Actions

Work Header

Tell me in your story

Summary:

This was inspired by a comment on a story by the highly skilled honey_and_smoke, who wrote the story “The Living at Kymptom”.

I am not sure why, but in the space of a few hours, this poetry just flowed out of me. There is a little bit of Pride and Prejudice in it.

Notes:

Please note that this is - somewhat - dark, although it ends on a hopeful note. If you are feeling somewhat flat or depressed, reading it may not be all that helpful.

I also want to point out that I am certainly not against happy endings; sometimes, after a long day, they are exactly what I (and everyone) feels like.

All I am trying to say below is that as I get older, I think I am developing a broader sense of understanding and compassion, and that as a result, some of the darker stories are making a deeper impression upon me than the fluffier ones are.

Work Text:

So plunge the knife and sink the ship

And fill my heart with dread

Let me escape the modern world

To roam inside my head

 

To gasp in shock

And get strange looks

From people all about

And not to care at all because

The story rings so loud

 

For characters to turn from wisps

To people fully grown inside my brain

They talk and flirt and smirk - and die;

And I can feel their pain.

 

I yell at the page in impotent rage

When they talk past each other

If only they would - something!

And stop with all their blather

 

So I pace up and down and swear

Or sit and softly weep

At terrible moral dilemmas where

the choices are bad - or worse;

Of the true world beyond the Disneyfied pap

Where decisions can really hurt

 

Of the need to keep going

despite boredom and pain

because life is often not fair;

Or the strength required

to patiently wait because others

need your care.

 

Or the dreams delayed or

abolished at the hands of those

with power

Or the bitterness caused by

selfishness and the steady march

of hours.

 

Not all courage wears capes

Or comes in a rush of a night

But is built from years of endurance

And dedication to what is right.

 

So tell me of humility

Of years of beneath the yoke

Of compassion borne of understanding

- From being the village joke.

 

And tell me how they do it

Despite the lashings of pain

Of them keeping their eyes on the higher prize

And seeing the sun through the rain

 

For only compared to darkness

Can we appreciate light

And the range of amazing colours

that decorate our sight

 

So tell me in your story

How to scale the mountainside

Despite life’s disappointments

And the challenges we all find

 

For in my imagination

I am capable of so much more

Beyond being like Mr. Collins

And his capacity to bore

 

In my fever dreams

The years fall away

And I am born anew

Without regret for the people I hurt

Or the times when I wasn’t true

 

This version of me is one that stands tall

And I like it because in this frame of mind

On the best of myself I can call

 

I can be a better Darcy

I can learn to drop my pride

To do the right thing from the start

And to actively “noblesse oblige”

 

I can channel Lizzie’s fierceness

And refuse to bow to reprisals

Face into the wind of scandal

And thrill as my courage rises

 

I can be Jane and channel my love

Into calm and quiet reflection

Look for the good in everything

And work with quiet compassion

 

But for real depth and guts

I will channel Charlotte’s gritty

Instead of viewing her as a simple foil

And shaking my head with pity

 

For she knows herself - her best and her worst

And while she’s externally plain

She can read the room

In the blink of an eye

And understand who’s in pain

 

We assume her to be a woman of mouse

Who desperately lacks elan

But what I see in Charlotte

Hidden in plain sight

Is a lioness with a plan.

 

In another time and another place

She’s the power behind the throne

Or the vanishing spy

Who brings down the house

And sees tyrants overthrown.

 

For most of us are Charlottes

Not seen by the world as cool

Not flashy; not valued for much

By those who are born to rule.

 

When life is hard

And we struggle through the hours

We turn to fictional stories

- To our human superpower.

 

Since the Ice Ages cold

We have looked to the skies

And the stories we told

As we try to understand why.

 

And what did we think so much of

That we painted it on the walls of the caves?

It’s the best of human behaviour

Of love, sacrifice and the braving of danger

Of giving our lives so the tribe would survive

And of kindness well shown to a stranger.

 

So give me the stories of darkness

Let me ride the waves of emotion

Of those hard done by

Who don’t reach the sky

And who pass without knowing devotion.

 

Let the pain sear me now

From my ears to the tips of my toes

Let me sob uncomprehending

from my mouth and my nose

Let me weep till my eyes

Are red, itchy and tired

So that when I come out of my fictional trance

I will face life anew - and inspired.