Title: Elements
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Sirius Black
Prompt: 054 , Air. 053, Earth. 051, Water. 052, Fire. 055, Spirit.
Rating: niet. It's good for everybody.
Summary: When you have lived too long without the most basic components of normal life, you get closer to capture the real essence of things.
Notes : five flash connected , n o scheduled pairing, only a lot of unnecessary mental and poetic ramblings.
So how to describe this thing following me ... Who else could it have read it already. You nata più di un anno fa, e proprio pensando alla BDT su Sirius, che però all’epoca non era mia. Five flashfic psychopathic enough that I personally find it - except the last - of a joy that almost sends me into ecstasy and I was assured that they are altogether depressing, but I do not believe it.
The connection between them is freedom. This is why I am so happy.
should be read in the order in which they are proposed, however, because they create with a follow-up. Four elements, plus one.
Good reading.
Elements
, he was a man, motionless and alone in the silent darkness of the dark countryside.
Air
Breathe.
Exhale.
Breathe.
Exhale.
oxygen along the trachea, lungs, blood. A fresh shock along the nerves, a caress that ran worn and weary muscles.
Another inspiro, more intense and long, before lifting his eyes timidly and are looking up.
Stars.
Heaven, finally, black and dark, sprinkled with tiny glow, flickering and shining. So much time had passed since the last time I saw him, he stopped for a few seconds to breathe, too filled with the sight to make room for air.
closed his eyes, take a breath before smiling again. A smile that would not be enough to tell a thousand years, it was so bright that even in pitch dark, brightened only by the moonlight white, his face widened instantly lost for a few seconds to return to the gloom hallucinated compose itself itself.
was that indescribable freshness on the skin, that breath of wind energy that made him slip on the pores, to drowning: fresh air, move, living twelve years after the deadly atmosphere of stagnant . A drive along the body, and inside, with oxygen clean as he entered and exited from his pockets like a soft caress.
the world as if she were him back to life with a hug.
Despite what he had done.
Only at that moment he opened his eyes, being back in front of the star light night sisters. And their glow controlled at least in part the rising sense of anxiety brought by quell'involontario thought, that invasion of dark and painful past at the time of rebirth. He breathed deeply again, bending her head back soon, while the Zozzo bush of hair floated on his back. He stepped forward, after the stunned stillness, tilted his head even further back and raised his arms without moving, feeling the touch of wind that seemed to want to lift off the ground.
Breathe.
Exhale.
slowly turned around, his arms drew a circle around the blast waved the filthy tunic that rocked him. Increased speed, wind against your face, arms, legs, flickering through the fabric and worn as a dance of drunken stunted. The air seemed about to let him fly.
Not a clear sound in the deserted and dark shadows of the branches, only that and that air hissing noise. Out of touch and out of time, a moment suspended between heaven and the reality, a reality that hateful for a while, finally stepped aside to enjoy the flight. Momentarily left the remorse and sorrow for leaving the new parts to oxygen, new life.
continued to turn his head until he is not too heavy, and with a long moan that freed the throat tablet is dropped sprawled on the ground, leaving the burden legs.
His heart bounced into his chest, he felt it again after so long beat, breathing accelerated pushing more air into the lungs, faster air.
landed quietly, his hands sunk in the grass.
Breathe.
Freedom.
Soft.
Soft and wet, the grass under your fingers, while the breath is calmed.
He clenched his fingers around these delicate stems, heard them with the whole skin of the hand, against the entire palm, rubbing it slowly, closing his eyes again.
shook and pulled, and it seemed as though the noise of the tear was like thunder, while his hand was holding the legs before flipping over him, causing it to rain on his head raised slightly upwards.
He put again the palms on the lawn and dug his fingers as he could.
held her breath and sank, lower down, under the grass. The soil was firm but soft, welcomed him as an old friend.
seemed that his fingers will merge with the land recovered, such as tree roots that penetrate deep. Same as those felt thirsty roots strength and energy come from the land, balsamic, which filled him with a shudder.
bowed his head as if to rest it up and smelled the fragrance of the soil, generous mother, recognized him with a jolt of pure astonishment, finding the essence in the memory, after years and years surrounded by the cold stone.
A sour smell, intense yet mellow, the fecund smell of the earth, the source of life. Mixed with the grass, and the air carried notes away. The land was all his own, again, everywhere, could walk on and touch and go. Like a tree, he could finally go back to plant his feet on the ground and reaching out with his head toward the sky.
