Disclaimer: I own nothing of "Brokeback Mountain." I have only read the short story which is all I own of it, actually. I have yet to see the movie, so the below takes place in the realm of book canon.
Author's Notes: This isn't a very long piece, per se. It's a double-drabble of sorts at a length of 200 words. Title taken from "Phantom of the Opera," written for my own personal 100 fic challenge.
Music of the Night
The night beckoned without much of a sound-a cold whisper beneath the ebony curtains of a premature darkness, closed like so many aspects of his life. Like the remaining ashes of the incendiary days of Brokeback Mountain. Ennis shuddered; teeth clutching his lower lip like a child would a teddy bear. He still needed protection, despite his withering age.
He felt as vulnerable as a tree exposed to development and progress. It was only a matter a time before others would see dollar signs in his place and drag him by the roots, transforming him entirely. The blade had to come down eventually, or so told his racing heartbeat.
Funny how closely it resembled the rhythm of his falling tears.
If Jack were here, he'd fix it. There didn't seem to be any ailment that his rugged arms couldn't cure. But the miracle drug was gone now. He lingered in his own silhouette, framed by the moonlight's comforting words of solitude.
Funny how closely they mirrored the chorus of his dying days.
He didn't want anyone else-he'd be damned if he'd ever need anyone or anything ever again.
Funny how closely his thoughts resembled the music of his breaking heart.