Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Winter's Soliloquy ❯ Winter Soliloquy ( Chapter 1 )
[ A - All Readers ]
By: Vigilante 
Wintery Narrative.
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Vignette | Uploaded On: 02.17.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 687 | Visits: 353 | Status: Completed
Wintery Narrative.
Miscellaneous: Original Stories Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Vignette | Uploaded On: 02.17.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 687 | Visits: 353 | Status: Completed
Winter’s soliloquy
I'm watching you. Watching as you rise towards the horizon. The night sky is glowing with your fire. Who are you? What are you? It's been a long night...I have grown to like the night. The stars watching over me. The moon casting it's glow upon my footsteps.
It was a bit cold, though. I am bundled against the winds, seated in the snow against the oldest oak of the forest. I've been waiting. The night drew on. I grew restless, and gathered about me the occupations of my forefathers. I began preparations. A bow for hunting, carved from the perfect branch and sanded silk-smooth with my fingertips. An axe, broken from stones taken from the deepest caves, where sunlight has never touched the flint. Arrows, straighter than any ever created, fletched perfectly with feathers of only the purest white. A sled, made from the finest branches of the forest, curved elaborately and lashed together flawlessly. One that would slide endlessly and effortlessly over the pristine white snow. I rest these tools on a bed of furs, which I have collected over an eon of hunting.
I was preparing for you. Tools to build us a home, weapons to hunt for our food, transportation to move you to wherever you wanted to go. Furs to guard your bite from the kiss of the cold.
The night is fighting your arrival. I feel it grow colder. Sharp, deafening cracks sound in my ears as trees explode from the cold. Spinters berrate me where I sit. My oak tree stands strong through this; it has seen many a cold night, perhaps colder than this one. The darkness fills everything as the night draws its cloak over the moon, denying me its light to work by.
You are coming. A warm orange plays a film over the horizon, dancing its individual rays up and over the rockline. The wind roars in my ears, whipping my hair and loose furs against the tree behind me. The very air seems to flee your arrival. The wind makes breathing harder, but I remain sitting. Waiting.
You are here, finally. You catch me by surprise, as I was listening intently for the sound of footsteps crunching in snow. Instead, I hear your voice before me. How did you get here so silently? I look behind you and see Summer. Green grass and life are brought with you. The winter is behind me, cold and detached from all. There is no life there, except for those who remain to struggle through the desolation. Nature teems with life behind your footsteps. Have you melted away all of my world that your touch has caressed?
I look at my equipment. Each I offer to you. With my sled you create the far mountains, the white furs becoming their snowcaps. The bow you make a river, unstrung and straight as it rushes down the mountain, string winding through the forest of my furs. In your hands, the axe becomes the tallest of ancient trees, flint axehead anchoring it into the earth. The arrows, fletched in purest white, form the most beautiful, white flower to ever grace my eyes.
In this way do you create our world. When you finish, I look at you with confusion. Is it not I who am to provide for us?
A smile of eternity brushes across your features, and you take my hand. Our world will provide for us.
Within your eyes boil the myriad emotions of nature. Fire mixes with water, wind with earth, all spiralling in a never-ending maelstrom of passion and fervor. Your touch is fire, mine ice. Your lips are an inferno which courses through my body, thawing my soul. From our kiss, life springs about us and a new season is born.
We, opposite, are nothing, and everything, together. We are nothing, and everything, apart. Spring is our dawn, Summer. Fall is our dusk.
Let us settle into our world.
I'm watching you. Watching as you rise towards the horizon. The night sky is glowing with your fire. Who are you? What are you? It's been a long night...I have grown to like the night. The stars watching over me. The moon casting it's glow upon my footsteps.
It was a bit cold, though. I am bundled against the winds, seated in the snow against the oldest oak of the forest. I've been waiting. The night drew on. I grew restless, and gathered about me the occupations of my forefathers. I began preparations. A bow for hunting, carved from the perfect branch and sanded silk-smooth with my fingertips. An axe, broken from stones taken from the deepest caves, where sunlight has never touched the flint. Arrows, straighter than any ever created, fletched perfectly with feathers of only the purest white. A sled, made from the finest branches of the forest, curved elaborately and lashed together flawlessly. One that would slide endlessly and effortlessly over the pristine white snow. I rest these tools on a bed of furs, which I have collected over an eon of hunting.
I was preparing for you. Tools to build us a home, weapons to hunt for our food, transportation to move you to wherever you wanted to go. Furs to guard your bite from the kiss of the cold.
The night is fighting your arrival. I feel it grow colder. Sharp, deafening cracks sound in my ears as trees explode from the cold. Spinters berrate me where I sit. My oak tree stands strong through this; it has seen many a cold night, perhaps colder than this one. The darkness fills everything as the night draws its cloak over the moon, denying me its light to work by.
You are coming. A warm orange plays a film over the horizon, dancing its individual rays up and over the rockline. The wind roars in my ears, whipping my hair and loose furs against the tree behind me. The very air seems to flee your arrival. The wind makes breathing harder, but I remain sitting. Waiting.
You are here, finally. You catch me by surprise, as I was listening intently for the sound of footsteps crunching in snow. Instead, I hear your voice before me. How did you get here so silently? I look behind you and see Summer. Green grass and life are brought with you. The winter is behind me, cold and detached from all. There is no life there, except for those who remain to struggle through the desolation. Nature teems with life behind your footsteps. Have you melted away all of my world that your touch has caressed?
I look at my equipment. Each I offer to you. With my sled you create the far mountains, the white furs becoming their snowcaps. The bow you make a river, unstrung and straight as it rushes down the mountain, string winding through the forest of my furs. In your hands, the axe becomes the tallest of ancient trees, flint axehead anchoring it into the earth. The arrows, fletched in purest white, form the most beautiful, white flower to ever grace my eyes.
In this way do you create our world. When you finish, I look at you with confusion. Is it not I who am to provide for us?
A smile of eternity brushes across your features, and you take my hand. Our world will provide for us.
Within your eyes boil the myriad emotions of nature. Fire mixes with water, wind with earth, all spiralling in a never-ending maelstrom of passion and fervor. Your touch is fire, mine ice. Your lips are an inferno which courses through my body, thawing my soul. From our kiss, life springs about us and a new season is born.
We, opposite, are nothing, and everything, together. We are nothing, and everything, apart. Spring is our dawn, Summer. Fall is our dusk.
Let us settle into our world.