse and worse, for no reason whatsoever, covering me like a giant envelope.
And apparently it mailed me somewhere. Dissolving with no real reason to, it cleared out to show that my neighborhood and its century-old houses were gone, replaced by something that looked oddly like an extended graveyard. Little pillars, more intricate than a medieval palace's artwork and covered in intricate runes, stuck up periodically out of deep blue sand in many rows. If I strained my eyes, I could see where the blue wasn't interrupted by the grey, but that was far off to my right. This place was pretty expansive, yep. I bent down towards the symbols on the nearest little pillar and tried to recognise them. It was pretty easy to tell that they weren't human; even though I don't speak any languages that aren't written in Roman letters, I knew it wasn't Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Hebrew, Arabic, or whatever. In fact, they seemed to resemble the writings of the Protoss that appear in that popular computer game.
Yeah, I've always played too much Starcraft, especially when I should have been doing some work around the house. Well, before...before then anyway. Kinda lost track of it afterwards. You have to throw away your toys when you're growing up...that's what I've always heard. It's always worse when you have to grow up faster than you're ready, especially when you're the oldest kid in your bunch.
Most people probably would have been in denial at this point about the field or the lettering. Protoss are ficticious, they'd say, and this is all probably an illusion in the fog or some sort of hallucination. I didn't bother thinking like that at the time, and it might have been a hallucination or something, for all I know. I can't prove it to be anything else, yet I can't say it was fake either. It sure felt, looked, and smelled real. At the time I just looked around, still recovering from that weird fog and clearing all that moisture out of my lungs. The place resembled Shakuras, wherever it was, with its huge expanse of blue, barren sand, completely devoid of land features like forests or rivers. A cliff was out in the distance, but that was it. Even the cloudy sky was fairly boring, well, besides the fact it looked like it was going to storm soon.
It hit me what the place had to be. It was like some graveyard of all the people who died in the wars against the Zerg. Again, no way to prove it, but if you were there you would say the same thing. The graveyard lasted almost out to the cliffs ahead of me, I think, but I couldn't really see. Hm. Now that I think about it, those couldn't have been graves. Dead Protoss leave no bodies, but just dissolve in a blue flash. A better word for them would be "memorial", like dedicated to a memory as opposed to holding down the coffin of a hero.
Up ahead, something was moving, breaking the steady lines of memorials. The figure, tall and cloaked, wandered straight though the memorials purposefully. But it seemed to have found the one it was looking for, and the figure stopped and kneeled (so it looked) in front of one. The person pulled back his hood, but from the distance I couldn't really see what he looked like. I hesistantly walked up the gloomy way between the pillars; a huge spirit of damp grief was about the place, and it felt almost impossible to move quickly there -- as if the fog was still there, thick yet invisible. Or maybe more like walking through breathable water, since the place was so blue and everything.
Eventually I saw who it was, and I stopped in my tracks. Though I hadn't played in years, I knew who it was in a moment.
It was Artanis, the Praetor of the Protoss race. He was sitting mournfully, hopelessly in the dirt, not really caring if his robes, nice red ones actually, got covered in the dust. He was so sad, just staring at this one gravestone that was obviously newer than most of them around it. You could tell because the dirt around it wasn't settled completely and didn't fill the chinks in the stone like it did the others. I didn't know who it was supposed to represent. Maybe this is part of the story didn't make it into the game. Starcraft was based on battles, and anything that couldn't get crammed into a mission briefing or inside a mission itself was left to the imagination.
Suddenly Artanis had turned his golden eyes at me, with a long tear dragging down from his right. There was no "who are you?", "how did you get here?", or "what are you doing?", he just stared at me. It was almost like he wanted me to understand him, and infuriated that I couldn't. I didn't say anything. After a while, another wet trail stained the Praetor's face, and he turned back to the grave and totally let go. A wail started, and more tears came down. It was weird, because it was totally silent. Because Protoss don't have lungs or nasal passages I guess. Timidly, I walked up, putting a hand on his trembling shoulder.
Looking at the memorial, I noticed that it was very small. It was then I saw that some of the memorials in this area were simpler, more efficient than the ones I passed by ealier. This particular one was mostly uncarved, just a trapezoidal wedge in the ground with a delicate flower carved out from the cold grey stone. Only a few sentences of Protoss language were engraved there, but even as I saw that, another grave appeared in my mind paralell to the one before me. The new rock's lettering was in english, and I could read it clearly.
