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Jan. 24th, 2007 09:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
nuitari4pwnage.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
onepieceyaoi100Title: Pine
Rating: G
Characters: Zoro, Sanji
Topic: Trade
Word Count: 298
Summary: I was trying to describe a place I had seen before. Set in a modern universe.
An unremarkable van sped through the not-quite silence of a deserted highway.
Low lumps of dirt in small, house-high clumps that had no reason to be acclaimed as hills, low-growing scrubs, bushes that clung to what little sustenance the yellow-gray dirt provided, and scattered pine trees, ready to live out the winter. If you were a pine tree that decided to grow here, you would be small and squat, with trunk-rings that were packed together because there was so little to grow on.
“Stop.”
The car slowed to a halt. The passenger door opened, and a man with flaxen hair got out.
If you were a pine tree that decided to grow here, there would be little cultivation. Instead of loving hands and nutrition-rich air, there were frostbitten winters and summers that turned your needles brittle and brown.
Black shoes quickly gathered gray dust as they parted dirt that had not been trodden on since construction. The man reached into a black bag and began setting up a stand, completing the ensemble by carefully placing a camera atop it.
If you were a pine tree that decided to grow here, you would have to be sturdy, with a weathered face that stood solid against clashing forces of summer and winter.
With one arm still draped around the steering wheel, the man’s companion watched from the drivers seat with the comprehending silence of one who had fallen into routine. The one with the camera looked through the lens and snapped a picture of the scrub-land.
If you were a pine tree that decided to grow in the gray, dusty no-man’s-land in between two entrenched hearts, you would be resilient and never, ever give up until the world tilts on its fucking side with promises of peaceful days to come.
-
A/N: I wasn't quite sure what to make of this drabble. I wrote it at 2:00 AM while listening to Robin singing "My Real Life". Sad song - but it got my brain cogs turning. I drew up a picture of a memory of a low valley-like scrub-land and populated by few scattered pine trees. Therefor, this was born.
I actually haven't written serious!fic since I was 12, so any comments will be appriciated. And thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crazytemps for beta-ing this on such short notice.
Rating: G
Characters: Zoro, Sanji
Topic: Trade
Word Count: 298
Summary: I was trying to describe a place I had seen before. Set in a modern universe.
An unremarkable van sped through the not-quite silence of a deserted highway.
Low lumps of dirt in small, house-high clumps that had no reason to be acclaimed as hills, low-growing scrubs, bushes that clung to what little sustenance the yellow-gray dirt provided, and scattered pine trees, ready to live out the winter. If you were a pine tree that decided to grow here, you would be small and squat, with trunk-rings that were packed together because there was so little to grow on.
“Stop.”
The car slowed to a halt. The passenger door opened, and a man with flaxen hair got out.
If you were a pine tree that decided to grow here, there would be little cultivation. Instead of loving hands and nutrition-rich air, there were frostbitten winters and summers that turned your needles brittle and brown.
Black shoes quickly gathered gray dust as they parted dirt that had not been trodden on since construction. The man reached into a black bag and began setting up a stand, completing the ensemble by carefully placing a camera atop it.
If you were a pine tree that decided to grow here, you would have to be sturdy, with a weathered face that stood solid against clashing forces of summer and winter.
With one arm still draped around the steering wheel, the man’s companion watched from the drivers seat with the comprehending silence of one who had fallen into routine. The one with the camera looked through the lens and snapped a picture of the scrub-land.
If you were a pine tree that decided to grow in the gray, dusty no-man’s-land in between two entrenched hearts, you would be resilient and never, ever give up until the world tilts on its fucking side with promises of peaceful days to come.
-
A/N: I wasn't quite sure what to make of this drabble. I wrote it at 2:00 AM while listening to Robin singing "My Real Life". Sad song - but it got my brain cogs turning. I drew up a picture of a memory of a low valley-like scrub-land and populated by few scattered pine trees. Therefor, this was born.
I actually haven't written serious!fic since I was 12, so any comments will be appriciated. And thank you,
crazytemps for beta-ing this on such short notice.
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