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Oh, Raaaaagna, I've a little present for you . . .
TITLE: "Edna May"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catslash)
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: "You're immortal, she's not. It's not. I married my Edna May in ought-three and I was with her right until the end. Not a pretty picture. Wrinkled and senile and cursing me for my youth. Wasn't our happiest time." -- Mayor Wilkins, "Choices"
NOTES: Written for Ragna. It's not exactly the most cheerful piece I've written, or the longest, but I hope it will do.
DISCLAIMER: It's all Joss.
On the lucid days, when she could remember things in order, she was fairly certain that she had been young and beautiful once. Her skin had been smooth and unseamed, her hair thick, her lips full, eyes bright.
Like his.
It was difficult enough, lost in the fogs of age, with nothing more than her own failing mind to tell her now versus then, reality versus fantasy.
Sometimes she thought he was her son.
Everything changed except him. He remained fresh and unwrinkled and clear in his mind. It tangled everything. She couldn't follow the paths of memory, for he was her guidepost and his sameness through the years tangled the roads into knots.
She felt saner when she believed he was their son. Better to believe in a child never born than to have a husband who never grew old. It smoothed away the potholes and put patches of clarity in the fog.
He was so patient. He never patronized. He helped her with her meals and cleaned her messes and kept his hands gentle and his voice even. He smiled at her often and read to her and kissed her every night when he put her to bed. After a while, he even stopped reminding her that they had never had children.
On the lucid days, when she could remember things in order, she knew that she had never felt such hate.
TITLE: "Edna May"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (
catslash)RATING: PG
SUMMARY: "You're immortal, she's not. It's not. I married my Edna May in ought-three and I was with her right until the end. Not a pretty picture. Wrinkled and senile and cursing me for my youth. Wasn't our happiest time." -- Mayor Wilkins, "Choices"
NOTES: Written for Ragna. It's not exactly the most cheerful piece I've written, or the longest, but I hope it will do.
DISCLAIMER: It's all Joss.
On the lucid days, when she could remember things in order, she was fairly certain that she had been young and beautiful once. Her skin had been smooth and unseamed, her hair thick, her lips full, eyes bright.
Like his.
It was difficult enough, lost in the fogs of age, with nothing more than her own failing mind to tell her now versus then, reality versus fantasy.
Sometimes she thought he was her son.
Everything changed except him. He remained fresh and unwrinkled and clear in his mind. It tangled everything. She couldn't follow the paths of memory, for he was her guidepost and his sameness through the years tangled the roads into knots.
She felt saner when she believed he was their son. Better to believe in a child never born than to have a husband who never grew old. It smoothed away the potholes and put patches of clarity in the fog.
He was so patient. He never patronized. He helped her with her meals and cleaned her messes and kept his hands gentle and his voice even. He smiled at her often and read to her and kissed her every night when he put her to bed. After a while, he even stopped reminding her that they had never had children.
On the lucid days, when she could remember things in order, she knew that she had never felt such hate.
From: (Anonymous)
Hoedogg sez...