Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
steelartisan) wrote2007-08-26 01:50 am
steelartisan) wrote2007-08-26 01:50 am
(no subject)
He thought about going to Milliways. Outside. There is water there, and trees, and horses, and grass that could almost be a field.
But there's a crowded room in between, and the last thing he wants to see is more people. Friends will be concerned, and strangers will be curious, and -- no.
He can't explain. To anyone. Not yet.
There is no art in him. And if he lets himself move to push or hit anything, something will shatter. Himself or the walls or whatever is in front of him.
He is on Serenity's bridge, hunched in the tiny area in front of the pilot's console, looking up at the stars.
There are so many of them.
He has no idea how long it's been since he left Simon's infirmary.
But there's a crowded room in between, and the last thing he wants to see is more people. Friends will be concerned, and strangers will be curious, and -- no.
He can't explain. To anyone. Not yet.
There is no art in him. And if he lets himself move to push or hit anything, something will shatter. Himself or the walls or whatever is in front of him.
He is on Serenity's bridge, hunched in the tiny area in front of the pilot's console, looking up at the stars.
There are so many of them.
He has no idea how long it's been since he left Simon's infirmary.