Wes/Lilah, set before the Jasmine arc
Jun. 11th, 2003 02:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveFifteen
by James
He has fifteen minutes to write it down. Fifteen minutes before the world will end -- for himself, or for everyone in which case it won't matter what he writes. But Wesley finds himself erasing the misspellings anyhow, and pausing over word choices as though he will be here later for the critique.
He has fifteen minutes and it bothers him to know how scared he is. He's faced death before, and he's accepted it and has prepared himself for it more often than the number of football games he's played.
He only ever got to play during the summer he stayed with his aunt and uncle and cousins, and he remembers being very bad at it for a month before he finally caught on.
He finds himself thinking about football, and the cricket his father approved of his playing despite the fact he hated it and knows he's wasting his time. Fifteen minutes isn't very long to write down everything that needs to be said. He knows he ought to have said a lot of this before now, when there were no deadlines and he would have had the chance to see the response. A chance to enjoy the consequences.
But it's better to say it at all, than to go quietly without a word. There are words which are too important to never be said, and while he's known that for a very long time, it's only now that he realises that the adage applies to *him* as well.
There are times when one simply must say 'I love you'. It seems rather appropriate, and extremely cliche, that he would say them now. Fifteen minutes before he begins the spell which will either fail, and the world will end, or succeed and kill him. But it is now, or never, and he has to let it be now.
He writes the last of what he has to say, and leaves the letter on his desk. Perhaps the letter will be irrelevant, and he will arrive in Hell and see her again.
by James
He has fifteen minutes to write it down. Fifteen minutes before the world will end -- for himself, or for everyone in which case it won't matter what he writes. But Wesley finds himself erasing the misspellings anyhow, and pausing over word choices as though he will be here later for the critique.
He has fifteen minutes and it bothers him to know how scared he is. He's faced death before, and he's accepted it and has prepared himself for it more often than the number of football games he's played.
He only ever got to play during the summer he stayed with his aunt and uncle and cousins, and he remembers being very bad at it for a month before he finally caught on.
He finds himself thinking about football, and the cricket his father approved of his playing despite the fact he hated it and knows he's wasting his time. Fifteen minutes isn't very long to write down everything that needs to be said. He knows he ought to have said a lot of this before now, when there were no deadlines and he would have had the chance to see the response. A chance to enjoy the consequences.
But it's better to say it at all, than to go quietly without a word. There are words which are too important to never be said, and while he's known that for a very long time, it's only now that he realises that the adage applies to *him* as well.
There are times when one simply must say 'I love you'. It seems rather appropriate, and extremely cliche, that he would say them now. Fifteen minutes before he begins the spell which will either fail, and the world will end, or succeed and kill him. But it is now, or never, and he has to let it be now.
He writes the last of what he has to say, and leaves the letter on his desk. Perhaps the letter will be irrelevant, and he will arrive in Hell and see her again.