Victims 1/1
Sep. 19th, 2005 05:53 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliTitle: Victims
Author: silvery_tears aka obvmluver
Type: RPS, AU, PWP
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. If there is any mistakes in the grammar then the mistakes are solely mine.
Summary: Seldom have the effects of chauvinismic hate and religious intolerance been destructive. The rest of the world has been forced to watch, completely stunned, how the excessive fanaticism has led to bloodshed and genocide.
Author's notes: I welcome any kind of feedback so bring it on. Once again I tell you my native language is not English so if there's something you don't understand then it's probably because of me... =D Oh, yeah, and if this seems really plotless and messy, then I am sorry. This just came from my mind and there was nothing I could do about it. I just had to write this down. SO DO NOT PAY ATTENTION TO THE PLOT... =d
Seldom have the effects of chauvinismic hate and religious intolerance been destructive. The rest of the world has been forced to watch, completely stunned, how the excessive fanaticism has led to bloodshed and genocide. This story tells about two people who had the courage to defy national and religious confines. Let their destiny be a warning to the whole world. I’ve seen their picture on the magazines. It clearly is taken at the end of their journey: there are only two bodies on the ground. One’s black jacket hides the curves of his body. The other has jeans on and they both have almost similar tennis shoes. But even from the unclear picture you can see that one hold the other in his arms as they lie dead on the ground.
Wednesday. The couple walked along the shore of a river on No Mans Land, in the plain sight. They were guaranteed to have a free access to the other side. The bridge crossing the river was a short walking distance away. But only a few yards from the safety zone the lovers collapsed down being hit by a sniper’s treacherous bullets,
I can almost hear a soft clicking sound in the hot, stuffed afternoon air. Right after it a cannon boom reaches like a distant echo. The younger one died immediately. The other, older one, lived long enough to crawl, kiss and embrace his love. There they lay for six days and the smell of their rottening bodies got mixed with the virgin grass.
For five days parties fought about the bodies. The Americans claimed the bodies to themselves. The older one was an American. The Brits said that they should be buried in England because the other was English.
On the evening of the sixth day the Brits solved everything by kidnapping the bodies. Viggo’s mother, who had left New York a year before and now lived in London, had given her permission to bury her son in London. Orlando’s parents said that it would now be easier for them to take care of the grave. They also said that the place did not matter. They only wanted for the lovers to be together, lie beside each other.
That happened – eventually. A young Brit and a New Yorker, who had loved each other for years were buried to the same grave on a beautiful graveyard.
Their attempt at running away from the war threatening to destroy their love and their lives was defeated – just like their childlike belief in love conquering all obstacles. What had the fact that their origins are at the different sides of the world meant for them? When had they might have realized that belonging to either group could specify their future?
I look at a photo that is probably taken when they had just understood what they meant for each other. They smile and hug each other lovingly.
It is hard to imagine that nationality would have been important to them or their peers. I don’t say that they’d had been completely oblivios of their nationalities. They, just like everybody else, knew what they were. At that time nationality did not matter much. It didn’t determine their destiny nor did it stop them from falling in love.
They had friends in California and England too that they travelled with. Every summer they went camping to México. And then the war began. It was absurd and horrible, just like a war from the stories the grandparents told used to tell.
Suddenly the war came upon them like a tidal wave. It crushed the whole generation that had grown up in belief of the war already being a part of world and that it had a different and better future. Orlando and Viggo decided to save themselves. It wasn’t their war after all. When Viggo’s mother asked Orlando could the war separate them Orlando answered: “No. Only the bullets can.”
When Viggo decided to stay where Orlando was, Orlando and his parents knew that Viggo only stayed because he loved Orlando. There was nothing else for him. Viggo’s decision may have been influenced by the thought that the war could not reach them.
The power of politics turned out to be stronger and bigger than the innocent belief in tolerance and togetherness. After tens of thousands of civilians – their neighbours, friends and relatives – were killed just because they represented the “wrong” nationality, Orlando and Viggo realized they could not get away.
