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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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LMAOOOOOO

Victor wasn’t sure what it was about the holiday season in Spring Gate, but it was like whatever crazy dust the villains were snorting on a daily basis had suddenly and completely run out, thus driving them all insane.

It was Christmas Eve, the day before his birthday, and he was running around town, chasing villains. Not that he minded. Snapping cuffs on villains kept his mind off of things. The move to Spring Gate. His new job as a hero. The fact that he was the only hero in America who wasn’t retired... It was all so nerve-racking, but the media couldn’t stop singing his praise.

Which only made him more nervous, because what if he screwed up? The thought constantly nagged him, even as he snapped yet another pair of nano-cuffs onto a new thief, Fanfare. The police stuffed him away into the back of a van then crowded around Victor.

“You changed your suit again!”

“Is it true you’re only twenty-two? You’re so young to be this good!”

“Where did you train?”

“Did you go to The Grand Prix Academy? My sister and I went there, so maybe we know you!”

“I heard a rumor you were a police officer!”

“That doesn’t make sense, he’s only nineteen...”

“Twenty-two!”

“No, The Weekly Cape confirmed he was twenty-three...”

“That rag?! You actually get your information from the Cape?”

“Officers,” Victor held his hands up as a kind of flimsy fence. He felt overwhelmed. “Uh, thank you so much for your service. I think I should get going now.”

“Already?!”

“Uh, well, I think something might be happening on the south side...” he fibbed, feeling attacked, and static crinkled in his ear. Saved by the Boss. He held up an apologetic finger and turned away to answer Yakov on his comm link.

“Winter. Status report,” Yakov barked.

“Fanfare has been apprehended and is in transit. Lovemary, Captain Ahab, and Juice have also been apprehended and should be touching down at Ares Island within the hour.”

“Good work. It’s almost three so you shouldn’t have too much to worry about now. Do your rounds, report back in, then you’re done.”

“Copy that,” he said and Yakov clicked out as he turned back to the officers. “Duty calls,” he said weakly as he backed away and he felt guilty when he saw their crestfallen faces. Talking to the public, even if it was just officers was still so...hard even though he’d been doing this for two years now. He jogged up a block, the wintry air barely making him shiver, and thought about how he could’ve handled that differently. Should he have made a joke? Or given them gifts? That was ridiculous. Yakov never gave civilians gifts just because... Just the idea was absurd. He tried to imagine himself carrying around a large sack of wrapped presents like a flaming fuchsia Santa, just to have handy in case anyone asked him a question he was too nervous to answer.

At least he only had his rounds left. Taking a few leisurely laps around the city would help him to relax. He was so mentally spent. Usually, he took down about one or two four-star villains a week. Today, he’d taken down six. By himself. Was it weird to think that hero work was lonely? He couldn’t talk to his best friend after all, not after last month when he officially debuted as an international jewel thief. Why, Chris? Victor could’ve helped him... He wished Chris had talked to Victor... told him something, anything.

And what would he have told you, stupid?

What could someone like Chris tell his best friend, a hero, if he were moonlighting as a cat burglar? I’ve got sticky fingers and I need your help? Victor found himself not caring at all that Chris was a criminal, because he just wanted his friend back. He wanted to bitch and moan about how he couldn’t find the right costume even though Billy was a great if not eccentric designer. About how Yakov and Lilia were officially split up. About all the criminals in Spring Gate. About Celestino’s new hair. About how he hadn’t seen Yuri in a few weeks now. About how he was thinking of cutting his own hair and what style Chris thought would be good for him... There was so much to tell his friend and he had no idea how to even contact him.

He almost bumped into a staggering pedestrian, definitely drunk, and Victor grabbed the man’s shoulders to steady him. The man slurred Victor’s hero name adoringly as he fell against Victor’s chest.

“You all right, buddy?” Victor asked awkwardly, trying hard not to think about vomit.

“You’re the nicest man in the world,” the man blubbered into Victor’s shoulder. He was putting all his weight on Victor and he reeked of something cheap and strong. “Sooo kind...”

