"What's
In a Name"
by
Jimaine
Challenge-reply
for July 11th, 2003. Not a lot of words, rather shallow and sappy as
h-… My muse deserted me halfway through, so I've tried to round it off the best
I could instead of delivering the coup de grace. I'm currently tying up all the
*deepness* in a German story, sorry, guys.
Pairing:
Hawkeye/Trapper
Rating:
PG
Archive:
mash-slash, yeah, and then also T'Len's & Lady Charena's place. And, well,
if anybody else wants to have it, please, go ahead! Just ask.
Disclaimer:
I don't own MASH or any of the characters. Unfortunately. I'm gonna rectify
that oversight by building a time-machine and marrying Larry Gelbart.
++++++++++++
Angels
and demons. Friend or foe. After all this time, and in this place in
particular, it's become difficult to make the distinction. They look so much
alike, their faces are the same.
Every
time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings, or so the saying goes – in our
case, there are no bells. Only shells. And choppers are doubling as our kind of
heavenly messengers, mechanized angels, their wings beating a rhythmic staccato
as if counting off the rapidly fading minutes of their cargo's lifetime.
Angels,
according to Catholic dogma, are invisible.
Not
here, not here...
Here
you see things unheard of in the world you call home, feel things previously
unfelt. And never again thereafter.
Angels…if
there are any, we brought them with us to Korea. In Buddhism, they're called
devas, but the basic concept is the same, an angel, by any other name, is always
a beautiful sight.
Many
who have passed through here claim to have seen angels. Their respective
guardian angels mostly, and of course our ever-present nemesis, the
Principality known as the Angel of Death. He's got his work cut out for him,
never takes a break, always succeeding while most of the others have to
struggle to score the occasional victory.
Not daring to breathe, I bury my face, tears, dirt, stubble and all, at the nape of your neck and put my shaking hands where your wings should be. "Why does life have to be so complicated?" The question I started asking myself when aforementioned Principality ferried my mother away still doesn't have an answer.
"Life
may be complicated…this isn't."
I can't
help but laugh in spite of my overwhelming exhaustion. "Hey, when did you
become so awfully rational?"
"Doesn't
suit me, hm?"
"About
as well as a halo."
Instead
of replying verbally, you gather me closer still. It only takes a few
heartbeats before the rush of what we call life slows... With a touch, a kiss,
you still the panic in me.
Despite
the missing halo you are an angel, too, a choir all by yourself.
My
angel, mine and mine alone.
My
Morningstar.
And if
you fall, I'll jump to follow.
Finis