Both of them understood, and maybe it was the first time that nationality wasn’t just an abstract concept anymore, that it could become a trap to them.
After a long winter the despair in the city was almost touchable. The breaks in electricity and the shortage of water could be tolerated, maybe the coldness and hunger too but no one can stand hopelessness forever.
When Viggo and Orlando decided to leave the city Orlando knew from his childhood did not exist anymore. It made leaving easier. Orlando believed that Viggo and his mother could pretect him and that he’d have a possibility to survive.
I can almost imagine him that Tuesday – night on May 18th, as he takes his Nike sports bag and starts to pack. “Don’t pack too much.” Viggo had warned him. “It could be dangerous.”
It’s late when all of Orlando’s things are packed. The city is eerily quiet as if all the citizens were sleeping soundly, tired of the endless war.
Orlando takes a page out of his journal. It’s dark outside. Feels like he’s sitting in a deep and pitch black cave. There is a single candle flickering in the room but his eyes had gotten used to its dim light. “Dear Mom and Dad” Orlando writes. He stops to think for a moment. What could he say to them? That he has to leave because he can’t leave Viggo alone? That they could be separated from each other and killed because they represent different nationalities? Or that it’s only a matter of time when they die in the middle of the street just because they live together?
Mom and Dad know all of this, Orlando thinks. He doesn’t need to tell or explain anything to them. What is enough is that they know both Orlando and Viggo have made it from the death sentence.
Orlando is silent for a moment and decides to write about his dog. “Take care of Sidi. He looks at me and barks at this very moment when I cry and write this. Sleep with him for a month at least and talk to him all the time.” Orlando puts out the light, goes to bed and stares at the darkness.
~*~
They leave the next morning. This is how I’ve imagined it: It’s Wednesday afternoon. After hugging his parents briefly Orlando leaves. Sidi has now stopped barking. He just looks at Orlando from afar. Orlando is brave for sure, he won’t look back.
As he comes closer to the river he sees Viggo’s familiar frame. Viggo is waiting for him. Suddenly sweat covers Orlando’s hands but as he runs to Viggo he’s not afraid anymore. Everything will be fine as long as we stay together, he thinks. Viggo takes his bag, gentleman as he is. Then they leave the protective terrains and walk to a clearing where everybody can see them. They walk on the northern side of the river. They don’t hurry. They believe it’s not necessary because they were guaranteed a free access.
Hand in hand they walk closer to the bridge. The river running and the crashing sound of sand under theirs shoes are the only sounds that fill the air. The safety zone isn’t far anymore and they pick up their pace.
Suddenly when Viggo is opening his mouth to say something he feels as something warm bursts out of his stomach. He then realizes his hands are covered with blood.
Then comes the pain and he falls to the ground. He sees Orlando’s lifeless body in the distance. It seems as if an unknown power had thrown him there.
Weird, I didn’t hear a thing, Viggo thinks as he drags himself to Orlando and lets go of the bags. Viggo kneels down on Orlando and crying tries to shake him awake. A little after the darkness has fallen, he presses himself next to Orlando and wraps his left arm around him. He places his lips on Orlando’s tears running on his face. Right after it an excruciating pain hits him and he collapses beside Orlando.
Orlando and Viggo’s families have never hated each other. Quite the contrary. Both families always tried to help them avoid the thing that killed them in the end. The war.
Viggo’s mother throws a fistful of sand onto a simple coffin. “My children, the ill winds rushed you here today”, she says. She doesn’t have anything else to say, no more tears, nothing. I can only imagine how she stands still on the yellow earthen ground that will soon swallow her son. There is no greater sorrow than what a mother feels when she has to bury her own child – and there is no war to justify this.
Viggo’s mother may not have known it at that moment but right then her sorrow became our sorrow, shared with everybody whose lives are now scarred by the war.
Viggo and Orlando represented the future but they were pulled violently to the past.
Author: silvery_tears aka obvmluver
Type: RPS, AU, PWP
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. If there is any mistakes in the grammar then the mistakes are solely mine.
