Metalocalypse ongoing again
Mar. 20th, 2007 06:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Advent
Rating: G
Word Count: 888
Winter that year seemed as if it would never end. After an icy February, March dug into the land with sullen gray skies, constant high winds, and unfulfilled threats of snow. His coat, always too thin, was too small again as were his pants. He’d grown again, shot up almost overnight in the space of time from the turning of the year to his present day. Anja had let out as much as of the fabric as she could, not even bothering to hem his pants to give him every millimeter of cloth, but it simply wasn’t enough. Boxed in by their isolation and the harsh weather, the monthly visits from the supply plane had temporarily halted much to the Reverend’s delight and Toki’s private dismay.
His family, as befit their place as leaders in the religious community, had as few possessions as they could manage so as to illustrate their piety. There wasn’t even an extra old sheet lying around to use as a temporary fix. So Toki went to school with his hands buried in his pockets, stepping carefully along the cleared path through the drifts to keep from getting any snow down the inside of his boots, and came home at night with red, chafed wrists. It was the worst time of year for him, even worse than the start of winter which brought with it the knowledge that he would have a long season of darkness, cold, and even deeper silence to endure. He was worn thin, frayed around the edges as much as his clothing, and the promise of spring and sunlight and a chance to be productively outdoors and away from his parents seemed so far away.
Even his teacher seemed affected by the weather and the absence of the plane. The upbeat young man who had been a salvation with his banjo and his willingness to help Toki thwart the Reverend had grown quieter and depressed as the days wore on. The cell phone tower was down, broken in a February blizzard, and he’d been as trapped as his charges, completely isolated in Hastanfjord. He’d grown paranoid, and Toki, nursing his hand back to full use and peeling the last of the scabs off of his back, couldn’t blame him. But with even his few precious minutes of weekly music dwindling away, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. Every night he added another hash mark to the bottom of his bedstead, a running count of the days since his birthday. When he’d reached the year mark, he’d be of age and free, and he tried to remember, to endure for just a little longer.
And it seemed as if his half-formed prayers and his long patience had been rewarded when the sky finally lightened, the hue at last more blue than grey and the clouds that skuttled high overhead did not threaten snow. On the third day of the blustery, cold, and remarkably clear weather, the supply plane touched down on the rough landing strip on the outskirts of the settlement. Even his mother’s face had shown an instant of relief before her usual pinched expression returned. There were some essentials they couldn’t provide for themselves and those necessities had been running dangerously low. Still, with the Reverend watching the citizens of Hastanfjord were decorous, hesitant even in an attempt to appear reluctant, as they approached their link to the outside world in pairs and trios.
Only his teacher had made a dash for the plane, beaming from ear to ear as a large handful of envelopes was given to him. Flipping through his letters, he was pleased to find several from his fiance, two from his parents, and one from his grandmother. Also in the post were three official bits of mail. Two were for him, both from the Education Ministry, and the third was for Toki Wartooth and bore the insignia of the Combined Armed Services. There were no other letters, no junk mail or catalogues for this self-removed community. Only what contact was legally required by the government was grudgingly permitted by the Reverend and no one would suspect anything if he kept the letter. The teacher kept an eye out for the boy he’d befriended, squelched the urge to stick his tongue out at the Reverend when the man glowered at him. Toki wasn’t anywhere in sight, as he’d learned to expect whenever what might be considered temptation was near, and so he made the decision to pocket the letter. He’d give it to Toki when they next had class.
The next day, after school was over, Toki had to sit down as he read and re-read the contents of the letter. It didn’t seem real and he actually pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But it was true, all of it, and he leapt up with a shout and gave his teacher a rib-crushing hug and pretended that he wasn’t crying, actual tears of happiness leaking from his pale blue eyes. He had his way out and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. Suddenly the wait until his eighteenth birthday didn’t seem nearly so long and, when he went outside into the biting wind, he could swear he could feel the onset of spring against his skin.