He moved his hand to get stuck into the ground, squeezed and lifted it over to his face, opened a little finger.
the night, saw only a black spot on her skin clear, something dark and grainy, but that every inch of him to feel as he recognized himself, because he was human and was made of earth. And he smiled again, fully, before you expand a little ' passarsele hands and face, in a rough caress of falling soil and stain the face like a painting.
Rise in silence, just a loud voice but it seemed too strong for a man who could only escape. He felt suddenly discovered, and visible. In fact, already seen. With a shooting prompted by fear flattened to the ground as if to hide.
But there were other sounds, just the breath of the country asleep.
was lying on the Fosse most sumptuous mattress would feel uncomfortable in comparison to that wonderful feeling of ease and belonging. It was hard, the earth, yet so soft under his weight, it was like being at one. He closed his eyes again, breathe.
was a cradle, that soil, which lost for eternity, now that he had found.
He could just in time to be on the verge of falling asleep, opened his eyes shooting urgently.
had to get away from there, further away.
He rose reluctantly, but concentrated on the sensation of the soles of his feet on the ground, the scent still in the nose.
Breathe.
Smell, touch.
Freedom.
That sound.
dog was back, to move faster, but when I heard he stopped.
A song whispered, sharp and thin, rustling.
And what was once a man who climb on all fours on the gentle slope between the trees, clinging to branches and roots to make faster, before leaning over the edge The up and launch an involuntary cry of amazement and wonder.
had come to the River.
broken my breath stood still and watched. The dim moonlight reflected on its white surface rays, reflecting them with pearls and iridescent glow, tiny vibrating waves flowing slowly. Reverberation of liquid light, unreal and ethereal: the eyes filled up to overflowing, as reflected in silver.
not seemed to have never seen anything more beautiful, you I live only for what she felt that her eyes looked, and shook his head following the melodious water lapping against the shore, like music without notes. From tympani nerves crept unearthly harmony, until you get to the heart and accompany the primordial rhythm as a whole, a restful lullaby.
surpasses the top of the ground is slippery, prance up to the riverside stumbling through the undergrowth and wet skid. Even hesitated before lasciasi fall forward.
The water was not deeper than ten inches, but he seemed to fall into the sea, every nerve ending that pleasure drowned in icy and refreshing. As a slap in the face of love, the water received him kindly singing more fun.
It was just what I heard moaning, perfectly in tune with the swish of the wave.
He moved his arms and pushed forward until completely wet, feeling the clean and pure that you took away years of fatigue, cold sweats and rinse muddy. The baptism of rebirth struck him, took a few arms forward until you reach a point where the deeper water pulled it off the ground.
And there, overjoyed, leaned on the back, staying still, barely moving his feet and hands to stay afloat, her eyes again to the stars and the lapping straight into your ears.
Alive, alive, alive, singing river. Welcome back, brother unfortunate.
Water supported him suspended between heaven and earth, as if it was immaterial and weightless. I cuddled her as a woman after making love, I remember vague and persuasive.
suddenly, he straightened up and plunged the whole head, holding my breath.
He opened his eyes and saw light blurred fiochissima, confused, a noise deaf ears and a gentle massage on the face. He stayed under until you feel your lungs burst and re-emerged with a long inhalation.
The water dripped on his face, rivulets of sewage beneficial.
slowly returned to the shore, gradually emerging, or perhaps being born.
stood still When he was out to hear the water running on him, he returned to watching her shine in the night and to hear his voice, ignoring the cold, however, which was used to. He shook up, watching the drops fall out.
smiled again.
Breathe.
Smell, touch.
Watch, listen.
Freedom.
He was cold.
twelve years.
dog too, was cold: it was wet through, tired and lost.
If he had only been able to warm up, a time only. Light a fire and sit in front of the flame. But they saw the smoke from afar. The night was too bright, it might have stood out in the sky, the smoke?
went on for a few dozen meters, Caracalla silent, velvet paws made no noise on the ground, seemed to choose for themselves the most stable point on which to rest.
