Night Reflections
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Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
912
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › General › Lord of the Ring Stars
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
912
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is work of fiction! I do not know the celebrity(ies) I am writing about, and I do not profit from these writings.
Night Reflections
Dedication: In the memory of those who died in the Disaster of 2004.
Notes: This story is pretty flexible. So if you are, for example, an Elijah/Orlando or Orlando/Dom shipper, feel free to substitute the names. :)
Night Reflections
Sean wasn’t exactly sure what woke him that night.
All had been quiet before he had gone to bed, safe the low drone of the television creeping through the closed door of his bedroom, and the occasional rumble of a thunder, heralding the impending storm. He frowned, slightly disoriented, wondering for a moment at the silence outside the bedroom and whether Orlando had returned to bed. A quick glance at the untouched pillow next to him told him otherwise.
Sean struggled to his feet, his senses dulled from sleep and his movements sluggish. He hunted for and put on his trousers before perching upon the edge of the bed for a while. Minutes ticked by before the heavens opened and the rain pelted angrily against the windows. And still Orlando didn't return to bed.
The crack of lightning masked the sounds of Sean’s footstep as he padded toward the door. With a twist of the knob, it opened noiselessly and there, sitting quietly upon the couch, Sean saw Orlando, apparently watching the telly with the sound off.
“Orlando?” Sean called out, his voice scratchy from sleep.
Though the young man made a small movement of acknowledgment, he gave no other reply. The stubborn silence held for a few, long, seconds before Sean saw Orlando slowly shaking his head.
A frown marred Sean’s features as he approached the couch and settled next to the stony figure. He placed a hand upon Orlando’s and noticed that it was cold and clenched into a tight fist.
“Orli?” Sean murmured again, his anxiety heightening when he received no response.
And then –
“Numbers,” Orlando whispered, his face frozen into an expressionless mask. Sean withdrew his hand.
“What?”
“Numbers. *Statistics*,” he repeated, almost angrily, his brows furrowed and eyes bright with agitation.
It was only when Sean turned, for the first time, towards the telly that he fully understood the importance of what Orlando had been saying.
The young man had been watching the news, and the headlines seemed to scream, to echo and to resonate in the silence of the room.
*9.0 magnitude earthquake struck off the western-most portion of Indonesia's northern Sumatra Island early on Sunday,* the words read. *Death toll tops 56,000*
“All those people, they had names. Families. Hopes. Dreams. *Lives*,” Orlando began, “They were alive. They were *real*. Now they’re nothing more than statistics.”
Sean remained silent.
“They will be forgotten, you know. In a year perhaps, or even two, but eventually they will just be another bunch of nameless faces that no one will remember. Occasionally, when the need arises, whenever it is appropriate, the dead will be remembered – if only for a minute or two. Yet, once that moment is over, once we have exhausted every sensational picture that is splashed across the papers, devoured every single scrap of leftover news… eventually… eventually this… *this* will be nothing more than a bad dream –,”
“Orlando –,”
“– and no one will remember to ask – what had those people been thinking of in that moment of crisis? What went through their minds when they realised that there was no hope of escape? When the raging waters towered over them, how did they feel? Whose name did they call out to?”
“Orli, I –,”
“How hard did they fight against the inevitable? How far did they run? How fast? And when the water finally crashed down upon them, how hard did they struggle to fight the waves? Whose hands did they reach out to for help? And how long… how long did they hold their breaths before their strengths failed them and they finally came face to face with their mortality?”
Sean did not speak. He couldn’t. Even Orli became quiet for a while, his eyes still strangely bright as he stared intently down at his hands. When he began again, his voice was low and tinged with bitterness.
“We will never truly understand this. Never in a million years. Never ever. Because we will say that death occurs every day for whatever reason. Some of us will think that this had been nothing more than nature’s way of population control. We may cry a little over this for a day or two and then go on with our lives as if nothing had happened… because that’s just the way it is. Because… because it is hard to remember, when the dead are now nothing more than numbers. Just numbers.”
Orlando went quiet again and remained so for a long time. The silence was deafening, but words would only serve to taint the very air with superficiality – so Sean said nothing, only reached for the remote. With a click of the button, the room plunged into complete darkness, and the men just sat there, side by side, with Sean trying to find words that comforted. Orli merely trembled.
Several long minutes passed and then –
“I would have thought of you.”
Sean could feel Orlando’s eyes upon him even in the darkness.
“When the water crashes over me, when I can’t fight any more, when I can no longer hold my breath, I would have thought of the ones I loved best… and I would have thought of you.”
Sean reached out for Orlando’s hand and bent his head to kiss it before pressing his lips against Orli’s ear.
“Sometimes,” Sean whispered, “the people may forget, because that is the way of the world. But the memories of the dead will always remain with the ones who loved them the most… and sometimes… sometimes that’s all that matters.”
There was nothing more that could be said, and so they sat there, hand in hand, awaiting the coming of the dawn.
End
Lest We Forget
Autumn
Bodies fall into graves in numbers,
But they are not
Numbers
But humans,
Lest we forget.
Those, who felt, who loved,
Who dreamed, who dared,
Who died,
Who live on,
Lest we forget.
It is my brother,
Your mother,
His son, and her lover.
It is each and every one of us,
For we all are one,
Lest we forget.
Though the cold will come soon enough,
Would that I could
Light a candle for all who must walk this pass.
