Drabble #37
Feb. 23rd, 2009 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sagesariaPrompt: #9: Blank
Fandom: The Who's Tommy
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Notes: ....yes, I just wrote a drabble about a musical. Wanna make something of it? I'll warn you now that there are a LOT of spoilers in here and it's....after a scene in the play that's not for the faint of heart. It's inspired by my college's take on the show, and our ten-year-old Tommy's performance in the scene. Just my interpretation of what's going on in his head, I guess.
Tommy sat on the floor, perfectly still. All alone in the room, nobody could see him like this. Normally he stood unaware, completely blank, as though he wasn't there at all. Now his face wrought with conflict. He couldn't see his drunken uncle coming after him, or say something to make him stop. But somewhere in the dulled chaos of his mind, he felt it. He knew that the man, practically a stranger to him, had done something horrible he couldn't even put in words, even if he could speak.
He dropped his head to the floor, unable to bring himself to cry. For six years it had been the same day after day. Everything around him was a haze of unfamiliar shapes and colors. Voices came to him as faint, incomprehensible noise. He could almost feel his own mother's embrace, but couldn't respond. He felt as though he was lost. As though somebody shut him into his own mind and threw away the key, only given flitting moments of comprehension such as the music of a French horn...or his uncle's hands. Once there was an almost peaceful feeling, drifting in this hazy, quiet world, but as time passed he grew more and more frustrated and alone, even if it didn't show in his face. There was no one he could relate to. No one he could confide in.
Something nagged the back of his mind. A voice that seemed to come from nowhere, calling his name. He lifted his head, his empty eyes falling on the mirror. The welcoming reflective surface called to him like it always did. Gingerly he found his way to his feet, taking slow, meaningful steps to the mirror.
As he stood before it, a different face greeted him inside. An older boy, dressed in all white. He stared down at Tommy, his eyes sad; sympathetic, and perhaps even desperate. Their eyes met, and Tommy could only stare. He raised his hands, reaching out to him. The older boy moved with him, and their fingers almost touched, if not for the glass between them. He continued to call to Tommy, his voice and face the only things truly clear to him
See me,
Feel me,
Touch me,
Heal me.
Tommy understood him. He could feel them relate and connect through the fog. This man on the other side was the only one he could call a friend.
If only he could reach through that mirror.
Fandom: The Who's Tommy
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Notes: ....yes, I just wrote a drabble about a musical. Wanna make something of it? I'll warn you now that there are a LOT of spoilers in here and it's....after a scene in the play that's not for the faint of heart. It's inspired by my college's take on the show, and our ten-year-old Tommy's performance in the scene. Just my interpretation of what's going on in his head, I guess.
Tommy sat on the floor, perfectly still. All alone in the room, nobody could see him like this. Normally he stood unaware, completely blank, as though he wasn't there at all. Now his face wrought with conflict. He couldn't see his drunken uncle coming after him, or say something to make him stop. But somewhere in the dulled chaos of his mind, he felt it. He knew that the man, practically a stranger to him, had done something horrible he couldn't even put in words, even if he could speak.
He dropped his head to the floor, unable to bring himself to cry. For six years it had been the same day after day. Everything around him was a haze of unfamiliar shapes and colors. Voices came to him as faint, incomprehensible noise. He could almost feel his own mother's embrace, but couldn't respond. He felt as though he was lost. As though somebody shut him into his own mind and threw away the key, only given flitting moments of comprehension such as the music of a French horn...or his uncle's hands. Once there was an almost peaceful feeling, drifting in this hazy, quiet world, but as time passed he grew more and more frustrated and alone, even if it didn't show in his face. There was no one he could relate to. No one he could confide in.
Something nagged the back of his mind. A voice that seemed to come from nowhere, calling his name. He lifted his head, his empty eyes falling on the mirror. The welcoming reflective surface called to him like it always did. Gingerly he found his way to his feet, taking slow, meaningful steps to the mirror.
As he stood before it, a different face greeted him inside. An older boy, dressed in all white. He stared down at Tommy, his eyes sad; sympathetic, and perhaps even desperate. Their eyes met, and Tommy could only stare. He raised his hands, reaching out to him. The older boy moved with him, and their fingers almost touched, if not for the glass between them. He continued to call to Tommy, his voice and face the only things truly clear to him
See me,
Feel me,
Touch me,
Heal me.
Tommy understood him. He could feel them relate and connect through the fog. This man on the other side was the only one he could call a friend.
If only he could reach through that mirror.