Rating: G
Word Count: 888
Winter that year seemed as if it would never end. After an icy February, March dug into the land with sullen gray skies, constant high winds, and unfulfilled threats of snow. His coat, always too thin, was too small again as were his pants. He’d grown again, shot up almost overnight in the space of time from the turning of the year to his present day. Anja had let out as much as of the fabric as she could, not even bothering to hem his pants to give him every millimeter of cloth, but it simply wasn’t enough. Boxed in by their isolation and the harsh weather, the monthly visits from the supply plane had temporarily halted much to the Reverend’s delight and Toki’s private dismay.
His family, as befit their place as leaders in the religious community, had as few possessions as they could manage so as to illustrate their piety. There wasn’t even an extra old sheet lying around to use as a temporary fix. So Toki went to school with his hands buried in his pockets, stepping carefully along the cleared path through the drifts to keep from getting any snow down the inside of his boots, and came home at night with red, chafed wrists. It was the worst time of year for him, even worse than the start of winter which brought with it the knowledge that he would have a long season of darkness, cold, and even deeper silence to endure. He was worn thin, frayed around the edges as much as his clothing, and the promise of spring and sunlight and a chance to be productively outdoors and away from his parents seemed so far away.
Even his teacher seemed affected by the weather and the absence of the plane. The upbeat young man who had been a salvation with his banjo and his willingness to help Toki thwart the Reverend had grown quieter and depressed as the days wore on. The cell phone tower was down, broken in a February blizzard, and he’d been as trapped as his charges, completely isolated in Hastanfjord. He’d grown paranoid, and Toki, nursing his hand back to full use and peeling the last of the scabs off of his back, couldn’t blame him. But with even his few precious minutes of weekly music dwindling away, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. Every night he added another hash mark to the bottom of his bedstead, a running count of the days since his birthday. When he’d reached the year mark, he’d be of age and free, and he tried to remember, to endure for just a little longer.
And it seemed as if his half-formed prayers and his long patience had been rewarded when the sky finally lightened, the hue at last more blue than grey and the clouds that skuttled high overhead did not threaten snow. On the third day of the blustery, cold, and remarkably clear weather, the supply plane touched down on the rough landing strip on the outskirts of the settlement. Even his mother’s face had shown an instant of relief before her usual pinched expression returned. There were some essentials they couldn’t provide for themselves and those necessities had been running dangerously low. Still, with the Reverend watching the citizens of Hastanfjord were decorous, hesitant even in an attempt to appear reluctant, as they approached their link to the outside world in pairs and trios.
Only his teacher had made a dash for the plane, beaming from ear to ear as a large handful of envelopes was given to him. Flipping through his letters, he was pleased to find several from his fiance, two from his parents, and one from his grandmother. Also in the post were three official bits of mail. Two were for him, both from the Education Ministry, and the third was for Toki Wartooth and bore the insignia of the Combined Armed Services. There were no other letters, no junk mail or catalogues for this self-removed community. Only what contact was legally required by the government was grudgingly permitted by the Reverend and no one would suspect anything if he kept the letter. The teacher kept an eye out for the boy he’d befriended, squelched the urge to stick his tongue out at the Reverend when the man glowered at him. Toki wasn’t anywhere in sight, as he’d learned to expect whenever what might be considered temptation was near, and so he made the decision to pocket the letter. He’d give it to Toki when they next had class.
The next day, after school was over, Toki had to sit down as he read and re-read the contents of the letter. It didn’t seem real and he actually pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But it was true, all of it, and he leapt up with a shout and gave his teacher a rib-crushing hug and pretended that he wasn’t crying, actual tears of happiness leaking from his pale blue eyes. He had his way out and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. Suddenly the wait until his eighteenth birthday didn’t seem nearly so long and, when he went outside into the biting wind, he could swear he could feel the onset of spring against his skin.