Summary: Seldom have the effects of chauvinismic hate and religious intolerance been destructive. The rest of the world has been forced to watch, completely stunned, how the excessive fanaticism has led to bloodshed and genocide.
Author's notes: I welcome any kind of feedback so bring it on. Once again I tell you my native language is not English so if there's something you don't understand then it's probably because of me... =D Oh, yeah, and if this seems really plotless and messy, then I am sorry. This just came from my mind and there was nothing I could do about it. I just had to write this down. SO DO NOT PAY ATTENTION TO THE PLOT... =d
Seldom have the effects of chauvinismic hate and religious intolerance been destructive. The rest of the world has been forced to watch, completely stunned, how the excessive fanaticism has led to bloodshed and genocide. This story tells about two people who had the courage to defy national and religious confines. Let their destiny be a warning to the whole world. I’ve seen their picture on the magazines. It clearly is taken at the end of their journey: there are only two bodies on the ground. One’s black jacket hides the curves of his body. The other has jeans on and they both have almost similar tennis shoes. But even from the unclear picture you can see that one hold the other in his arms as they lie dead on the ground.
Wednesday. The couple walked along the shore of a river on No Mans Land, in the plain sight. They were guaranteed to have a free access to the other side. The bridge crossing the river was a short walking distance away. But only a few yards from the safety zone the lovers collapsed down being hit by a sniper’s treacherous bullets,
I can almost hear a soft clicking sound in the hot, stuffed afternoon air. Right after it a cannon boom reaches like a distant echo. The younger one died immediately. The other, older one, lived long enough to crawl, kiss and embrace his love. There they lay for six days and the smell of their rottening bodies got mixed with the virgin grass.
For five days parties fought about the bodies. The Americans claimed the bodies to themselves. The older one was an American. The Brits said that they should be buried in England because the other was English.
On the evening of the sixth day the Brits solved everything by kidnapping the bodies. Viggo’s mother, who had left New York a year before and now lived in London, had given her permission to bury her son in London. Orlando’s parents said that it would now be easier for them to take care of the grave. They also said that the place did not matter. They only wanted for the lovers to be together, lie beside each other.
That happened – eventually. A young Brit and a New Yorker, who had loved each other for years were buried to the same grave on a beautiful graveyard.
Their attempt at running away from the war threatening to destroy their love and their lives was defeated – just like their childlike belief in love conquering all obstacles. What had the fact that their origins are at the different sides of the world meant for them? When had they might have realized that belonging to either group could specify their future?
I look at a photo that is probably taken when they had just understood what they meant for each other. They smile and hug each other lovingly.
It is hard to imagine that nationality would have been important to them or their peers. I don’t say that they’d had been completely oblivios of their nationalities. They, just like everybody else, knew what they were. At that time nationality did not matter much. It didn’t determine their destiny nor did it stop them from falling in love.
They had friends in California and England too that they travelled with. Every summer they went camping to México. And then the war began. It was absurd and horrible, just like a war from the stories the grandparents told used to tell.
Suddenly the war came upon them like a tidal wave. It crushed the whole generation that had grown up in belief of the war already being a part of world and that it had a different and better future. Orlando and Viggo decided to save themselves. It wasn’t their war after all. When Viggo’s mother asked Orlando could the war separate them Orlando answered: “No. Only the bullets can.”
When Viggo decided to stay where Orlando was, Orlando and his parents knew that Viggo only stayed because he loved Orlando. There was nothing else for him. Viggo’s decision may have been influenced by the thought that the war could not reach them.
The power of politics turned out to be stronger and bigger than the innocent belief in tolerance and togetherness. After tens of thousands of civilians – their neighbours, friends and relatives – were killed just because they represented the “wrong” nationality, Orlando and Viggo realized they could not get away.
Both of them understood, and maybe it was the first time that nationality wasn’t just an abstract concept anymore, that it could become a trap to them.
