Title: Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Mar. 15th, 2011 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmic_tuesdaysTitle: Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Author: Hannah Orlove
Fandom: The Prophecy
Pairing: Gabriel/Simon
Rating: G
Notes: Written for The Day After Tomorrow challenge.
The pair of angels flew over the landscape, glad for the time to be alone with each other. It was white, frozen water, freshly-fallen, clear and pure. Since the last storm had departed, nearly twelve days ago, not a single living creature had set foot on it.
The angels chose to preserve the place’s smoothness by landing on the crown of a once-great lady. She had been created to signify and give hope, but there was no one left who could let her carry out her mission. Instead, she was only so much of a reminder of what had been. And eventually, she wouldn’t even be that.
For a while, the angels remained silent, simply staring at the massive amounts of nothingness, the wind ruffling their feathers and hair.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” Gabriel finally said. “It’s nice to see that the landscape improved.”
Simon peered out over the snow, not minding the brightness that would have driven a human blind. He pulled in and extended his wings, the angelic equivalent of a sigh. “I never really did get to see the city here.”
Gabriel glanced at Simon. “You didn’t miss anything. Trust me. It smelled too much for anyone to enjoy their time there. Even the – the humans complained about it.” He had almost said ‘monkeys’ but caught himself just in time.
Long ago, angels had agreed that to honor their memory, they wouldn’t call humans monkeys anymore.
Angels did not tarnish the names of the dead.
Simon shrugged his shoulders. “I’d heard talk of the libraries, though. It’s a pity they didn’t survive.”
Gabriel shook his head. “How could they have been so good with stories and so bad with the truth?”
“I suppose it was in their nature.”
“They did have a way with words, didn’t they?”
Simon nodded. “I liked to meet with writers every now and then. The best ones were the pure storytellers.”
“What do you mean?”
“The ones that didn’t do anything but tell stories for the sake of stories told the best ones.”
“Ah.” Gabriel thought for a moment, trying to remember a name. “What about the one they kept raving about? The…the Beard?”
“The Bard,” Simon smirked. “William Shakespeare.”
“That’s the one.” Gabriel smiled with the satisfaction of knowing.
“I met him once,” Simon said wistfully. “He was one of the best. The way he used words was fantastic. He once wrote a story out of just one as a bet.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Which one?”
“Sister.”
“Which story, I mean.”
“That would be Twelfth Night.” Simon smiled. “Not his best, but it was a fun one to watch.”
He sighed with his throat this time, a habit he’d never been able to break. “He was really more of a wordsmith than a storyteller, though.” He looked out over what was once a teeming city full of life and love and glory, now a barren wasteland of wind and snow.
He stood up from his perch but didn’t fly off. He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and started to recite, punctuating his speech with hands and wings.
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
His words carried far, but none heard him but the angel at his side.
Gabriel stared at Simon. “He wrote that?”
Simon gave an ‘mm-hmm’ of agreement as he returned to the crouched perching position angels favored.
“He really did have a way with words, then.” Gabriel sighed with his wings. “I’ll have to concede I’ll miss the writers, if only for him.”
The minute host stared out over the snow for a while, lost in thought.
Gabriel suddenly grinned. “Now, the painters, those I’ll never miss.”
“Really?” Simon smiled. “What with all the portraits of you they did?”
Gabriel laughed. “They never did my face accurately. Not even once! I kept offering to pose for some of them, but they always said I didn’t look ‘angelic’ enough.” He smirked. “The ‘masters’ didn’t even get my hair color right.
“No, I won’t miss the painters.”
For a while, the angels remained on the crown, neither making a sound, reveling in the silence. These days Heaven seemed full to bursting, and any time spent alone was to be treasured.
After a time they flew again, over the smooth, white, undisturbed landscape, skimming across what was once an ocean, racing between shells of buildings, climbing up into the sky to dive and swoop for the sheer pleasure of stretching their wings.
Had any humans survived to see them, they would have wept from joy from seeing angels fly.
**
Long ago, a second war in Heaven had been brewing. Angels had been pushed aside, replaced by humans as God’s favored creation.
The rebel faction had been preparing for all-out war under the Archangel Gabriel, much as Lucifer had prepared countless epochs ago. Heaven had been closed, battle was imminent, and there was no idea if the next day would bring victory or defeat for either side.
But before it could take place, the second war ended.
The Great Disasters, as they were now called, had swept over the planet, cleaving continents, boiling seas, destroying once-great civilizations, erasing species.
Upon seeing the Disasters, the renegade angels had thrown down their swords, once again declaring their love of and allegiance to the Lord.
They no longer doubted the Word, no longer wondered if God loved them more than the humans, and no longer feared what the next day might bring.
For if God truly loved the humans, He would not have let the Great Disasters happen.
There was no way a loving God would allow anything so horrible happen to something He truly cared for.