"Marlee Ella Fergusen-- Our Beloved Mother. b. May 12, 1954. d. September 11, 2001."
I don't remember when I started crying, or how long Artanis and I stood out there like that. It got scary almost, feeling like all the world was a graveyard and we were the only ones alive in it. No plants, no friends, not even enemies. I don't even think a kakaru passed overhead while we were out there. But it was a comfort at least to know that at least one person cared, if but that and only a stranger.
We were just out there, crying our eyes out.
Like I said, I don't remember how long the mourning lasted. The next thing I remember was standing all tear-eyed in my front yard. The fog was almost gone, and my watch said six-thirty-one. Wiping my tears and sniffing a bit, I started walking to work and hoping I would calm down before my boss could see. He was a nice guy, but sometimes you just need people to leave you with your grief.
My mom used to play the flute. I wonder if I can still remember the song she wrote.
--
A Quiet Moment
Even the shortest seconds that slip by are useful. You know those times. It's like when you're on the verge of doing some important task, and you have to wait on something before you can do it, like some bit of information or you have to talk to a person for research. Me, all I had to do was wait for the right time, specifically the morning, that morning. I had to be at work at seven o'clock that day, and since it takes a half-hour for me to walk there, I have to start going by at least six-thirty. It only takes twenty minutes to walk there, but I like to get there a little bit early so that I can get my stuff started. Yes, I know I should get a car. I'm saving up for it, trust me. Maybe I can afford it when I get my refund check. But I'm way off, I should get back on topic.
It was six-oh-five when everything started.
It was a foggy morning out there, and it was thick enough to where you have trouble seeing the houses across the street. Kind of chilly. Unconsciously I slipped on my little knit grey hat, I think it's called a beanie. It's the one that used to be my mom's. My sister really thinks the hat is ugly, but hey, I like it, and it's warm. So I put it on. No sense in being retentive about fashion when the head has to be warm. They say that most of a person's body heat goes out through your head.
I really like fog a lot. Is that silly? Everything is peaceful and dim when the fog is out; it's easier on the eyes with the moisture and semi-darkness. Besides that, even the simplest things seem like a poem when unusual weather is out. And the low clouds block out that bright summer sun, something I really need when it's progressing towards that time, that month. I just like to let go of reality for a bit, to not think about it. Especially then, when everything was hitting me so hard. It's been almost four years now, but it's still hard not to cry when I think about mom. You try to just stuff the pain away somewhere, but it's always certain to come back, like a bunch of springs stuck in a box.
Wandering around in fog was so peaceful, and I couldn't think of anything but dim thoughts, grey thoughts that you never really remember. I decided to wander out in it before going to work. I was pretty much ready for work anyway, so it would be alright to waste a few moments in the blissful fog. Wasn't really hungry at the time, but I knew I should get something to eat from the kitchen instead of meandering in the yard, unless of course I wanted to starve at the office until twelve. It's so weird how you don't feel hungry until after you're separated from food. But there since the shopping wasn't done, all there was in the fridge was a pack of strawberry/banana yoghurt cups and a bag of dried (not instant) rice. Likewise procrastinated, the dishes were piled in the sink. I don't think I would have found a clean spoon or bowl anyway. My conscious nagged me to at least get an apple, but I ignored it and went outside. Apples aren't my thing.
The fog was even thicker than the window revealed. This was not going to be as fun as I thought. Probably alright to wander around in, but with the humidity the walk to work would be exhausting and I'd be choking or something by the time I got to my job. It was like inhaling a cloud. I coughed, trying to get used to it. Didn't work. In fact it just thickened worse and worse, for no reason whatsoever, covering me like a giant envelope.
And apparently it mailed me somewhere. Dissolving with no real reason to, it cleared out to show that my neighborhood and its century-old houses were gone, replaced by something that looked oddly like an extended graveyard. Little pillars, more intricate than a medieval palace's artwork and covered in intricate runes, stuck up periodically out of deep blue sand in many rows. If I strained my eyes, I could see where the blue wasn't interrupted by the grey, but that was far off to my right. This place was pretty expansive, yep. I bent down towards the symbols on the nearest little pillar and tried to recognise them. It was pretty easy to tell that they weren't human; even though I don't speak any languages that aren't written in Roman letters, I knew it wasn't Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Hebrew, Arabic, or whatever. In fact, they seemed to resemble the writings of the Protoss that appear in that popular computer game.
