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ds_flashfictionPairing: Very mild Ray/Fraser - pick your Ray, I prefer RayK because of the hair.
Rating: PG-PG-13 for death themes.
Word Count: About 350.
This is my very first fic. I apologise deeply in advance. It sticks to the environmental theme broadly - one of the characters is undergoing something unfamiliar and..well you'll see. I also tried to get in more literal terms of the 'environment' meaning. You can take the meaning of the last line either way.
Five Senses
“It’s all air, son. The world, the environment. You can hear air through the trees, feel air against your skin and in your lungs, if you can smell snow son, you can smell the air, taste it too”
“But dad, You can’t possible see air. It’s invisible”
“Ah, but you can see everything in-between”
“Has anyone told you that perhaps you need to see a psychiatrist?”
“I’m dead, son. Not much call for them around here at $500 an hour”
Vision
Fraser was accustomed to strong arctic winds with horizontal persuasions, where the world was a snap-freezer, with the ability to permanently mould facial expressions to resemble that of a frozen trout. His eyes glaze over trying to imagine the dark, grey concrete around him to be a glacier – he can survive any field of ice, but not the ground of an unfamiliar downtown alleyway surrounded by darkness.
Touch
His world of cold was white… and it was home. This wasn’t home. It started on his upper arms; the familiar prickling and goose bumping, and spread over his entire body, leaving him shaking uncontrollably. He doesn’t feel anything now, not even the pain in his chest that was there a few minutes ago, or even the pain that was there thirty years ago.
Smell
The last time Fraser smelt this at this range, it was from a dead caribou in the Territories a couple of years ago. It’s a pungent sickly smell – of heat, and recent life, and imminent death. The stronger the smell becomes, the less he can feel. He wonders if there is a mathematical equation that could explain it but he is too tired to think of constants.
Taste
The metal of an ice pick. Warm liquid metal on his tongue. Ray.
Sound
In his distant memory, he can hear the wind whipping around his head on the side of a mountain and the voice of an angel reading poetry. His memory of words is dissolved with gunfire, of running footsteps and finally a car. Sirens maybe. A wolf perhaps? Now he can hear another angel calling his name.
Rating: PG-PG-13 for death themes.
Word Count: About 350.
This is my very first fic. I apologise deeply in advance. It sticks to the environmental theme broadly - one of the characters is undergoing something unfamiliar and..well you'll see. I also tried to get in more literal terms of the 'environment' meaning. You can take the meaning of the last line either way.
Five Senses
“It’s all air, son. The world, the environment. You can hear air through the trees, feel air against your skin and in your lungs, if you can smell snow son, you can smell the air, taste it too”
“But dad, You can’t possible see air. It’s invisible”
“Ah, but you can see everything in-between”
“Has anyone told you that perhaps you need to see a psychiatrist?”
“I’m dead, son. Not much call for them around here at $500 an hour”
Vision
Fraser was accustomed to strong arctic winds with horizontal persuasions, where the world was a snap-freezer, with the ability to permanently mould facial expressions to resemble that of a frozen trout. His eyes glaze over trying to imagine the dark, grey concrete around him to be a glacier – he can survive any field of ice, but not the ground of an unfamiliar downtown alleyway surrounded by darkness.
Touch
His world of cold was white… and it was home. This wasn’t home. It started on his upper arms; the familiar prickling and goose bumping, and spread over his entire body, leaving him shaking uncontrollably. He doesn’t feel anything now, not even the pain in his chest that was there a few minutes ago, or even the pain that was there thirty years ago.
Smell
The last time Fraser smelt this at this range, it was from a dead caribou in the Territories a couple of years ago. It’s a pungent sickly smell – of heat, and recent life, and imminent death. The stronger the smell becomes, the less he can feel. He wonders if there is a mathematical equation that could explain it but he is too tired to think of constants.
Taste
The metal of an ice pick. Warm liquid metal on his tongue. Ray.
Sound
In his distant memory, he can hear the wind whipping around his head on the side of a mountain and the voice of an angel reading poetry. His memory of words is dissolved with gunfire, of running footsteps and finally a car. Sirens maybe. A wolf perhaps? Now he can hear another angel calling his name.
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no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 09:23 pm (UTC)It seems very much in character for Fraser to associate the "unfamiliar environment" of the urban alley with the harsh Arctic environment he knows--and to think that the Arctic one is easier for him to survive. I love this phrase, for example: strong arctic winds with horizontal persuasions, where the world was a snap-freezer... .
You evoke so much in so few words: his mother's death, the survival experience with Victoria and the "hallucinogenic" one in the caribou carcass. His life's flashing before his eyes; if he makes it, this one's going to be close. I prefer to think that he does make it, that the sirens are a sign of his imminent rescue, that Diefenbaker is near, that the "angel calling his name" is Ray, and that these two friends remind him to hang on. And that he does.
But I do appreciate how it can be taken either way. This is just beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-12 11:14 pm (UTC)And this is your FIRST FIC?
Hey...no need to apologize. It's fantastic.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 06:21 am (UTC)I found the Taste section confusing, but the rest works beautifully--thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-13 08:31 am (UTC)The Taste section was simply about Fraser becoming less coherent and associating the taste of blood in his mouth with the metal on an ice-pick (because you just know he put one of those in his mouth somewhere), and then he thought about Ray's tongue in his mouth as well, I thought I may as well give the guy some happy memories LOL
Yes it is my first fic, and I'm still terrified. I've been manically reading pretty much everything written on here over the last 4 days and I couldn't help myself but thank you for your feedback :)
PS I also think he was saved at the end.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-14 02:45 am (UTC)I'm guessing you might be fairly new to LJ, so hope you won't mind a tip. On the page of comments to your story, Five Senses, it looks like you replied to my comment. (See how it's indented under mine?) That means that I was the only person who got an email notification about your comment in which you thank everyone who commented. However, anyone who visits the page will be able to see what you wrote.
To have email notifications to go to each of the people who comment on your story, you would need to reply to each person's comment individually, using the 'Reply to this' link at the end of their comment. Note that the 'Post a new comment' link adds a comment at the top hierarchical level, replying to the story post rather than another comment, which in this case would be effectively commenting to yourself. The system doesn't send a notification in that case.
I hope that's useful to you! Keep writing!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-14 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-15 02:37 pm (UTC)- not even the pain in his chest that was there a few minutes ago, or even the pain that was there thirty years ago.-
Because that's a beautiful metaphor and very true to Fraser. Thank you for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 07:11 am (UTC)