Author: Moth Stafu PM
AU story revolving around Portman. Set after D3, Ducks are around 16/17/18-ish. Adam dies, Portman writes a sonnet for him. This is the story of why. *on hold... the author has writer's block. (read: the author is lazy)*Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Chapters: 4 - Words: 2,867 - Reviews: 23 - Updated: 08-17-02 - Published: 05-18-02 - id: 783204
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the idea. Ducks belong to Disney; the poem belongs to Madeline L'Engle, except I changed one word. Don't sue me.
A/N: This, to me, is the best thing I've ever written. Not necessarily quality wise, but emotionally. Maybe it's just that I love this poem and the book it came from. Who knows? But this is now my favorite. Please review and tell me what you think, it would mean a lot to me. I don't care if you think it sucked more than anything that's ever been written, I just want to know what other people think about this. Also tell me if you know whose POV I wrote it from. If you know me, it will be amazingly easy ^_^… if not, it's still pretty easy since I named almost everyone else. This is a short story. I have no intentions of continuing it.
We gather by the big oak tree that overlooks his grave. The paper is still there, fluttering in the breeze, held down by a small stone. Charlie is the first to see it and bends down to pick it up, catching the attention of everybody else. No one says anything, but they're all wondering. I try to look curious, but I don't know how good a job I'm doing.
Charlie reads the paper silently and then passes it to Guy. Guy and Connie read it together and pass it on to Julie, who passes it to Jesse. It travels around our group, finally reaching me. I read it over again and then hand it back to Charlie, who places it back under the rock before searching our faces to see who wrote it. Well, some of our faces. He skips over Averman, Fulton, Goldberg, Luis, and me. Of course none of us are sensitive enough to have written anything like that.
I don't know why I wrote it actually. It's not like I was ever really close to Adam. I guess it was for the rest of the team. And partly for me I guess. Whether anyone knew it or not, Adam helped me. He helped me see that just when life looks like it can't get any worse; it pulls the rug out from under your feet just to make sure you're paying attention. Unless you stop it. So I guess what I'm really trying to say is that Adam helped me see that you have to control your own life, not go with the flow.
When I stop thinking and look around, the rest of the team is turning to walk back down to the bus stop. I take one last look at Adam's grave with the paper fluttering on top and smile. A flower is growing directly above the paper. Looks like Adam approves.
The earth will never be the same again.
Rock, water, tree, iron, share this grief
As distant stars participate in pain.
A candle snuffed, a falling star or leaf,
A team mate death, O this particular loss
Is heaven mourned; for if no angel cried,
If this small one was tossed away as dross,
The very galaxies then would have lied.
How shall we sing our love's song now
In this strange land where all are born to die?
Each tree and leaf and star show how
The universe is part of this one cry,
That every life is noted and is cherished,
And nothing loved is ever lost or perished.