“I’m going to call you a taxi, ok?” And to Victor’s horror, the man burst into tears. He tried to get a better look at the man’s face around his wild bushy hair. “Uh, are you ok?!”

“Yes!”

“W-why are you crying then?”

“Because you’re so fucking nice! And you smell so nice too!”

“Ah, right then,” Victor, with some effort because the man really was leaning his entire body on him, pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed a taxi service. After making the call, he gently tried to coax the man into an upright position but he groaned and convulsed.

Victor stepped back just in time as the man was violently sick on the sidewalk. Chris, help me. He tried not to gag. He just needed to breathe through his mouth. He gently took the man’s hand to pull him away from the puddle he’d made.

“I think you should sit down,” Victor said and eased him down on to the asphalt. He held his hand out and procured a cup made of ice and filled it to the brim with water. He handed this to the man who giggled.

“Bottom’s up,” he mumbled and downed it all as if it were a shot. He gave the empty container an affronted look as if it had lied to him and he threw the ice into the street.

“Better...?”

He closed his eyes. Rested his head against the building behind him. “It’s finally quiet,” he sighed.

A few minutes later, the taxi pulled up, and Victor was afraid the man was in no position to tell the driver where he lived. His suspicions were confirmed when Victor asked only to be answered by a fit of hysterical giggles. Victor searched the man’s pockets and didn’t find a wallet or even a set of keys. He scratched his head and turned to the driver.

“Can you take him to this address?” He asked as he handed over a business card for History Maker. The headquarters weren’t official yet as it was just a small office downtown. Lilia wanted to move to a bigger space. Yakov saw no reason to and Victor agreed since he was the only hero there. In any case, Yakov would be there, and maybe the man could sleep on the couch in the waiting room until morning. He paid the taxi driver who looked put upon, gently hoisted the man into the back seat, and continued his rounds. He checked his phone.

2:50. He guessed he earned a break. He slipped into an alley to deactivate his suit and power down. He walked a block to a seven eleven to buy cheetos and an iced coffee and ignored the weird look he got from the cashier. He strolled down the dark street, thinking about how the drunk man was right--it really was quiet now-- and finally found a place to sit and eat on a bus stop bench. He sighed as he sat down and a wave of exhaustion hit him.

He hadn’t realized just how fatigued he was until he sat down. His muscles felt heavy in his arms as he lifted his coffee to his lips. It was good coffee, he thought. He blinked and when he opened his eyes again, he realized he was still holding the cup to his lips. Had he taken another sip? The cup slipped in his hands and he jumped, frightened at the sudden movement. Catching it just in time, he set it down on the bench next to him. He’d drink it later... he pulled at the bag of cheetos.

Why was it difficult to open? Stupid chips. He just needed to take his time. Then they’d open for sure.

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news from downtown Spring Gate where a hostage situation has broken out at a McDonald’s on sixth. We have Hisashi Morooka on the scene now. Morooka, what can you tell us?”

“Well, as you can see, West, the restaurant has been surrounded by police cars and authorities are at a stand still as the hostage taker has made demands that have not yet been made public...”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, West, but it seems that the hostage taker is a super power so our officers are exercising caution. I think we’re looking at a fire type, and I have just gotten word that there are roughly eleven hostages.”

“Any word from our heroes, Morooka?”

“Not yet. As you know, Winter Torch has had quite the Christmas Eve, cleaning up Spring Gate since early yesterday-- ah, and it seems like our hostage-taker is coming out! He’s got a woman in his arms, West and--”

“WINTER! TORCH! WINTER! TORCH! COME HERE! NOOOOOOW!”

Concept #72

Villain takes people hostage and tells Hero to meet their demands or else they’ll kill one every hour. The problem? Hero is asleep and has no idea this is happening.

Bonus points if they’re sleeping due to illness or injury or just plain exhaustion

#writing prompts #hr drabbles #hr shorts #fanfiction #ff #my fanfiction #a hostage situation #uuuuh i'll continue it later

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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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Also! Please feel free to send me writing prompts that you want me to do! <3

#writing prompts #my writing #what's good #not hr #not hero reform

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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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For some reason, I can’t reblog the prompt I used for this!