After a long winter the despair in the city was almost touchable. The breaks in electricity and the shortage of water could be tolerated, maybe the coldness and hunger too but no one can stand hopelessness forever.
When Viggo and Orlando decided to leave the city Orlando knew from his childhood did not exist anymore. It made leaving easier. Orlando believed that Viggo and his mother could pretect him and that he’d have a possibility to survive.
I can almost imagine him that Tuesday – night on May 18th, as he takes his Nike sports bag and starts to pack. “Don’t pack too much.” Viggo had warned him. “It could be dangerous.”
It’s late when all of Orlando’s things are packed. The city is eerily quiet as if all the citizens were sleeping soundly, tired of the endless war.
Orlando takes a page out of his journal. It’s dark outside. Feels like he’s sitting in a deep and pitch black cave. There is a single candle flickering in the room but his eyes had gotten used to its dim light. “Dear Mom and Dad” Orlando writes. He stops to think for a moment. What could he say to them? That he has to leave because he can’t leave Viggo alone? That they could be separated from each other and killed because they represent different nationalities? Or that it’s only a matter of time when they die in the middle of the street just because they live together?
Mom and Dad know all of this, Orlando thinks. He doesn’t need to tell or explain anything to them. What is enough is that they know both Orlando and Viggo have made it from the death sentence.
Orlando is silent for a moment and decides to write about his dog. “Take care of Sidi. He looks at me and barks at this very moment when I cry and write this. Sleep with him for a month at least and talk to him all the time.” Orlando puts out the light, goes to bed and stares at the darkness.
~*~
They leave the next morning. This is how I’ve imagined it: It’s Wednesday afternoon. After hugging his parents briefly Orlando leaves. Sidi has now stopped barking. He just looks at Orlando from afar. Orlando is brave for sure, he won’t look back.
As he comes closer to the river he sees Viggo’s familiar frame. Viggo is waiting for him. Suddenly sweat covers Orlando’s hands but as he runs to Viggo he’s not afraid anymore. Everything will be fine as long as we stay together, he thinks. Viggo takes his bag, gentleman as he is. Then they leave the protective terrains and walk to a clearing where everybody can see them. They walk on the northern side of the river. They don’t hurry. They believe it’s not necessary because they were guaranteed a free access.
Hand in hand they walk closer to the bridge. The river running and the crashing sound of sand under theirs shoes are the only sounds that fill the air. The safety zone isn’t far anymore and they pick up their pace.
Suddenly when Viggo is opening his mouth to say something he feels as something warm bursts out of his stomach. He then realizes his hands are covered with blood.
Then comes the pain and he falls to the ground. He sees Orlando’s lifeless body in the distance. It seems as if an unknown power had thrown him there.
Weird, I didn’t hear a thing, Viggo thinks as he drags himself to Orlando and lets go of the bags. Viggo kneels down on Orlando and crying tries to shake him awake. A little after the darkness has fallen, he presses himself next to Orlando and wraps his left arm around him. He places his lips on Orlando’s tears running on his face. Right after it an excruciating pain hits him and he collapses beside Orlando.
Orlando and Viggo’s families have never hated each other. Quite the contrary. Both families always tried to help them avoid the thing that killed them in the end. The war.
Viggo’s mother throws a fistful of sand onto a simple coffin. “My children, the ill winds rushed you here today”, she says. She doesn’t have anything else to say, no more tears, nothing. I can only imagine how she stands still on the yellow earthen ground that will soon swallow her son. There is no greater sorrow than what a mother feels when she has to bury her own child – and there is no war to justify this.
Viggo’s mother may not have known it at that moment but right then her sorrow became our sorrow, shared with everybody whose lives are now scarred by the war.
Viggo and Orlando represented the future but they were pulled violently to the past.
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no subject
Date: 2005-09-19 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-19 04:36 pm (UTC)wow!!!
Date: 2005-09-23 02:50 pm (UTC)This is a great piece of fiction i loved it.
:)
ps don't make me cry again pleeeaaase LOL