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2010 and Comics - The Authority ficlet: "Questions" (Apollo, PG-13)
Title: Questions
Author: H. Savinien
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Apollo (from the Stormwatch and The Authority titles) is the intellectual property of Wildstorm comics, not me, and I derive no profit from this fanwork.
Author's Note: Happy year ten, friends, and have the ficlet I wrote on the bus back to Vancouver today. More depressing than planned.
***
Apollo wonders sometimes about...before. He knows, intellectually, that there was a time when he did not feel sunlight fizz the blood in his veins and stiffen his cock in anticipation, when he could not hang in the air, fly in the face of gravity. In the beginning, in snatched moments between pushing himself to the limit to survive their training and the few hours of sleep that sustained him, he constructed fleeting fantasies of a man...a student or a dancer or a baker, stricken with some incurable sickness and jumping at a chance for... What, he can never make out. A cure from a mysterious government body? He hopes he wasn't stupid enough to fall for something too obvious. He wonders whether he had family, what he looked like, if he was afraid of heights.
He wonders about Mid too. Was there ever a time when he could laugh without that split-second pause, when his red-brown hair grew long enough to soften into curls? Somehow, Apollo thinks that there was always a sadness in his eyes.
What would those men think of them now, the choices they made, the things they did?
Would not-Apollo be proud of what he would become...
or horrified?
Author: H. Savinien
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Apollo (from the Stormwatch and The Authority titles) is the intellectual property of Wildstorm comics, not me, and I derive no profit from this fanwork.
Author's Note: Happy year ten, friends, and have the ficlet I wrote on the bus back to Vancouver today. More depressing than planned.
***
Apollo wonders sometimes about...before. He knows, intellectually, that there was a time when he did not feel sunlight fizz the blood in his veins and stiffen his cock in anticipation, when he could not hang in the air, fly in the face of gravity. In the beginning, in snatched moments between pushing himself to the limit to survive their training and the few hours of sleep that sustained him, he constructed fleeting fantasies of a man...a student or a dancer or a baker, stricken with some incurable sickness and jumping at a chance for... What, he can never make out. A cure from a mysterious government body? He hopes he wasn't stupid enough to fall for something too obvious. He wonders whether he had family, what he looked like, if he was afraid of heights.
He wonders about Mid too. Was there ever a time when he could laugh without that split-second pause, when his red-brown hair grew long enough to soften into curls? Somehow, Apollo thinks that there was always a sadness in his eyes.
What would those men think of them now, the choices they made, the things they did?
Would not-Apollo be proud of what he would become...
or horrified?