Yeah, I've always played too much Starcraft, especially when I should have been doing some work around the house. Well, before...before then anyway. Kinda lost track of it afterwards. You have to throw away your toys when you're growing up...that's what I've always heard. It's always worse when you have to grow up faster than you're ready, especially when you're the oldest kid in your bunch.
Most people probably would have been in denial at this point about the field or the lettering. Protoss are ficticious, they'd say, and this is all probably an illusion in the fog or some sort of hallucination. I didn't bother thinking like that at the time, and it might have been a hallucination or something, for all I know. I can't prove it to be anything else, yet I can't say it was fake either. It sure felt, looked, and smelled real. At the time I just looked around, still recovering from that weird fog and clearing all that moisture out of my lungs. The place resembled Shakuras, wherever it was, with its huge expanse of blue, barren sand, completely devoid of land features like forests or rivers. A cliff was out in the distance, but that was it. Even the cloudy sky was fairly boring, well, besides the fact it looked like it was going to storm soon.
It hit me what the place had to be. It was like some graveyard of all the people who died in the wars against the Zerg. Again, no way to prove it, but if you were there you would say the same thing. The graveyard lasted almost out to the cliffs ahead of me, I think, but I couldn't really see. Hm. Now that I think about it, those couldn't have been graves. Dead Protoss leave no bodies, but just dissolve in a blue flash. A better word for them would be "memorial", like dedicated to a memory as opposed to holding down the coffin of a hero.
Up ahead, something was moving, breaking the steady lines of memorials. The figure, tall and cloaked, wandered straight though the memorials purposefully. But it seemed to have found the one it was looking for, and the figure stopped and kneeled (so it looked) in front of one. The person pulled back his hood, but from the distance I couldn't really see what he looked like. I hesistantly walked up the gloomy way between the pillars; a huge spirit of damp grief was about the place, and it felt almost impossible to move quickly there -- as if the fog was still there, thick yet invisible. Or maybe more like walking through breathable water, since the place was so blue and everything.
Eventually I saw who it was, and I stopped in my tracks. Though I hadn't played in years, I knew who it was in a moment.
It was Artanis, the Praetor of the Protoss race. He was sitting mournfully, hopelessly in the dirt, not really caring if his robes, nice red ones actually, got covered in the dust. He was so sad, just staring at this one gravestone that was obviously newer than most of them around it. You could tell because the dirt around it wasn't settled completely and didn't fill the chinks in the stone like it did the others. I didn't know who it was supposed to represent. Maybe this is part of the story didn't make it into the game. Starcraft was based on battles, and anything that couldn't get crammed into a mission briefing or inside a mission itself was left to the imagination.
Suddenly Artanis had turned his golden eyes at me, with a long tear dragging down from his right. There was no "who are you?", "how did you get here?", or "what are you doing?", he just stared at me. It was almost like he wanted me to understand him, and infuriated that I couldn't. I didn't say anything. After a while, another wet trail stained the Praetor's face, and he turned back to the grave and totally let go. A wail started, and more tears came down. It was weird, because it was totally silent. Because Protoss don't have lungs or nasal passages I guess. Timidly, I walked up, putting a hand on his trembling shoulder.
Looking at the memorial, I noticed that it was very small. It was then I saw that some of the memorials in this area were simpler, more efficient than the ones I passed by ealier. This particular one was mostly uncarved, just a trapezoidal wedge in the ground with a delicate flower carved out from the cold grey stone. Only a few sentences of Protoss language were engraved there, but even as I saw that, another grave appeared in my mind paralell to the one before me. The new rock's lettering was in english, and I could read it clearly.
"Marlee Ella Fergusen-- Our Beloved Mother. b. May 12, 1954. d. September 11, 2001."
I don't remember when I started crying, or how long Artanis and I stood out there like that. It got scary almost, feeling like all the world was a graveyard and we were the only ones alive in it. No plants, no friends, not even enemies. I don't even think a kakaru passed overhead while we were out there. But it was a comfort at least to know that at least one person cared, if but that and only a stranger.
We were just out there, crying our eyes out.
Like I said, I don't remember how long the mourning lasted. The next thing I remember was standing all tear-eyed in my front yard. The fog was almost gone, and my watch said six-thirty-one. Wiping my tears and sniffing a bit, I started walking to work and hoping I would calm down before my boss could see. He was a nice guy, but sometimes you just need people to leave you with your grief.
My mom used to play the flute. I wonder if I can still remember the song she wrote.