Drabbles: Green Apple I, II, and III
Jul. 14th, 2005 02:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratby Honorat Selonnet
Entries for the Black Pearl Sails Drabble Challenge: Green
Yeah! Barbossa and his apples.
Green Apple I
She sits before him, living, breathing, feeling. The sight of her first bite wrings an involuntary gasp from him. She does not know what a wondrous thing it is that she does. To feel hunger and be able to sate it. To desire food and be able to taste it.
He has planned this meal so carefully, meaning to draw out this vicarious pleasure like the slow summer days of childhood. It is so very little, but even the hint of satisfaction drives him mad. He cannot wait. He must see those soft, full lips, those perfect teeth envelope the smooth green flesh. He must hear the music of the fruit crushing.
“And the apples,” he entreats. “One of those next.”
Green Apple II
For too long he has kept this bowl on this table. For too long he has shaped his hands around the elegant curves, contemplating the beauty, the mystery of such simplicity, devouring only with his sight. He remembers the silky feel of glowing green skin, the tang and sweet and crisp and juice on his tongue, or he thinks he does. But sensation has been gone so long he is no longer sure.
To see and never to taste is hell indeed.
But to see and hear the slice of teeth through the firm green flesh, to see pleasure in the face of his enemy is utter damnation.
“It’s a funny ol’ world, innit?”
Green Apple III
As his enemy falls, Jack’s sword arm reaches out ever so slightly—as if the death of Barbossa is the death of something in himself. The edge of his blade drips with his own blood and with Barbossa’s, intermingled in one shade of crimson. The droplets stain the gold under his feet. The smoke of his pistol drifts up in the moonlight like incense. Dark, somber eyes hold faded blue-grey ones, emptying of all the torment and the glory that was Hector Barbossa.
From Barbossa’s limp hand, the green apple, never to be tasted now, rolls down a slight incline of gold. Ten years Jack has cherished implacable hatred. Ten years he has plotted this vengeance. Ten years Barbossa has waited to feel, only to feel the chill of his own death.
Entries for the Black Pearl Sails Drabble Challenge: Green
Yeah! Barbossa and his apples.
Green Apple I
She sits before him, living, breathing, feeling. The sight of her first bite wrings an involuntary gasp from him. She does not know what a wondrous thing it is that she does. To feel hunger and be able to sate it. To desire food and be able to taste it.
He has planned this meal so carefully, meaning to draw out this vicarious pleasure like the slow summer days of childhood. It is so very little, but even the hint of satisfaction drives him mad. He cannot wait. He must see those soft, full lips, those perfect teeth envelope the smooth green flesh. He must hear the music of the fruit crushing.
“And the apples,” he entreats. “One of those next.”
Green Apple II
For too long he has kept this bowl on this table. For too long he has shaped his hands around the elegant curves, contemplating the beauty, the mystery of such simplicity, devouring only with his sight. He remembers the silky feel of glowing green skin, the tang and sweet and crisp and juice on his tongue, or he thinks he does. But sensation has been gone so long he is no longer sure.
To see and never to taste is hell indeed.
But to see and hear the slice of teeth through the firm green flesh, to see pleasure in the face of his enemy is utter damnation.
“It’s a funny ol’ world, innit?”
Green Apple III
As his enemy falls, Jack’s sword arm reaches out ever so slightly—as if the death of Barbossa is the death of something in himself. The edge of his blade drips with his own blood and with Barbossa’s, intermingled in one shade of crimson. The droplets stain the gold under his feet. The smoke of his pistol drifts up in the moonlight like incense. Dark, somber eyes hold faded blue-grey ones, emptying of all the torment and the glory that was Hector Barbossa.
From Barbossa’s limp hand, the green apple, never to be tasted now, rolls down a slight incline of gold. Ten years Jack has cherished implacable hatred. Ten years he has plotted this vengeance. Ten years Barbossa has waited to feel, only to feel the chill of his own death.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-14 10:17 am (UTC)I have a thought on the 3rd - a slight problem with the continuity of the movie, really: Barbossa drops his sword and clutches the lapels of his coat with both hands yanking it open to reveal the mortal (as it became with the coin and the blood finally repaid)wound, utters his final words and drops dead from a shot to his black heart.
When did he retrieve the apple from his pocket? Not a likely scenario, but a most poetic one.
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Date: 2005-07-14 05:03 pm (UTC)