They could not know they were looking for a dog. At the first sound would turn and no one would see. He had to warm up and sit a while, could not continue.
had to find a sheltered, hidden, and when identified the indentation in the rock wags his tail, before returning to the man.
picked up dead branches all around, shook them feel the weight light and the smell of the bark. He knew a fire, at least in theory. Rub two sticks, he repeated, rub them until they spark.
ripeterselo went on a stick while rubbing against each other making it swirl in the palms of hands together. It did not work, he could not. Wet hair were stuck to the face, the coat still dripping. The legs were shaking, dirty ground and foliage. Rub. Faster, more, without wetting the wood. Again. Faster.
shrieked, her voice a little boy, when the flame lit up the ground in front of him. He remained in a daze looking for a few seconds and take root, then added some stick, it worked. Other wood all around.
She sank down on the ground, how he had spent the last vestige of energy, her eyes wide and fixed on the flame that extended himself, his mouth ajar.
Tentatively, slowly, stretching out her trembling hands forward and stifled a groan.
warmth, feel it expand around the reddish glow of the fire, pushing around a reverb and trembling irregular space around him seemed more relaxing and friendly atmosphere tinged with a warm orange, but it did not matter, because he could not move his eyes.
The blackened wood and glowing embers glowed, and just above a red ghost danced her tongue veils in a gentle crackling, swings and it bends and tended upwards without ever stopping, and radiating light and steam heat. The air was leading the hypnotic dance of the flame guiding up, down, right, left, each language independently.
warming the skin, blood, muscles and heart. The generously wrapped in a passionate embrace and friend, after so many years that he was cold he was surprised to notice how it seemed at that time did not need anything else, ever again, except that fire is hot.
entire surface of his body took over power and increasingly stretched, we basked in the feeling of renewal and thawing of blood long forgotten. The warmth and rocked the last breath in a natural heartbeat normalized as it was not too long.
raised her eyes to the sky again, finding a breath of calm and clarity.
Breathe.
Smell, touch.
Watch, listen.
Heated, look.
Freedom.
He looked at the sky.
The rational observer as if he had not seen it yet, and in a sense it was. With an open mind became aware of what happened, where he was and who he was there that night light.
Bright, yes, and looked for the first time clearly the Moon.
full moon.
started, man, watching the round pearl in the sky.
Night of the wolves. Night of werewolves, half expected to hear a howl.
Moony.
eyed moved from heaven to return to the flame, disoriented.
did not have believed it. This was reported in the fortress and he would die. Would never have believed it, Moony: he called the murderess, murderess and a traitor. Sold, miserable.
No. He had not done. She had not forgotten the promises, and the moon like that. Even if he could not forget.
remembered that other life, long ago. Centuries, perhaps hundreds of years. That guy who was always laughing and playing the rebel. He was so naive that boy, so silly. So confident, poor Sirius. He remembered how they remember someone who has known and then lost sight of, and made him tenderness and pain, because she was so innocent and Boccalone. That guy with clean hands, not stained with blood. Its dripping with it relentlessly, was covered with blood. But he remembered.
Moony, Padfoot.
Prongs.
Prongs. James.
eyes now looked at the soil properties, they looked lost and desperate. The man clutched his knees convulsively.
"It 's dead."
His voice was unreal, but it was not and he knew it.
was his blood on your hands. James was the blood that dripped from his fingers for twelve years, accompanied by mixed with the tears and sobs. She could not forget, not even wishing it.
He had killed his brother. He groaned in silence, put her hands to her face and held it there, narrow, claw-like skin. It was bloody, dirty, soul had the rotten and corrupt.
He wanted so much to save it.
had both hoped and prayed.
He squeezed his eyes with a painful grimace.
But it was not him.
It was not him.
Wormtail.
lifted his head almost growling.
That name had cursed all the time. Wormtail, Peter, cowardly traitor. Murderess of his brother, unclean be lower.
He clenched his fists in anger and hate, truth, wrote in his eyes which shine from the fire.
had to pay. The murderess was to be punished. At Hogwarts, he was there he would found, and would kill him, because he was right and because he wanted to.
He would have laughed and watched him die of joy.
He roused himself, staring.
Harry was at Hogwarts.
would see the son of James.
smiled, a glimmer of tenderness to make the human face ghostly.
poor orphan of the war, abandoned boy. This would see in a long time, his godson loved and lost. As a wish to embrace, to help him. He had promised, he had promised James.
suddenly invaded the desire to see it, now, to find healthy, safe. To look in his eyes the descendants of James: see it now.
He was no longer cold.
was time to go.
Free.
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