New Fic: Parallel
Jul. 10th, 2015 04:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackwabbitParallel
Fandom: Mad Max: Fury Road
Rated: G
Category: Double Drabble. Furiosa Focus. Gen.
Summary: Most people in their situation might play chicken, but Max and Furiosa play a different game.
Disclaimer: You don’t own the Fury Road. The Fury Road owns you.
xxx
Sometimes she still goes out on patrol.
Sure, she’s got other things to do now, and frankly she’s not as young as she used to be, but sometimes, she just needs to feel the wind in her still-shorn hair.
Sometimes, she likes spitting sand out of her teeth and watching the water (so much water) run brown as she rinses her body that night.
So she still goes out on patrol.
She tells the others she’s checking the borders; looking for threats.
That’s true enough, so they shrug and wave her off on her way.
But she doesn’t tell them the rest of the story; that sometimes, on those patrols, she sees it.
It’s only a glimmer in the distance, and it’s not there often, but when it is, she just barely smiles.
She never turns her wheels toward it, though, and it never comes closer.
Yet it always runs beside her for a few miles, before tearing off into the horizon again.
And on those days, when the wind shifts right and the sun glints off metal just so, she murmurs just one word.
Fool.
The thing is, she never knows if she’s talking to him, or to herself.
Fandom: Mad Max: Fury Road
Rated: G
Category: Double Drabble. Furiosa Focus. Gen.
Summary: Most people in their situation might play chicken, but Max and Furiosa play a different game.
Disclaimer: You don’t own the Fury Road. The Fury Road owns you.
xxx
Sometimes she still goes out on patrol.
Sure, she’s got other things to do now, and frankly she’s not as young as she used to be, but sometimes, she just needs to feel the wind in her still-shorn hair.
Sometimes, she likes spitting sand out of her teeth and watching the water (so much water) run brown as she rinses her body that night.
So she still goes out on patrol.
She tells the others she’s checking the borders; looking for threats.
That’s true enough, so they shrug and wave her off on her way.
But she doesn’t tell them the rest of the story; that sometimes, on those patrols, she sees it.
It’s only a glimmer in the distance, and it’s not there often, but when it is, she just barely smiles.
She never turns her wheels toward it, though, and it never comes closer.
Yet it always runs beside her for a few miles, before tearing off into the horizon again.
And on those days, when the wind shifts right and the sun glints off metal just so, she murmurs just one word.
Fool.
The thing is, she never knows if she’s talking to him, or to herself.