Please check out @dailyau for their writing prompts! For some reason, I couldn’t reblog the prompt I used for this au but it was the 'You're the stranger who's using my car's window as mirror to check how you look without noticing I'm sitting right in there, so I go ahead and open the window to tell you how pretty you are' AU. I technically didn’t follow instructions either. Darn. Anyways. I really liked this one and in the original post I composed I started off by CRACKING MY BONES. Here, I’ll just copy and paste it.

Ohhohohohohohohohohoho..... what have we here? *cracks fingers, back, and neck and then the knees too for good measure*

Yuuri allowed himself an extra few minutes to sit in his car and warm up his hands before stepping into the bitter wind. Winter was so intense this year that he could feel the inside of his bones, and he was certain the marrow there was frozen. He technically had the time. No one else came to work as early as him, not even Victor, and he was the CEO.

Yuuri just liked to make sure that he had the itinerary ready for Victor when he arrived, the to-do list sorted, memos organized, etcetera. That way, when Victor walked in, he could give his boss a quick synopsis of the day ahead, a smooth start to yet another productive day at Nikiforov Inc. He shivered and thought about how his first order of business would be to immediately send Minami out to grab coffees. He felt bad for subjecting the plucky intern to these conditions, but he’d let him take the company car.

He huffed into his palms and jumped when a shadow passed the outside of his car. Yuuri squinted through the frosted glass at someone in a dark trench coat, shoulders hunched against the wind. It was barely five in the morning and even the janitors came in at six... he leaned closer and watched as the wind pushed the person back, their platinum hair flying up in a lovely flurry.

Victor?! It was actually him, and now that Yuuri was looking properly, it couldn’t have been anyone but him, with the unmistakable attention to detail in his coat’s tailoring, the scarf that was clearly designer even through the dark mist of the early morning, and that shock of beautiful, silver hair. It was even cute swept up in a tuft, Yuuri thought. What brings you here so early, Mr. Nikiforov? He laughed quietly to himself as he watched Victor hesitate, his shoulders sagging dramatically before turning around as if looking for something. He seemed to have found it when his eyes landed on Yuuri’s car. Yuuri watched half with interest and half with mild dread because he really didn’t want to get out of his car just yet. It was still far too cold.

But Victor wasn’t looking at him. Yuuri frowned as Victor stopped right outside his passenger window. He expected Victor to say something, but instead, his boss leaned down to check his reflection in Yuuri’s mirror. He barely held down a snort. Victor frowned at his reflection as he tried to smooth down his wind swept tuft with gloved fingers. He fussed with it and pouted before turning to face the window, it seemed for a larger reflection. Yuuri pursed his lips on a smile-- Victor was looking right at him. Couldn’t he see Yuuri? Victor straightened out his shiny bangs, a perfect flirty curtain over his left eye, and then stood up straighter to look at himself, turned left and right as if to check all of his angles for imperfections that he definitely didn’t have. He tilted his chin up, showing off his cheekbones, the frame of an immaculate picture. He licked his pink lips and Yuuri bit his own, watched as Victor procured a tube of chap stick from his pocket to apply it. He took a step back, tilted his head at the window, and Yuuri nodded at him, giving his silent approval of the finished look.

But Victor still wasn’t satisfied as he huffed and marched impatiently back to the window. Yuuri lifted an eyebrow at Victor who slapped his hands on his cheeks in despair at his reflection. Yuuri chuckled and rolled the window down. Victor’s blue eyes flew open in shock.

“Good morning, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri greeted him warmly.

“Ah! Yuuri! I-- I didn’t know-- your car,” he stammered, actually looking flustered, something entirely new to Yuuri who was used to seeing smooth Victor. Confident Victor. The Victor that made business deals like it was a childhood hobby. It was endearing to see. Yuuri beamed at him. Victor cleared his throat and tried to collect himself as he straightened his scarf around his collar. “Sorry about that...”

“Not at all,” Yuuri said and tried not to be too obvious about looking at Victor’s winter reddened cheeks. “You look lovely this morning,” he added softly.

