http://mrua7.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
mrua7.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
section7mfu2012-09-05 09:39 am
mrua7.livejournal.com) wrote in section7mfu2012-09-05 09:39 am
Entry tags:
The Randomness of Life~ for A Little Drabble Do Ya
Half-drabbles inspired by ones from a single poem"
Am not I
The boy Kuryakin lay in his bunk in the orphanage, feeling very much alone.
Why did his family have to die and not he? At first he felt unrelenting guilt.
“Why?” He’d ask. A day came when he said, “Am I not worth it?.”
Then he began to live.
And drink & sing;
“Come Illya give us a song,” his mates called. The voyage beneath the waves has been dull.
“Nyet, you sing Vasha, you have the good voice, not me. I prefer to stay in the shadows.
“A toast then, “ Vasha held up his vodka. “To shadows, may they long protect you.”
And the want
It was a meager existence, day in and day out, with barely enough food.
Illya trudged on to his assignment, listening in on the idle chatter of women, who
shared recipes but had not the ingredients to make them.
It made him hungrier, just imagining a hot platter of pirogi.
Or if I die.
Illya pulled his wool coat tighter, as well as the ear flaps of his ushanka against the bitter wind. Snow swirled through the cobblestone streets; soon they would be covered.
He could freeze on this stakeout, no one cared. He was replaceable, everyone was.
Yet, he would live to spite them.
Prompted by : The Fly ~ William Blake
.Am not I
The boy Kuryakin lay in his bunk in the orphanage, feeling very much alone.
Why did his family have to die and not he? At first he felt unrelenting guilt.
“Why?” He’d ask. A day came when he said, “Am I not worth it?.”
Then he began to live.
And drink & sing;
“Come Illya give us a song,” his mates called. The voyage beneath the waves has been dull.
“Nyet, you sing Vasha, you have the good voice, not me. I prefer to stay in the shadows.
“A toast then, “ Vasha held up his vodka. “To shadows, may they long protect you.”
And the want
It was a meager existence, day in and day out, with barely enough food.
Illya trudged on to his assignment, listening in on the idle chatter of women, who
shared recipes but had not the ingredients to make them.
It made him hungrier, just imagining a hot platter of pirogi.
Or if I die.
Illya pulled his wool coat tighter, as well as the ear flaps of his ushanka against the bitter wind. Snow swirled through the cobblestone streets; soon they would be covered.
He could freeze on this stakeout, no one cared. He was replaceable, everyone was.
Yet, he would live to spite them.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject