4Good Weather For Airstrikes
i slide myself forward
through my head
i think half way
backwards
see myself sing
the anthem that we wrote together
we had a dream
we had everything
we rode to the end of the world
we rode searching
climbed skyscrapers
that later exploded
the peace was out
i leak balance
fall down
i slide myself forward
through my head
i always come back again to the same place
total silence
no answer
but the best thing god has created
is a new day
vidrar vel til loftarasa (Good Weather For Airstrikes) - Sigur Ros
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He pushed the ruined buggy to the dock's edge, smiling at the trusting faces of his children within, and when he reached the edge, lifted the tiny dolls with their raggy bodies from their hollow, sitting down, his legs hanging forgotten towards the rush of water below. Cradled them both simultaneously to his chest, never mind that it was embarassingly, unbearably male.
He didn't see anything else except the glass and cut-out eyes of his children. Babies loved their parent unconditionally, before the rot of the world set into their tiny china heads. It was all he'd ever wanted.
xXx
He sat on the edge of the dock, fishing in the Icelandic waters.
He looked over his shoulder and watched the boy with the blond hair push a child's buggy out near the edge of the dock and tenderly take out two unformed dolls. Both missing the top half of their skull, one of them eyeless...
It was the start.
He turned away and lifted the line, watched as the fish danced dead on the end of it.
xXx
The blond boy held them up so carefully, their faces looking blindly down on him, he could see out into the sky though its eyes.
... saw the world through the empty head.
xXx
He watched as the blond's father stopped work, saw the sparks stop. He watched without moving the fishing line as the man ran up, saw him pull his son back, in an odd parody of a cradle, pull him over onto his back and rip the dolls belonging to some forgotten girl's fantasies by their necks, away from the blond, like tearing the lining from a coat.
xXx
The tug at his collar didn't hurt as much as being bereft of his girls. He screamed and reached out for them, hand a claw to try and pull them back to him, call them back, but it did no good as they tumbled like juggler's clubs through the air to disappear from his field of vision.
He didn't hear his father's admonishments over his girl's wails that sounded like the rushing of the river, being pulled away bodily by hands that gave harsh touches that he'd never imitate on his discarded beautiful china dolls.
xXx
He turned his head back. The fish was dead.
xXx
Subdued, spiritless, the blond sat in the back of his dad's car, behind him but looking melancholically out of the car window. No doll's expression could compare to the blank sheet behind his eyes.
xXx
Looked down thoughtfully and saw the black water run through those empty eyes like thoughts or memories through her head, her legs and dress akimbo. Reached down a careful hand and the water itself moved to help him...
xXx
The harsh hand of his father on his shoulder, the weight of his gaze bowing his head down, like he'd never be able to hold it up again. His dad's fist clenched to beat him down if he ever did look up, like he had at the accepting faces of the thrown out dolls.
He sat morose on the end of the bench, forced into a scarlet jumper that emphasised his thin, infuriatingly narrow body; not really there, watching the blackboard, here are your positions, this is where you have to stay, where you're supposed to be, where the unseen name on your back says you're meant to be.
He looked up at the other boy as he passed the package over, the boy who'd seen it happen, the watcher with eyes like the stones in the river where his warmth now lay.
He took the parcel and the taking meant something, young cold fingers on his own for not long enough. He didn't understand the look he was given.
He opened the parcel and saw them. They continued to look back at him with dead loving eyes, just like he remembered, but they didn't hold his attention this time as he looked back up, lips parted like bedsheets, not understanding why-
Riverstone eyes looked back at him with living eyes that understood. There was more than one way to have doll eyes. It depended on what they meant to you, and to the blond boy, they sang sweet.
He couldn't bear the overt masculinity of this game, the vicious baying of the crowd. But now he had doll eyes on him and played the game out. His very first goal, with all the frustration of his dead maternity, his invasive procreation, his inherited testosterone. Right in the corner of the tattered net.
They flocked to him, but he didn't see them, except for one. The emotion exploded from his chest and he took to the air, jumped up in celebration and when he landed, he dragged his children's saviour down with him.
They'd done it together, he'd passed him the ball, he'd sent it flying, they were MADE for this, they didn't work unless they were together...
He dragged him down and was on top of him, and when the crowd cleared, he'd leant down and kissed him, and was kissed back and he went deaf.
xXx
They ran with each other on the windswept barren fields of Iceland, above the river, above the houses, on their own, faces ruddy, blond hair standing out against the dark ladnscape unlike the other's dark brown hair, like he was made from the land, earthy peat hair and riverstone eyes. The blond pinned the brunette and laughed at him...
They lay, head on shoulder, fingers stroking familiar homespun wool jumper and remembering, affirming and staying together, with the bitter memory of what had happened and that they weren't allowed to be, but with the sweetness that they still were...
They played on the great shards of flint that ran up from the earth, ordinary boys playing, but more ordinary here than wherever else there were people...
He leant towards him in the cold air and let his tongue lead him into the kiss...
xXx
That joy that they'd scored a goal, his own child, splintered by what he was seeing, what he couldn't believe. The shame, the burning shame of it, on a football field while the whole crowd watched them, faces dropping, twisting in disgust...
His own son, who played with broken and discarded dolls.
xXx
What they were building together shattered when the man tore them apart, the dolls all over again, but this cut deeper.
Tugged off by an arm, like they were dogs, painful, dripping off each other like treacle...
They reached out to each other and a bible hit the ground.
xXx
The priest restored the peat-haired boy to his mother's arms, and she clasped her head to him like she hadn't done since he was young.
His head was pressed into her, something the blond would never have, hot tears soaking into her skin.
xXx
The blond's heel scored the ground as he was dragged back, the football team a flock afraid, the scarlet shirt rode up, his white hateful body bared to the elements like dead meat. He was dead meat. Like porcelain, the perfectly sculpted imperfections of sinew and bone and a too thin chest.
It was the dolls again, and he cried out to be restored to him.
xXx
Their world fell all apart, skewed left and slid down, his father's furious face (amazement, there were things in the world uglier than his body) the cold wind on his bared skin...
The memory of the dolls falling out of the air, two pairs of the same eyes watching them tumble...
xXx
He'd thought they'd never kiss again after the football pitch. After that first day. It was the one he always remembered, burned into his mind.
But the best thing that God ever created was a new day.
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A/N:
It IS a little weird isn't it...
Okay, to fully get this fic, you'll have to watch a video by Sigur Ros, because I saw that video and then just wrote the fic of it. I'm putting this at the end because I wanted you to read the fic without the vid so you didn't know what was coming, but I'm sure it'll make WAY more sense once you watch the video.
You can stream it at www dot sigur-ros dot co dot uk/media/dldvideo dot html, the video is the second pic down, the one with the boy and the dolls (vidrar vel til loftarasa music video) it might take a wee bit of time, but BELIEVE me, it is worth it!
I wrote it following the lyrics too, if you're really clever you can guess which lyrics go where.
The layout bits is so that you know who's POV it is, cause I didn't wanna be TOO vague to you, lol. But I'm sure once you see the vid that you'll get it.