Author: Hannah Orlove
Fandom: The Prophecy
Pairing: Gabriel/Simon
Rating: G
Notes: Written for The Day After Tomorrow challenge.
The pair of angels flew over the landscape, glad for the time to be alone with each other. It was white, frozen water, freshly-fallen, clear and pure. Since the last storm had departed, nearly twelve days ago, not a single living creature had set foot on it.
The angels chose to preserve the place’s smoothness by landing on the crown of a once-great lady. She had been created to signify and give hope, but there was no one left who could let her carry out her mission. Instead, she was only so much of a reminder of what had been. And eventually, she wouldn’t even be that.
For a while, the angels remained silent, simply staring at the massive amounts of nothingness, the wind ruffling their feathers and hair.
“I haven’t been here in ages,” Gabriel finally said. “It’s nice to see that the landscape improved.”
Simon peered out over the snow, not minding the brightness that would have driven a human blind. He pulled in and extended his wings, the angelic equivalent of a sigh. “I never really did get to see the city here.”
Gabriel glanced at Simon. “You didn’t miss anything. Trust me. It smelled too much for anyone to enjoy their time there. Even the – the humans complained about it.” He had almost said ‘monkeys’ but caught himself just in time.
Long ago, angels had agreed that to honor their memory, they wouldn’t call humans monkeys anymore.
Angels did not tarnish the names of the dead.
Simon shrugged his shoulders. “I’d heard talk of the libraries, though. It’s a pity they didn’t survive.”
Gabriel shook his head. “How could they have been so good with stories and so bad with the truth?”
“I suppose it was in their nature.”
“They did have a way with words, didn’t they?”
Simon nodded. “I liked to meet with writers every now and then. The best ones were the pure storytellers.”
“What do you mean?”
“The ones that didn’t do anything but tell stories for the sake of stories told the best ones.”
“Ah.” Gabriel thought for a moment, trying to remember a name. “What about the one they kept raving about? The…the Beard?”
“The Bard,” Simon smirked. “William Shakespeare.”
“That’s the one.” Gabriel smiled with the satisfaction of knowing.
“I met him once,” Simon said wistfully. “He was one of the best. The way he used words was fantastic. He once wrote a story out of just one as a bet.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Which one?”
“Sister.”
“Which story, I mean.”
“That would be Twelfth Night.” Simon smiled. “Not his best, but it was a fun one to watch.”
He sighed with his throat this time, a habit he’d never been able to break. “He was really more of a wordsmith than a storyteller, though.” He looked out over what was once a teeming city full of life and love and glory, now a barren wasteland of wind and snow.
He stood up from his perch but didn’t fly off. He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and started to recite, punctuating his speech with hands and wings.
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
His words carried far, but none heard him but the angel at his side.
Gabriel stared at Simon. “He wrote that?”
Simon gave an ‘mm-hmm’ of agreement as he returned to the crouched perching position angels favored.
“He really did have a way with words, then.” Gabriel sighed with his wings. “I’ll have to concede I’ll miss the writers, if only for him.”
The minute host stared out over the snow for a while, lost in thought.
Gabriel suddenly grinned. “Now, the painters, those I’ll never miss.”
“Really?” Simon smiled. “What with all the portraits of you they did?”
Gabriel laughed. “They never did my face accurately. Not even once! I kept offering to pose for some of them, but they always said I didn’t look ‘angelic’ enough.” He smirked. “The ‘masters’ didn’t even get my hair color right.
“No, I won’t miss the painters.”
For a while, the angels remained on the crown, neither making a sound, reveling in the silence. These days Heaven seemed full to bursting, and any time spent alone was to be treasured.
After a time they flew again, over the smooth, white, undisturbed landscape, skimming across what was once an ocean, racing between shells of buildings, climbing up into the sky to dive and swoop for the sheer pleasure of stretching their wings.
Had any humans survived to see them, they would have wept from joy from seeing angels fly.
**
Long ago, a second war in Heaven had been brewing. Angels had been pushed aside, replaced by humans as God’s favored creation.
The rebel faction had been preparing for all-out war under the Archangel Gabriel, much as Lucifer had prepared countless epochs ago. Heaven had been closed, battle was imminent, and there was no idea if the next day would bring victory or defeat for either side.
But before it could take place, the second war ended.
The Great Disasters, as they were now called, had swept over the planet, cleaving continents, boiling seas, destroying once-great civilizations, erasing species.
Upon seeing the Disasters, the renegade angels had thrown down their swords, once again declaring their love of and allegiance to the Lord.
They no longer doubted the Word, no longer wondered if God loved them more than the humans, and no longer feared what the next day might bring.
For if God truly loved the humans, He would not have let the Great Disasters happen.
There was no way a loving God would allow anything so horrible happen to something He truly cared for.
