Dirtier, part 12
Dec. 7th, 2008 03:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanWhen the door clanged shut the coal cellar was plunged into darkness, but after a moment a torch came on and cast a dim circle of light onto his face.
"You all right, Gumby?" Peter asked.
"Give me a minute. I will be," he answered, trying to get his breathing to steady down.
"Did you hurt your leg?"
"And my arm." He swallowed hard, took a few more deep breaths. The stitches on his arm hadn't been hurting too much until he'd hit them against the wall of the coal chute. The knee had, but he'd been ignoring it. Neither could be ignored now. At least he had managed to avoid hitting his head again.
"Maybe we ought to take you to hospital."
"No. It's not that bad." He hated hospitals. But he smiled, best he could, to reassure Peter. "I wouldn't say no to aspirin though, if you can fetch me some."
Peter brightened. "Aspirin's easy. Be right back." The torchlight wobbled over to a corner of the room, where the boy crouched down to release a catch in the panelling before pulling open a concealed door. In a moment, Peter was gone, and the light with him.
It was very dark. He closed his eyes against the night-blindness and counted to twenty, letting his pupils dilate, and when he looked again he could see the outlines of the chute, just barely, outlined in some refracted scraps of light from the door above. But very little else was visible. A bulk here, a line there. The room smelled of damp and coal and mice, like another place he'd been in as a very small child. He closed his eyes again and remembered his mother's shoulder shivering under his cheek, and his granny's arms around them both, her voice cracking from note to note as she sang a lullaby to counter the fear that was waiting outside the dark, safe shelter. Granny hadn't been there in the dark the first time, the time that smelled of smoke and terror and blood -- then it had only been Mum, holding him and singing until the men had dug them out. But all the nights that followed, all the nights when the memory had taken his mother, when she had lifted him from his cot and carried him down to the cellar seeking safety from the bombs that were no longer falling, those nights Granny had come and sung them both to sleep. And when Mum had gone away, off to the green corridor that smelled of sickness and antiseptics, to fade into a silent statue of herself, Gran had still come to him singing on the nights when the loneliness had been too much for a small boy to bear.
"Nineteen seventy six," he reminded himself. Gran was long gone. If he wanted music, he'd have to make it himself.
"You all right, Gumby?" Peter asked.
"Give me a minute. I will be," he answered, trying to get his breathing to steady down.
"Did you hurt your leg?"
"And my arm." He swallowed hard, took a few more deep breaths. The stitches on his arm hadn't been hurting too much until he'd hit them against the wall of the coal chute. The knee had, but he'd been ignoring it. Neither could be ignored now. At least he had managed to avoid hitting his head again.
"Maybe we ought to take you to hospital."
"No. It's not that bad." He hated hospitals. But he smiled, best he could, to reassure Peter. "I wouldn't say no to aspirin though, if you can fetch me some."
Peter brightened. "Aspirin's easy. Be right back." The torchlight wobbled over to a corner of the room, where the boy crouched down to release a catch in the panelling before pulling open a concealed door. In a moment, Peter was gone, and the light with him.
It was very dark. He closed his eyes against the night-blindness and counted to twenty, letting his pupils dilate, and when he looked again he could see the outlines of the chute, just barely, outlined in some refracted scraps of light from the door above. But very little else was visible. A bulk here, a line there. The room smelled of damp and coal and mice, like another place he'd been in as a very small child. He closed his eyes again and remembered his mother's shoulder shivering under his cheek, and his granny's arms around them both, her voice cracking from note to note as she sang a lullaby to counter the fear that was waiting outside the dark, safe shelter. Granny hadn't been there in the dark the first time, the time that smelled of smoke and terror and blood -- then it had only been Mum, holding him and singing until the men had dug them out. But all the nights that followed, all the nights when the memory had taken his mother, when she had lifted him from his cot and carried him down to the cellar seeking safety from the bombs that were no longer falling, those nights Granny had come and sung them both to sleep. And when Mum had gone away, off to the green corridor that smelled of sickness and antiseptics, to fade into a silent statue of herself, Gran had still come to him singing on the nights when the loneliness had been too much for a small boy to bear.
"Nineteen seventy six," he reminded himself. Gran was long gone. If he wanted music, he'd have to make it himself.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-07 08:49 pm (UTC)*sigh*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-07 09:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-08 04:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-08 04:31 am (UTC)http://rabidsamfan.livejournal.com/tag/dirtier which hopefully will have all the bits in one place, as long as you read from the back end.
Part four has links to the youtube version of the episode that someone put up btw.
I hope you enjoy the story!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-08 03:18 pm (UTC)"Smell are surer than sounds or sights to make your heartstrings crack..."
More small pieces displayed to us as they trickle back into his consciousness.
But you could post these things in slightly larger chunks, you know. If you're going to do one scene at a time, you need to post more often.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-08 04:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-09 04:15 pm (UTC)For those of us with no patience, however...
(okay, yes, it really does work beautifully as a catch your imagination -- and your heartstrings -- sniblet. now get the next bit out there so we don't smack you.)