“Ah, well,” Victor mumbled awkwardly though he smiled a little as he rocked on his heels.

“Would you like to get in and warm up before going up to the office, sir?”

“Um, well, if that’s alright with you,” Victor said and Yuuri unlocked the door for Victor. Victor stepped in the car and shut the door behind him, bringing in a warm, soft smell with him that sent an electric trickle up Yuuri’s back. It was somehow clean and woody at the same time, Like a hint of cedar on linen... Victor looked at the gold watch on his wrist. “Do you really always come in this early, Yuuri?”

“There’s always plenty of work waiting for me.”

“You work too hard.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take the man who built an empire from the ground up too seriously, sir.”

“I had help,” Victor smirked.

“That you did,” he pulled a pair of gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. “Pardon the intrusion but, may I ask what brings you to the office so early? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah,” Victor sighed. From the corner of his eye, Yuuri watched the white ribbon of breath curl in the air in front of Victor. He seemed to be thinking something over as he stuck his tongue in his cheek and drummed his thighs with his fingers. “I guess there’s no getting around it now,” Victor said with a gentle smile and he reached into his coat to pull out a small velvet box. “I wanted to surprise you somehow, leave it on your desk before the rest of the staff arrived, but... you never fail to surprise me, Yuuri.”

“Surprise?”

“I usually pride myself in being excellent at surprises,” he admitted with a wolfish grin, “but I had to think about a surprise that would be right for Yuuri Katsuki, the world’s most wonderful executive assistant. A man of class, poise, efficiency, beauty--”

“Mr. Nikiforov...”

“Professionalism, right,” he waved his hand dismissively before finishing “a man who carries the weight of a company on his shoulders.”

“But, you’re the CEO.”

“As far as I’m concerned we’re the CEO,” he corrected sternly. And Yuuri threw his head back and laughed at how ridiculous Victor was being. “I thought about showering you with roses, hiring a harpist, or renting a horse drawn carriage, but nothing seemed to be a fit for you.”

“You know me much better than I gave you credit for,” Yuuri said, his neck growing hot at the idea of a Cinderella style carriage arriving in front of the office in front of all the employees.

“Of course, I do! None of those things were good enough for my Yuuri.” He handed the box to Yuuri who took it. “Nothing is good enough for you, to be completely honest. But anyways... happy birthday, Yuuri.”

“Oh!” Now, Yuuri thought he must’ve been the one to be red in the face because his skin was on fire, and his heart jumped in his chest with delight. “I-- thank you, Vic-- I-- Mr. Nikiforov, I really appreciate this,” he exclaimed, feeling both elated and embarrassed.

“If you like it now, just wait until you open it,” Victor joked and Yuuri chuckled, feeling silly for getting worked up over a box. He gently lifted the lid to find a pair of matching gold cuff links with his initials embossed in the smooth surface.

“They’re perfect,” Yuuri said. “This is... this is really thoughtful, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Victor sighed, content as he stretched back against his seat. “I’m giving you the day off.”

“That is inadvisable.”

“You deserve it, Yuuri. I’ll handle the paperwork when I go in.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“I changed my mind. Take the whole week to enjoy yourself. You can use the company card to buy yourself something nice.”

“I’m not going home, Victor,” Yuuri shook his head at his boss who was being insufferably silly. Victor’s lips curled up.

“Got you to say my name,” he taunted. Yuuri rolled his eyes and smirked in spite of himself.

“Can you believe that our partners actually find you intimidating?”

“It’s a mystery to me. I have a very sunny disposition.” Yuuri hummed and gingerly removed a cuff link from its foam. He attached them both to his sleeves and admired them in the new morning light. It was pale and pink like strawberry lemonade, a hue that made the frosted Earth blush. “You made it perfect,” Victor murmured and Yuuri grinned.

“I love them, Victor. This means a lot to me. Shall we?” Yuuri asked Victor who nodded and they both got out of the car to start the day.

They walked in comfortable silence to the doors. When Yuuri stopped to open them, Victor turned suddenly to him and opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again and smiled.

“Don’t tell me you actually did get the carriage,” Yuuri teased and Victor laughed, shook his head.

