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mash_slash2007-04-23 10:01 pm
mijmeraar.livejournal.com) wrote in mash_slash2007-04-23 10:01 pm
Entry tags:
[mijmeraar] square peg, round hole, pt 1 of 1, 13+
Title: square peg, round hole.
Characters: BJ/Hawkeye implied [feat. Mulcahy, Radar, Charles and Potter]
Prompt: Shapes.
Word Count: 238
Rating: 13+
Triangle shaped grooves in his skin, where the cross is clasped tight, sweaty palm. Francis will listen, he’ll be the light in the dark; he will never understand.
I love him father. I love him more than I should.
Francis will listen, he won’t talk. He wont’ say, I know. He loves you too.
*
Broken lines in the dirt from a nervous toe; he shouldn’t be here, they always make three a crowd. Radar can hear the words they won’t say;
We’re best friends. No, listen. We’re best friends.
Words like Korean: foreign and strange and unknown.
*
As the record spins circles, all melody, his bunkmates dance about each other; the proverbial elephant centre stage. Charles can barely muster indifference.
It’s not. It is. It’s whatever. It’s all I have.
Charles plays Mozart while they play games.
*
The canvas is square and all wrong; all four walls and nowhere to move. Potter tries yellows, and blues and purples; Potter tries every colour and fails.
He’s too much; it’s too hard to look. It’s harder to look away.
Whatever they are, it cannot be painted.
*
He holds them in his hands, all blood and valves and flesh. He feels them pulsing and it’s like having control. His own is a trinket, a shape; pastel red and fake.
I love him. I love him more than I should.
His own heart isn’t his own at all.
Characters: BJ/Hawkeye implied [feat. Mulcahy, Radar, Charles and Potter]
Prompt: Shapes.
Word Count: 238
Rating: 13+
Triangle shaped grooves in his skin, where the cross is clasped tight, sweaty palm. Francis will listen, he’ll be the light in the dark; he will never understand.
I love him father. I love him more than I should.
Francis will listen, he won’t talk. He wont’ say, I know. He loves you too.
*
Broken lines in the dirt from a nervous toe; he shouldn’t be here, they always make three a crowd. Radar can hear the words they won’t say;
We’re best friends. No, listen. We’re best friends.
Words like Korean: foreign and strange and unknown.
*
As the record spins circles, all melody, his bunkmates dance about each other; the proverbial elephant centre stage. Charles can barely muster indifference.
It’s not. It is. It’s whatever. It’s all I have.
Charles plays Mozart while they play games.
*
The canvas is square and all wrong; all four walls and nowhere to move. Potter tries yellows, and blues and purples; Potter tries every colour and fails.
He’s too much; it’s too hard to look. It’s harder to look away.
Whatever they are, it cannot be painted.
*
He holds them in his hands, all blood and valves and flesh. He feels them pulsing and it’s like having control. His own is a trinket, a shape; pastel red and fake.
I love him. I love him more than I should.
His own heart isn’t his own at all.