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A song in which to weep: Within the mind of Aviva Crémieux
Title: A song in which to weep: Within the mind of Aviva Crémieux
Fandom or Original Universe: Rain Dogs, my screenplay
Rating: M
Word count: 746
Prompt: January OYTAWL Challenge
Brief summary: Aviva Crémieux has survived WWII. And, as she has discovered, so has the lover she was separated from, a German soldier.
A/N: Contains references to Poe and Plato's Symposium, because I'm obnoxious like that.
This is a writing exercise for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
getyourwordsout, which involves writing a journal entry from the point of view of a character.
July 23, 1945
Once, we were split apart by Zeus. And now, my other half has returned. All that had been lost has been found; recovered.
There were times when I wondered that if what we had begun then was something that probably shouldn't have happened at all.
Perhaps.
But you, Manfried; you were a worthy adversary.
You had me surrounded on all sides. Your words - so kind and genuine - and your hands - so gentle - were your weapons, which you wielded so expertly, tearing into the tenderest parts of me.
You brought me to my knees, leaving me with no recourse but to wave my white flag in surrender.
To you, for you, I laid down my arms.
It was the heat of you, the strong pulse which beat so fervently beneath the uniform that ultimately led me to let down my resistance.
Your uniform.
You wore yours and I wore mine.
Yours, which consisted of heavy green wool, adorned with a proud eagle and the oppressive symbol of your Fatherland. And mine, which was a bright, yellow star on my chest.
We wore them because they were to serve as barriers between us; the demarcation line intended to divide and repel us.
Instead, the two of us were drawn to each other by something tremendous, something out of our control. Driven by a kind of emotional magnetism, we clawed our way through the obstructions imposed upon us, to feel the warm press of the flesh of each other's bodies; bodies which were so fragile, so pliable.
In those moments together, all was cast aside and laid bare as our differences made no difference, and our actions held no consequences upon our future. In those moments, we fully believed in fate and destiny, in the divine and the holy. You were my birthright, as I was yours.
We were unfaltering, unquestioning.
We could have brought down the heavens.
Together, our power was far too great; something to be feared. As punishment, we were torn asunder, with years of blood and distance wedged between us.
Together, we held allegiance only to one another. Separately, we were forced onto sides.
At that point, there was no choice, there were no decisions to be made. My fate was determined.
And so, I killed.
I killed on my behalf.
I killed for yours.
I killed for a cause.
I killed for my country.
I killed because there was nothing left.
Those men were your countrymen. Those men wore the uniform. Those men, however, were decidedly not like you.
Those men did not have mothers like yours; mothers who anxiously awaited any and all correspondence from their sons, sons whom they worried would be lost to war like their fathers.
Those men would never allow for the exposure of their vulnerabilities.
Those men did not possess your kindness, your patience, or your ability to love.
Those men were not you; you were not those men.
I do not regret the blood I spilled. It was my penance. I could not love you and get away with it.
I loved you then as I love you now.
Even as your mouth, your hands, and all traces of you upon my skin became a lingering memory, and you, once something so solid and so vital, had become a ghost.
I mourned your loss as though you had become a member of the ever-growing legion of the dead.
In all our time apart, I knew no others but you.
Perhaps what we had, all that we shared, was wrong.
Perhaps.
But we were both weary of the world, and our love made us greater than what we were; it brought out the better sides of ourselves, revealing to each other our humanity.
How could we have turned away from one another after glimpsing what we had of each other?
We didn't have to pretend to be better people, you and I. Together, we were better people, in spite of everything.
In those quiet moments, within those comforting silences that held us as we held each other, with your haunted eyes searching mine, I knew; as did you.
If Hephaestus, with all his instruments, were to come to the two of us as we lay side by side, and asked of us if we wanted to be joined eternally as one rather than two, neither you nor I would hesitate.
We loved, as the poet wrote, with a love that was more than love.
Fandom or Original Universe: Rain Dogs, my screenplay
Rating: M
Word count: 746
Prompt: January OYTAWL Challenge
Brief summary: Aviva Crémieux has survived WWII. And, as she has discovered, so has the lover she was separated from, a German soldier.
A/N: Contains references to Poe and Plato's Symposium, because I'm obnoxious like that.
This is a writing exercise for
getyourwordsout, which involves writing a journal entry from the point of view of a character.July 23, 1945
Once, we were split apart by Zeus. And now, my other half has returned. All that had been lost has been found; recovered.
There were times when I wondered that if what we had begun then was something that probably shouldn't have happened at all.
Perhaps.
But you, Manfried; you were a worthy adversary.
You had me surrounded on all sides. Your words - so kind and genuine - and your hands - so gentle - were your weapons, which you wielded so expertly, tearing into the tenderest parts of me.
You brought me to my knees, leaving me with no recourse but to wave my white flag in surrender.
To you, for you, I laid down my arms.
It was the heat of you, the strong pulse which beat so fervently beneath the uniform that ultimately led me to let down my resistance.
Your uniform.
You wore yours and I wore mine.
Yours, which consisted of heavy green wool, adorned with a proud eagle and the oppressive symbol of your Fatherland. And mine, which was a bright, yellow star on my chest.
We wore them because they were to serve as barriers between us; the demarcation line intended to divide and repel us.
Instead, the two of us were drawn to each other by something tremendous, something out of our control. Driven by a kind of emotional magnetism, we clawed our way through the obstructions imposed upon us, to feel the warm press of the flesh of each other's bodies; bodies which were so fragile, so pliable.
In those moments together, all was cast aside and laid bare as our differences made no difference, and our actions held no consequences upon our future. In those moments, we fully believed in fate and destiny, in the divine and the holy. You were my birthright, as I was yours.
We were unfaltering, unquestioning.
We could have brought down the heavens.
Together, our power was far too great; something to be feared. As punishment, we were torn asunder, with years of blood and distance wedged between us.
Together, we held allegiance only to one another. Separately, we were forced onto sides.
At that point, there was no choice, there were no decisions to be made. My fate was determined.
And so, I killed.
I killed on my behalf.
I killed for yours.
I killed for a cause.
I killed for my country.
I killed because there was nothing left.
Those men were your countrymen. Those men wore the uniform. Those men, however, were decidedly not like you.
Those men did not have mothers like yours; mothers who anxiously awaited any and all correspondence from their sons, sons whom they worried would be lost to war like their fathers.
Those men would never allow for the exposure of their vulnerabilities.
Those men did not possess your kindness, your patience, or your ability to love.
Those men were not you; you were not those men.
I do not regret the blood I spilled. It was my penance. I could not love you and get away with it.
I loved you then as I love you now.
Even as your mouth, your hands, and all traces of you upon my skin became a lingering memory, and you, once something so solid and so vital, had become a ghost.
I mourned your loss as though you had become a member of the ever-growing legion of the dead.
In all our time apart, I knew no others but you.
Perhaps what we had, all that we shared, was wrong.
Perhaps.
But we were both weary of the world, and our love made us greater than what we were; it brought out the better sides of ourselves, revealing to each other our humanity.
How could we have turned away from one another after glimpsing what we had of each other?
We didn't have to pretend to be better people, you and I. Together, we were better people, in spite of everything.
In those quiet moments, within those comforting silences that held us as we held each other, with your haunted eyes searching mine, I knew; as did you.
If Hephaestus, with all his instruments, were to come to the two of us as we lay side by side, and asked of us if we wanted to be joined eternally as one rather than two, neither you nor I would hesitate.
We loved, as the poet wrote, with a love that was more than love.