“No, this is... this is different,” he said and pulled a small white envelope from his pocket. It was blank. “This isn’t a present. Sorry to start your birthday with more work but...”

“No reason to be sorry. It’s my job, after all,” Yuuri straightened up to pay attention.

“When you have time, take a look at this for me. Tell me if it’s... professional. If it isn’t, feel free to throw it away,” he instructed as he handed the envelope to Yuuri and walked through the open door ahead of him in one swift movement.

“Is it time sensitive?”

“Not at all,” Victor said over his shoulder. “Read it when you’re ready,” and he pushed the black and gold button for the elevator. Yuuri frowned at the little envelope but shrugged as he tucked it into his pocket.

“Understood,” Yuuri said.

The rest of the day was peacefully busy, a normal day of hustle and buzz. Yuuri organized Victor’s schedule for the week, called clients to arrange conference dates, reviewed the weekly company outreach report, and set up Victor’s poodle’s vet appointment. It was satisfyingly productive, he thought as he allowed himself to deflate into his desk chair at the end of the day. Everyone but he and Victor had clocked out to go home. He was glad that no one besides Victor knew about his birthday... the attention would’ve made him uncomfortable.

Victor’s gift was more than enough, the cherry on top of a beautiful day. He thought about going to his favorite Japanese restaurant for dinner, a little mom and pop shop that made a katsudon almost as good as his mother’s. Victor strode out of his office and rapped his knuckles on Yuuri’s desk as he passed.

“Time to go home, Yuuri,” he said, just like always.

“Good work today, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri replied and Victor mouthed happy birthday over his shoulder at Yuuri before stepping into the elevator. As the doors closed, he winked and was gone.

That man. Yuuri bit his lip and spun around in his chair. When it stopped spinning, he leaned on his desk and ran a thumb over one of the cuff links, absently thinking about that morning. About Victor checking his reflection in Yuuri’s car window. About Victor making Yuuri’s car smell like that. Of course, as Victor’s executive assistant, he had to remain professional, set up boundaries so that their work relationship functioned, so that the company functioned. That was what was important. But, it was Yuuri’s professional opinion that Victor Nikiforov was hot enough to set the devil on fire.

And he was a good person too, which only made him hotter, as far as Yuuri was concerned. He was an amazing leader, philanthropic, and loving. He was quite clever too, and as ambitious as Yuuri was, he had to admit that Victor Nikiforov impressed him so thoroughly that Victor’s back was the only one Yuuri was content with standing behind. But it never felt like he was standing behind Victor as much as he was standing at his side. Like partners.

He tried to clear his head by writing and sending out a company memo about the holiday bonuses. Once he finished that and several other little administrative tasks, he consulted the to do list on his tablet. It was nearly complete except--

“Oh, I forgot!” He said out loud even though he was alone. He opened his desk and pulled the letter that Victor gave him out of the drawer. It was sealed with a gold sticker. It looked like a medal. He carefully removed this and sat back in his seat to read the letter. He immediately recognized his boss’ thin, neat cursive.

A soft flame rose in his chest when he read the first line.

Dear Yuuri,

Happy birthday! It seems like only yesterday that Chris hired you. If I remember correctly, you were actually officially appointed on your birthday. I could kick myself for the way I behaved back then. I was so accustomed to doing things by myself so I wasn’t exactly open to the idea of having an assistant. I am so, so sorry for everything. The truth is that now I can’t imagine running this company without you. I can’t imagine my life without you, Yuuri. Your heart is so beautiful. I can’t believe someone like you can be real: someone so compassionate but confident, someone creative and intelligent. You are like a song, Yuuri, and you gave me a new reason, a worthwhile reason to wake up and come to work every day. You gave me a reason to have passion and drive. You gave me a reason to finally use these words:

I love you. I just wanted to let you know...

Yours Forever,

Victor Nikiforov

“Hooo, my god.”

#yuuri on ice #yoi #fanfic #office au #writing prompt #i dont know how to use tumblr send help #not hr #not hero reform #my car window

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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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I’m not good at romantic affection!!!!!!!!!! I’m gonna try these. Also, you can send me an ask.