It would light the seas
And heal our souls on waves of warmth,
That we may never turn our backs again,
That we would never again forget.
I, I will never forget.
Notes: This story is pretty flexible. So if you are, for example, an Elijah/Orlando or Orlando/Dom shipper, feel free to substitute the names. :)
Night Reflections
Sean wasn’t exactly sure what woke him that night.
All had been quiet before he had gone to bed, safe the low drone of the television creeping through the closed door of his bedroom, and the occasional rumble of a thunder, heralding the impending storm. He frowned, slightly disoriented, wondering for a moment at the silence outside the bedroom and whether Orlando had returned to bed. A quick glance at the untouched pillow next to him told him otherwise.
Sean struggled to his feet, his senses dulled from sleep and his movements sluggish. He hunted for and put on his trousers before perching upon the edge of the bed for a while. Minutes ticked by before the heavens opened and the rain pelted angrily against the windows. And still Orlando didn't return to bed.
The crack of lightning masked the sounds of Sean’s footstep as he padded toward the door. With a twist of the knob, it opened noiselessly and there, sitting quietly upon the couch, Sean saw Orlando, apparently watching the telly with the sound off.
“Orlando?” Sean called out, his voice scratchy from sleep.
Though the young man made a small movement of acknowledgment, he gave no other reply. The stubborn silence held for a few, long, seconds before Sean saw Orlando slowly shaking his head.
A frown marred Sean’s features as he approached the couch and settled next to the stony figure. He placed a hand upon Orlando’s and noticed that it was cold and clenched into a tight fist.
“Orli?” Sean murmured again, his anxiety heightening when he received no response.
And then –
“Numbers,” Orlando whispered, his face frozen into an expressionless mask. Sean withdrew his hand.
“What?”
“Numbers. *Statistics*,” he repeated, almost angrily, his brows furrowed and eyes bright with agitation.
It was only when Sean turned, for the first time, towards the telly that he fully understood the importance of what Orlando had been saying.
The young man had been watching the news, and the headlines seemed to scream, to echo and to resonate in the silence of the room.
*9.0 magnitude earthquake struck off the western-most portion of Indonesia's northern Sumatra Island early on Sunday,* the words read. *Death toll tops 56,000*
“All those people, they had names. Families. Hopes. Dreams. *Lives*,” Orlando began, “They were alive. They were *real*. Now they’re nothing more than statistics.”
Sean remained silent.
“They will be forgotten, you know. In a year perhaps, or even two, but eventually they will just be another bunch of nameless faces that no one will remember. Occasionally, when the need arises, whenever it is appropriate, the dead will be remembered – if only for a minute or two. Yet, once that moment is over, once we have exhausted every sensational picture that is splashed across the papers, devoured every single scrap of leftover news… eventually… eventually this… *this* will be nothing more than a bad dream –,”
“Orlando –,”
“– and no one will remember to ask – what had those people been thinking of in that moment of crisis? What went through their minds when they realised that there was no hope of escape? When the raging waters towered over them, how did they feel? Whose name did they call out to?”
“Orli, I –,”
“How hard did they fight against the inevitable? How far did they run? How fast? And when the water finally crashed down upon them, how hard did they struggle to fight the waves? Whose hands did they reach out to for help? And how long… how long did they hold their breaths before their strengths failed them and they finally came face to face with their mortality?”
Sean did not speak. He couldn’t. Even Orli became quiet for a while, his eyes still strangely bright as he stared intently down at his hands. When he began again, his voice was low and tinged with bitterness.
“We will never truly understand this. Never in a million years. Never ever. Because we will say that death occurs every day for whatever reason. Some of us will think that this had been nothing more than nature’s way of population control. We may cry a little over this for a day or two and then go on with our lives as if nothing had happened… because that’s just the way it is. Because… because it is hard to remember, when the dead are now nothing more than numbers. Just numbers.”
Orlando went quiet again and remained so for a long time. The silence was deafening, but words would only serve to taint the very air with superficiality – so Sean said nothing, only reached for the remote. With a click of the button, the room plunged into complete darkness, and the men just sat there, side by side, with Sean trying to find words that comforted. Orli merely trembled.
Several long minutes passed and then –
“I would have thought of you.”
Sean could feel Orlando’s eyes upon him even in the darkness.
“When the water crashes over me, when I can’t fight any more, when I can no longer hold my breath, I would have thought of the ones I loved best… and I would have thought of you.”
Sean reached out for Orlando’s hand and bent his head to kiss it before pressing his lips against Orli’s ear.
“Sometimes,” Sean whispered, “the people may forget, because that is the way of the world. But the memories of the dead will always remain with the ones who loved them the most… and sometimes… sometimes that’s all that matters.”
There was nothing more that could be said, and so they sat there, hand in hand, awaiting the coming of the dawn.
Autumn
Bodies fall into graves in numbers,
But they are not
Numbers
But humans,
Lest we forget.
Those, who felt, who loved,
Who dreamed, who dared,
Who died,
Who live on,
Lest we forget.
It is my brother,
Your mother,
His son, and her lover.
It is each and every one of us,
For we all are one,
Lest we forget.
Though the cold will come soon enough,
Would that I could
Light a candle for all who must walk this pass.
It would light the seas
And heal our souls on waves of warmth,
That we may never turn our backs again,
That we would never again forget.
I, I will never forget.