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vigorli2005-11-17 01:59 pm
blueluthien.livejournal.com) wrote in vigorli2005-11-17 01:59 pm
Midnight Call. A ViggOrli piece.
I present you a Poetic Prose piece.
It is not really a ficlet, and not just a poem.
I don´t know what else to call it.
Anyway.
Banner by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seekie
Title: Midnight Call
Author: Ana Gonzalez
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating; Rated R (For use of language, I think)
Disclaimer: I do not own these men; they own themselves.
Let a girl imagine and dream...
Note: It is angsty, but full of love, and hopeful...
He is sitting on the porch, staring at the constellations
with a blanket over his legs, and his arms wrapped around the shivering upper body
it is too damn cold tonight, and so he keeps a bottle of vodka by his side-
a friend for lonely moments when the human lungs turn into icebergs.
He drinks a full draught every ten minutes; he has been sitting there for over an hour, and the miracle drink shows no sign of effect yet.
It is so incredibly naïve to think that the vodka will warm him up
he knows that two suns would be needed, two suns shining only for him,
burning through his skin
and still, he would always feel the aching cold that haunts him.
He feels silly and childish
he should know better at his age:
he has survived so many harsh winters, fought so many battles
swallowed so many tears and even his pride.
But it didn’t hurt him, none of these things did
they only made them stronger
or at least he firmly believed so until three years ago…
He is looking up, he is definitely fixing his eyes on the great dark canvas of the sky
but he is not seeing anything, or caring if the stars explode tonight;
who cares if the stars are veiled by now, and he can´t photograph the full moon?
He only wishes he did.
Changes, like tsunamis washing over the bay without a warning
the most recent years brought dramatic changes that he couldn´t predict…
“I don’t care about tomorrow, I just want to taste life in all its essence this very second!”, he said and repeated for anyone to hear
but there is some bitterness on his tongue for unfulfilled expectations.
The phone starts ringing
he doesn’t realise it at first as his mind is absorbed in the world of nothingness
it continues to ring, it could ring for hours and hours…
He finally comes back to reality, rising abruptly from the bench to run inside:
his thought is still confused and his legs find it hard to take articulated moves
he strikes the lateral side of the doorway with is right elbow, almost tripping on the way into the house.
A cold shiver runs down his spine
he fears the world he has been trying to keep safe, may end soon…
He stretches his arm hastily, and tries to grab the cell under the pile of sketches cluttered on the table
with his left hand he scratches his eye, and with the right hand he picks up the phone.
“Hello?”
No one answers, but he can hear the heavy breathing on the other end of the line
a sigh
deep
familiar to him.
He knows who is calling him- the one who will make him unravel tonight…
The younger man has been calling every day at midnight, over the last week
these midnight calls follow a ritual: he doesn’t say anything at first, then he mumbles some words Viggo cannot understand, as if he was rehearsing the most perfect way to speak those words out loud.
“I… I was thinking of you.
I think of you. Always.”
“Orlando. Don’t.”
“I can’t stop thinking of how much I love you…”
“What do you want me to say?
Just because… I publish some poetry books…
I am not very good with words.
I never knew what your words meant.”
"I know. I said I would never walk out your door, and I did.
But I didn’t really want to.
Goddamn you, Viggo! You told me to go. It was you!”
“It was your conscience, and your heart that urged you to go. Not me.
If I told you to jump off the bridge, would you do it?
You were not a kid anymore.
You’re old enough to drink a bottle of Don Perignon at a VIP party, you’re old enough to drive away anytime you want to.”
If only he could use some humour to make the moment seem just a little bit less gigantically solemn…
The older man sighs deeply, his breath as crisp as the air creeping in.
It is pure torture what the young man on the other end of the line is doing to him.
It is damn cold; he just wanted to feel some warmth soothing his body, but now, he knows he will not.
“It was not like that. It was never…
I always loved you. From the moment I put on my pointy ears and you put on your filthy vestment…
We went hunting some Orcs, and along the way, I fell in love.
You photographed me wearing a custom, but I felt your eyes traversing me, roaming my soul.
You fell in love with me.”
“I fell so deep. It was so hazy; you were so bright.
You were fire consuming the flames burning fire itself.
I knew right away that you burnt too strongly to be contained.
You were son of Gods.
You belonged to the Universe. Not to me.
You couldn’t be shining any brighter out there.”
“If it was all that simple. If I didn’t have a heart, and memories.