GRUMPY AFFECTIONATE STARTERS.

1. “Yeah, yeah. You’re cute. Just stop smiling at me like that.”

2. “I love you, but please stop whatever it is that you’re doing.”

3. “You’re so annoying. Oh my God– I love you so much.”

4. “STOP BEING SO CUTE, IT’S NOT FAIR!”

5. “Listen, I enjoy this hug and all, but can you stop?”

6. “Give me a minute, I’m going to tickle the shit out of you.”

7. “Hey, stop looking at me like that– I don’t like how cute you look.”

8. “Please, stop smiling at me like that. I’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.”

9. “I don’t like people, but you’re an exception.”

10. “You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know.”

11. “I crave your affection, but I crave your silence even more– shut up.”

12. “Is this your way of subtly hinting that you want to hold my hand because it’s quite cute, but I’m not in the mood to hold your hand.”

13. “You’re talking too much, just shut up and hold me.”

14. “Ew. Get away from me. No– not you. You stay.”

15. “Hi, I’ve been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and now I’m pissed.”

#sentence starters #writing prompts #writing #what's good #ask

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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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Every nice comment about my writing adds an extra year to my life

#i have lived over a million years thanks to you #who is that girl i see #staring straight back at me #why is my reflection someone a million years ooooooooold????#i have seen things #thank you #writing #memes #not hr

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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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Worst Case Scenario

This is a short short story from my uni days. It probably will only make sense to me that I’m bringing this up now because this piece inspired a major scene in a much bigger project I’m currently working on (not HR lol). The assignment, in short, was to make a normal every day thing weird. I I tried to exaggerate something that is considered a natural milestone in some people’s lives. Because sometimes our imaginations make things far more dramatic than they really are. So this one is about a kid, their friend and their first date.

Bee asked me what was the worst thing that could happen if I kissed Terrence so I told her, in full detail, but she threw her textbook at me when I finished and shouted “That would never happen in a million years, you dolt!” So that night, against my better judgment, I called Terrence, and nearly went into cardiac arrest when he agreed to meet me at the docks for desserts.

He bought me blood orange sorbet. It scorched the roof of my mouth with a sugary effervescence like freezer burn. I bought him a chocolate pop. I wanted to show him that I too, was well paid with minimum wage. There were other couples cantering across the boardwalk, sparklers in hand, their smiles burning bright holes into the darkness. Terrence and I found a table to finish eating. He turned to me, watching me watch the couples.

“Do you want a sparkler too?” he asked. It was so dark. I couldn’t see the scar above his left eyebrow from where he tripped on my patio steps last spring. His curls were like swirls of fallen sky in the night. I couldn’t see him, which meant he couldn’t see me panicking. I dropped my spoon and leaned over the table, close enough to see the shock in the brown oak of his eyes, to smell the chocolate on his lips. I paused, hovering stupidly in front of him, my breath coming out hot and orbiting the centimeter of space between us before he torpedoed through the gap and connected his lips with mine. My brain short circuited.

Electric waves jolted me in and out of reality each time his lips moved against mine, and one bolt of energy zapped my heart, setting it ablaze so that it beat so fast, it buzzed. The friction from it beating ignited my bones and made them ache. My blood heated with shame, rolled like magma, and made my skin sear so that I could not feel the curve of Terrence’s lips on mine anymore.

“Ow! What—” Terrence yelped and tried to leap away, but my fiery embarrassment had welded his face to mine, and when he tried to lurch back, the skin on his lips peeled off and stuck to mine. Howling in agony, he brought his jerking hands to his bleeding, scorched face not sure what it was he was trying to fix.

I shook. The quarter pound of humming heart in my chest burned down to a single ember of chagrin, and when I looked down, I shrieked when I saw it glow in my rib cage. Flames sparked from my mouth, and I shut it immediately. It was too late. The table caught fire between us, and Terrence, crying, stumbled into a crowd of squealing, couples. I cried too, not wanting him to leave, and was surprised to see lava drip onto my lap instead of tears. My skin radiated red light and steam ripped through my nose, a putrid, sulfuric sting that clouded my vision so I stood, but when I did, I erupted into the sky. I dissolved passing clouds and smelted the edge of a satellite before halting in the sun’s shadow, to burn for a billion years in reeling humiliation, loss fueling the eternal ember at my core as I had nightmares of the off color that would blossom on Terrence’s face as his lips healed.

