Heather (lightningrapier) wrote in lightningfanfic, @ 2007-12-09 05:58:00 |
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Variety - 100 Word Challenges
Title: A Series of 100 Word Challengers
Author: Emily (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Silent Hill, Star Wars, Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Miscellaneous, see cuts below.
Rating: From G to PG-13
Warnings: Boylove.
Summary: I wrote some 100 word challenges. I was bored in Florida. I don't do beaches. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Konami, George Lucas, Squeenix. I guess I love you all. >>
Notes: They're short. Just read them and make me happy.
Originally posted at LJ on May 1, 2005. Moved over because SixApart are fucking whores. :D
When Harry picked up Kaufmann's wallet, he'd been surprised that the only thing that had fallen out was a receipt. There weren't any pictures of smiling children or trophy wives (like he suspected a well-to-do doctor would have). It was a portrait into the soul of a lonely man, and if a picture told a thousand words, surely a wallet told a thousand more.
Kaufmann and Harry met again, and when the doctor yelled, Harry gingerly handed the wallet back. In that moment when their fingertips brushed, Harry wished his picture could be there, to fill up their lonely lives.
--
Mary’s funeral had been a rush of panic and uncertainty for James. Mary’s parents, who’d refused to come to her wedding in a show of disapproval towards her groom, had taken the entire process into their own hands without giving James any chance to say his goodbyes. When he was finally allowed to approach her casket and see her, lying there dead and empty, James had broken down crying. Those hands that lay there limp had one day touched his cheeks. Those cold lips had kissed his countless times. Mary looked so soft and warm... she couldn’t really be dead.
--
Henry was warm and peaceful, curled up inside that womb-like comfort. All around him was a soft, cradling reassurance, a motherly love like he himself had never experienced. It was no wonder, in that way, why Walter considered Room 302 to be a mothering parent. In this warmth, Henry felt closer to Walter, like something more than the final Sacrament, last in a line of twenty-one. When he closed his eyes, it was like he understood Walter – understood the desperate need for blood and death, the begging wish for love. Henry needed it too... couldn’t the two help each other?
--
Chess, Han thought, was a game not unlike his life. Luke had been teaching him, and he’d succumbed to playing, if only because there was little else to do on long voyages. As far as he could tell, all one did was move forward and knock down your opponent before they knocked you down. Simple enough.
Playing against Luke, though, proved to be extremely annoying. The kid was good, and his pompous tone upon “checkmate” frustrated Han like nothing else. If Luke wasn’t careful, Han was going to take him out next time – knock him down, checkmate, with a kiss.
--
Luckily, when he was asked, red marks on Obi-Wan’s neck were easy to explain away.
“I was hit in the neck,” he’d always tell the other Padawan, “In the training room, you know. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber nicked me.”
And it was true that a lightsaber left nearly similar marks on training levels, but the amount of times Obi-Wan was getting “nicked on the neck” were beginning to be suspicious.
“We should be more careful,” Qui-Gon mused, and Obi-Wan knew his master was right as usual, but fierce kissing was hard to stop, and no one was asking too many questions, yet.
--
Sora was having dreams of Riku attacking him.
“Why do you have the keyblade?!” Riku would always demand, and even though that black hood was pulled up over his face, Sora could see the familiar glint in his eyes.
But Sora never answered.
The rain fell around them and splashed up in puddles and their blades slipped off each other, clanging with some deep fury.
What was this dream? Some memory? Did it mean anything, or was it just a dream?
Riku seemed so far away. All Sora wanted was his own happy ending, there holding hands in the sand.