If I didn’t keep your ring with me all the time.
I have to meet with someone-somewhere-for-some-superficial-reason in 8 hours, and I don’t want to sleep.
I don’t want to rest.
I can’t bear to close my eyes and see you, always you.
You were my match.
I am not shining; only reflecting the light of the shadows on the hard pavement.”
He doesn’t feel his heart beating; he might be dead.
It has become so easy to say the lines from a script, but these words were weighing impossibly heavy on his heart.
He misses the future he is yet to live, and he doesn’t know if there is a future.
“Won’t you ever accept that I’ve made my choice?
To say I love you is my choice.
To be pathetic enough to call you every day at midnight is my pathetic choice.
To cry on the phone is my damn choice.
To belong to you is my fucking Oscar!”
Viggo strikes the edge of the desk nervously, pretending to find the keys of a piano beneath his fingers. He wishes he could compose a melody that conveyed all his sorrow and his frail hope, and doing so, he could feel just a little soothed for he had ripped a black piece of his heart, and bestowed it on an instrument that could turn it into beauty. Art.
Art and Viggo are one and the same thing, in Orlando`s mind.
“I have my bags packed since yesterday afternoon.
I thought this would be all or nothing.
I don’t want to keep doing this, not in these terms.
I can’t.”
“I have a life, Orlando.
I’m not happy, but I am at peace.
You can’t just come and…”
“Don’t you tell me that it’s over!
Everything we could be… It hasn’t begun yet.
I can drown you in love, and you can drown me in your art and paint me with bare hands, and it will be a new work of art, the most beautiful work of art men ever created!
We can turn the world upside down and make it ours.
It could be so simple. We can be so happy.
So…”
In fake lights the eyes hue to an intense red glitter; only in tears the eyes show an honest light.
“I’m coming for you, Viggo.
You can hang up now, if you want to, because I have a long drive ahead of me…
That night in the New Zealand wilderness- you sang “Heroes” to me, and then we made love under the moonlight.
Do you remember?
We can be heroes, for ever and ever…”
It is not really a ficlet, and not just a poem.
I don´t know what else to call it.
Anyway.
Banner by
seekieTitle: Midnight Call
Author: Ana Gonzalez
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating; Rated R (For use of language, I think)
Disclaimer: I do not own these men; they own themselves.
Let a girl imagine and dream...
Note: It is angsty, but full of love, and hopeful...
He is sitting on the porch, staring at the constellations
with a blanket over his legs, and his arms wrapped around the shivering upper body
it is too damn cold tonight, and so he keeps a bottle of vodka by his side-
a friend for lonely moments when the human lungs turn into icebergs.
He drinks a full draught every ten minutes; he has been sitting there for over an hour, and the miracle drink shows no sign of effect yet.
It is so incredibly naïve to think that the vodka will warm him up
he knows that two suns would be needed, two suns shining only for him,
burning through his skin
and still, he would always feel the aching cold that haunts him.
He feels silly and childish
he should know better at his age:
he has survived so many harsh winters, fought so many battles
swallowed so many tears and even his pride.
But it didn’t hurt him, none of these things did
they only made them stronger
or at least he firmly believed so until three years ago…
He is looking up, he is definitely fixing his eyes on the great dark canvas of the sky
but he is not seeing anything, or caring if the stars explode tonight;
who cares if the stars are veiled by now, and he can´t photograph the full moon?
He only wishes he did.
Changes, like tsunamis washing over the bay without a warning
the most recent years brought dramatic changes that he couldn´t predict…
“I don’t care about tomorrow, I just want to taste life in all its essence this very second!”, he said and repeated for anyone to hear
but there is some bitterness on his tongue for unfulfilled expectations.
The phone starts ringing
he doesn’t realise it at first as his mind is absorbed in the world of nothingness
it continues to ring, it could ring for hours and hours…
He finally comes back to reality, rising abruptly from the bench to run inside:
his thought is still confused and his legs find it hard to take articulated moves
he strikes the lateral side of the doorway with is right elbow, almost tripping on the way into the house.
A cold shiver runs down his spine
he fears the world he has been trying to keep safe, may end soon…
He stretches his arm hastily, and tries to grab the cell under the pile of sketches cluttered on the table
with his left hand he scratches his eye, and with the right hand he picks up the phone.
“Hello?”
No one answers, but he can hear the heavy breathing on the other end of the line
a sigh
deep
familiar to him.