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readsomescribbledybop · 4 years

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If a whisper were a thing to see

Sometimes, these little lines pop into my head and I don’t know where they’re going until I write them down. I live near a big river sectioned off by a stone levee and it’s quite possible that there’s nothing remarkable about it. A million people could look at this river and feel nothing, but sometimes, I have a kind of deep, emotional tug in the pit of my stomach when I look at it. I’ll be walking home and I have to stop and just. Watch. When I watch it, little lines like “if a whisper were a thing to see...” pop into my head. So here’s a drabble about a river.

If a whisper were a thing to see, it would be the gentle powdering of a river by a rain shower’s retreating hand. The storm would have long past though the night sky would still be cloaked in a heavy fog, the face of the heavens streaked by sentimental tears. If a whisper were a thing to see, it would be illuminated by a single fluorescent street lamp, a white ribbon making the finger prints of mist twinkle on black water. It would be found sliding down the bars of an old metal fence with rain waiting to become dew. It would be a silent drip on asphalt. It would only be seen by someone who stopped to watch trickles becoming curtains of condensation on shut windows. It would look soft to the touch. If a whisper were a thing to see, it would be private and earnest in this way. It would only be seen at night, along the stitches of a white ribbon, in the solitude of gentle rain.

If a hug were a thing to feel outside the embrace of arms, it would be felt at the exact time of day when the sun was low enough to kiss the jaw of someone walking home. It would be the only warm thing at winter’s end. And if warmth were a color, it would be honey. You would feel a spot of honey on your cheek as you walked away from the sun along a river going the same way as you. A green river, lined with tall bowing reeds the color of warmth, would be flowing towards a timid sky—a low hanging visage still unsure of itself, still using clouds to close its eyes behind. If a hug were a thing to feel outside the embrace of arms, it would be felt while gratefully looking upon this sky. For there would still be honey on your cheek. Because the mallards would still be going the same way as you, bobbing delicately along as if they were drowsy, the waters that guide them lapping at stone levees. If a hug were a thing to feel while alone, it would be felt on the way home. It would be felt as a river reminds you that you never left, that you could never leave.

Because when you gaze long enough at a river as deep as the one that flows along the back of this town of olive groves, you will notice it breathe as it runs. It weeps as it goes. It sighs as it turns. It is vulnerable and raw, receding down to sand and jagged stones, clams and crushed shells and swelling again as an arm of the sea, glittering and formidable enough to not be traversed by water fowl and crows. The same thing that makes a river sigh dwells in us so that we are home even as we wander. For we breathe in our homes. We may whisper by rivers. And we can feel the warmth of a hug by looking at mountains the moment before the first coming of spring.

And if a sigh were a thing to understand, it would be understood from swaths of spongey life revealed by a freshly glassed river tinted a shade of pine. It would be new and disconcerting. It would be barnacles crusted on levees and crabs venturing from the depths into traffic only to scuttle away into sewers and cracks in walls. If a sigh were a thing to understand, it would hurt. It would be tender and dear. It would be wonderful. It would be bright and green and different from where you’ve been. It would be different from where you have to go and it would have the final say on what time is. As you watch rivers breathe, feel it rise and fall as you do, you’ll come to know that something so sweet can only be a memory. You’ll wonder how a feeling, if a feeling could have a color, could be tones of bitter sweet sepia. You’ll wonder how longing could taste like honey and sting like salt. You’ll wonder how winter, even as it lays its head to rest can feel like a hand on your heart. Like something you want to leave. Like something that will never leave. Like something that has left. Like something you want back even as it rests in your hands. If a sigh were a thing to understand, if it were something to learn by looking at it, it would make you cry. It would make you laugh.

#my writing #drabbles #me #my home #if a whisper were a thing to see #not hr #not hero reform #about a river

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