Title: Fragments: Red. White. Black.
Author: Karolyn Gray <kmgray3@aol.com>
ScifiBB/Chat Handle: Gray3
Rating: PG
Synopsis: A moment in fragmented realities becomes what was.
Type: Vignette
Spoilers: None
Archiving: Yes
Disclaimers: All Farscape names, characters and other related indicia are the property of Jim Henson Productions, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Networks, the Scifi Channel and all associated parties. No copyright infringement is intended.
Fragments: Red. White. Black.
by Karolyn Gray
Red.
The creature bellows a war cry, sword flashing, red braid and tankas flying. Light flashes off the twirling blade, matching the fire in bloodthirsty eyes and hissing voice. Muscles bulge, flexing, stretching leather armor taught to form a second skin, coiling to strike, a predators rush. A rapid tripartite burst of energy stitches a perfect inverted triangle pattern: two hearts, one stomach. Dark fluid flows staining the field black.
White.
Limbs flow fluidly, slinking, graceful and silent through shadowless black. A twist of the head, dark eyes glittering from pale faced countenance, the gossamer thread of the garrote like spider's silk threaded through ghostly digits. A lithe frame crawls forward, confident, assured, a ghost of movement in darkness. A flash of light, a splash of blue, a porcelain face with blackhole eyes that see no more.
Black.
Hair gleaming in ebon perfection, black leather over alabaster skin, crimson trailing from feral lips, azure eyes burning, death in every sinew, every feint, every shadowed look. His equal. His opposite. He lowers the pistol, she a dark reflection. They smile, perfect mirror. Red stains fingers, hands, lips, face. It is enough.
Red. White. Black. No rainbows. There is no need. There is only red of blood, a flash of white, black of night, and now swirling blue. Whiteholes and blackholes locked in mutual annihilation, re-creation. There are only wormholes now. And John Crichton smiles as the last Sun dies in his hands.
Nothingness.
"It's over." She says, almost as if sad, perhaps lonely. He smiles at her and shakes his head. They won't be alone much longer.
"No." He smiles and takes her hands in his own. She nods in understanding, her smile blazing forth.
"Let there be light."
And there was light.
"I always wanted to say that." He laughs, earning a puzzled look from his favorite companion.
"Will it be different this time?" Aeryn asks sleepily, curled up into his arms seeking warmth as they watch the stars pass by, the hum of the living ship vibrating through its golden halls.
"I don't know." Crichton admits, eyes drifting close in exhaustion.
'Know what?', he wonders as he starts to drift off. It seems important but Aeryn shifts, sighing in contentment, soft and warm. He lets the idle thought go. It's more important that she is here with him, in this moment.
Tomorrow reality would return.
Author: Karolyn Gray <kmgray3@aol.com>
ScifiBB/Chat Handle: Gray3
Rating: PG
Synopsis: A moment in fragmented realities becomes what was.
Type: Vignette
Spoilers: None
Archiving: Yes
Disclaimers: All Farscape names, characters and other related indicia are the property of Jim Henson Productions, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Networks, the Scifi Channel and all associated parties. No copyright infringement is intended.
Fragments: Red. White. Black.
by Karolyn Gray
Red.
The creature bellows a war cry, sword flashing, red braid and tankas flying. Light flashes off the twirling blade, matching the fire in bloodthirsty eyes and hissing voice. Muscles bulge, flexing, stretching leather armor taught to form a second skin, coiling to strike, a predators rush. A rapid tripartite burst of energy stitches a perfect inverted triangle pattern: two hearts, one stomach. Dark fluid flows staining the field black.
White.
Limbs flow fluidly, slinking, graceful and silent through shadowless black. A twist of the head, dark eyes glittering from pale faced countenance, the gossamer thread of the garrote like spider's silk threaded through ghostly digits. A lithe frame crawls forward, confident, assured, a ghost of movement in darkness. A flash of light, a splash of blue, a porcelain face with blackhole eyes that see no more.
Black.
Hair gleaming in ebon perfection, black leather over alabaster skin, crimson trailing from feral lips, azure eyes burning, death in every sinew, every feint, every shadowed look. His equal. His opposite. He lowers the pistol, she a dark reflection. They smile, perfect mirror. Red stains fingers, hands, lips, face. It is enough.
Red. White. Black. No rainbows. There is no need. There is only red of blood, a flash of white, black of night, and now swirling blue. Whiteholes and blackholes locked in mutual annihilation, re-creation. There are only wormholes now. And John Crichton smiles as the last Sun dies in his hands.
Nothingness.
"It's over." She says, almost as if sad, perhaps lonely. He smiles at her and shakes his head. They won't be alone much longer.
"No." He smiles and takes her hands in his own. She nods in understanding, her smile blazing forth.
"Let there be light."
And there was light.
"I always wanted to say that." He laughs, earning a puzzled look from his favorite companion.
"Will it be different this time?" Aeryn asks sleepily, curled up into his arms seeking warmth as they watch the stars pass by, the hum of the living ship vibrating through its golden halls.
"I don't know." Crichton admits, eyes drifting close in exhaustion.
'Know what?', he wonders as he starts to drift off. It seems important but Aeryn shifts, sighing in contentment, soft and warm. He lets the idle thought go. It's more important that she is here with him, in this moment.
Tomorrow reality would return.