He knows who is calling him- the one who will make him unravel tonight…
The younger man has been calling every day at midnight, over the last week
these midnight calls follow a ritual: he doesn’t say anything at first, then he mumbles some words Viggo cannot understand, as if he was rehearsing the most perfect way to speak those words out loud.
“I… I was thinking of you.
I think of you. Always.”
“Orlando. Don’t.”
“I can’t stop thinking of how much I love you…”
“What do you want me to say?
Just because… I publish some poetry books…
I am not very good with words.
I never knew what your words meant.”
"I know. I said I would never walk out your door, and I did.
But I didn’t really want to.
Goddamn you, Viggo! You told me to go. It was you!”
“It was your conscience, and your heart that urged you to go. Not me.
If I told you to jump off the bridge, would you do it?
You were not a kid anymore.
You’re old enough to drink a bottle of Don Perignon at a VIP party, you’re old enough to drive away anytime you want to.”
If only he could use some humour to make the moment seem just a little bit less gigantically solemn…
The older man sighs deeply, his breath as crisp as the air creeping in.
It is pure torture what the young man on the other end of the line is doing to him.
It is damn cold; he just wanted to feel some warmth soothing his body, but now, he knows he will not.
“It was not like that. It was never…
I always loved you. From the moment I put on my pointy ears and you put on your filthy vestment…
We went hunting some Orcs, and along the way, I fell in love.
You photographed me wearing a custom, but I felt your eyes traversing me, roaming my soul.
You fell in love with me.”
“I fell so deep. It was so hazy; you were so bright.
You were fire consuming the flames burning fire itself.
I knew right away that you burnt too strongly to be contained.
You were son of Gods.
You belonged to the Universe. Not to me.
You couldn’t be shining any brighter out there.”
“If it was all that simple. If I didn’t have a heart, and memories.
If I didn’t keep your ring with me all the time.
I have to meet with someone-somewhere-for-some-superficial-reason in 8 hours, and I don’t want to sleep.
I don’t want to rest.
I can’t bear to close my eyes and see you, always you.
You were my match.
I am not shining; only reflecting the light of the shadows on the hard pavement.”
He doesn’t feel his heart beating; he might be dead.
It has become so easy to say the lines from a script, but these words were weighing impossibly heavy on his heart.
He misses the future he is yet to live, and he doesn’t know if there is a future.
“Won’t you ever accept that I’ve made my choice?
To say I love you is my choice.
To be pathetic enough to call you every day at midnight is my pathetic choice.
To cry on the phone is my damn choice.
To belong to you is my fucking Oscar!”
Viggo strikes the edge of the desk nervously, pretending to find the keys of a piano beneath his fingers. He wishes he could compose a melody that conveyed all his sorrow and his frail hope, and doing so, he could feel just a little soothed for he had ripped a black piece of his heart, and bestowed it on an instrument that could turn it into beauty. Art.
Art and Viggo are one and the same thing, in Orlando`s mind.
“I have my bags packed since yesterday afternoon.
I thought this would be all or nothing.
I don’t want to keep doing this, not in these terms.
I can’t.”
“I have a life, Orlando.
I’m not happy, but I am at peace.
You can’t just come and…”
“Don’t you tell me that it’s over!
Everything we could be… It hasn’t begun yet.
I can drown you in love, and you can drown me in your art and paint me with bare hands, and it will be a new work of art, the most beautiful work of art men ever created!
We can turn the world upside down and make it ours.
It could be so simple. We can be so happy.
So…”
In fake lights the eyes hue to an intense red glitter; only in tears the eyes show an honest light.
“I’m coming for you, Viggo.
You can hang up now, if you want to, because I have a long drive ahead of me…
That night in the New Zealand wilderness- you sang “Heroes” to me, and then we made love under the moonlight.
Do you remember?
We can be heroes, for ever and ever…”
Breathtaking.
Re: Breathtaking.
That is the greatest compliment I could ever receive.
Thank you so much.
Writing this was very important to me; I am so glad it touched you that deeply.
*Hugs*
~Ana
no subject
I liked the way you displaid the words like a poem.
Lovely.
:D
no subject
*Hugs you*
~Ana
no subject
This line struck hard for me.. "He misses the future he is yet to live, and he doesn’t know if there is a future." Been there, done that ;-)
Thanks!
no subject
I am glad you liked it.
*Huggles*
~Ana