208. Dreaming of Hell
Jul. 11th, 2008 09:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
catkoCategory: Firefly—Gen
Words: 732
Summary: Zoe wakes up from a nightmare. Pre-series.
Note: Written in response to the prompt ‘hell’ #208 on
ff_friday. Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Some dialogue from Out of Gas.
Dreaming of hell reflects great distress. You have lost all hope and don't know where your life is going. This painful situation is going to continue until you can recognize the right path. Hell is a symbol of darkness and represents your fears, anxieties, feelings of guilt and other negative energies, but also it is a place of purification, and promises serenity in the end. --Dreamer's Dictionary by Roswitha Edinger Garuda
If you're going through hell, keep going. –Winston Churchill
The heat and dust are rising, swirling. In the darkness, she strains to get her head above the thick smell of blood and death. To find the cooler air, sweeter, there must be…But her body is heavy, as if pressed down by bricks or the bodies of their comrades piled up around the trenches. Choking, suffocating, she feels it pulling her, like thick hot hands dragging her down, down…No! Somewhere inside she finds it, and in a burst of rage heaves herself upright, and—into the shaft of light falling across the bed, eyes blinking against the sun dappling through the grimy window.
She takes a breath, and looks around her. Disheveled sheets, check. Cu cao room, who knows where, check. Empty bottles on the table, check. Yep, she's awake. That was a nightmare. This is reality. Shakes her head, her loose curls rippling. Rubs hands over her face and sets her mind to face the day. But her thoughts drift back to the place where she was, the stench of battle, the siege, the surrender. Always with her, whether working crap jobs or pulling petty heists for a little coin. Drinking, fighting, eating, sleeping--yeah, sleeping. Always with her, pulling her down, until some days she feels she can barely lift her feet.
Or get out of bed, huh. Can't sit here all day. Places to go, people to--
A thump, and a creak. The hallway. Instantly alert, she scans the room, suddenly unfamiliar, hand at her bare hip. Footsteps nearing, rattle at the door. Spots her gun on the floor, lunges for it and in one smooth move is crouched behind the bed, dead aim. Her eyes focus as the doorknob turns…then, penetrating the adrenaline rush, a soft sharp whistle. Like a signal.
"Zoe? You up?" Door swings open. "Zoe? Don't shoot." Tamade. Mal.
She lowers the gun as he turns in through the doorway, hands raised. A breath of relief, turning to anger. "What the ruttin' hell you doing, sneakin' up on me like that?" Still crouched behind the bed, she realizes she's half-naked, pulls the bedspread off and around herself. Drops the gun on the bed, sits down beside it, and glares. He walks in slowly, hands still half-raised, cocking his head at her. His mouth twists, like he's going to attempt a joke, but thinks better of it. He moves to the chair, scoops up a heap of clothing, and tosses it on the bed.
"Get dressed. Got something to show you." He looks out the window while she complies; not so mad that she can't follow a simple command. Follows him out the door, too. Through her haze, she can tell something's up. Like he's got words or a feeling he can hardly contain. Sure enough, halfway down the stairs, he starts talking. She barely hears, doesn't listen, concentrates on putting one foot ahead of the next.
But as they step out onto the planked sidewalk, into the dusty street, an unexpected cool breeze brushes her skin. Above, a bright blue sky. And his voice coming through, suddenly clear. "...you'll see, Zoe. She's amazing. ‘Course, won't win any beauty contests, that's for sure." What? A woman? Mal? Walking at his shoulder, she feels his energy flowing around her. Can’t help but start to smile, though she presses her lips together to keep her face set. “Just up the road here, cross this field. You won’t believe it. It’s a miracle. Gonna save us, Zoe, I know it. Yeah, okay, so there a few problems...”
She squints into the distance. Shrugs, as his voice fades again into babble. ’Nother of Mal’s fong le plans leading them nowhere. Hell, she’ll follow him just like always, even down a dirt path into a field with heaps and towers of rusting metal.
The breeze lifts her hair, and unaccountably she feels her spirit start to rise, her steps lighten.
Note: This perspective of Zoe, pre-series, owes much to Guildsister's beautiful story, The Blue Sun Job, which I read over a year ago and have never forgotten. Check it out.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-11 09:15 pm (UTC)