Existentialist
Entertainment Moderator
Okay... my first fic in a while. And since I'm posting it, that means I'm serious about finishing it. Honestly, right now, I have no idea where it's going to go (or where my ideas will take me). All I have is a theme, and if you recognize the title and the topic description, it'll probably be pretty obvious.
Title: The Beauty of the Rain
Author: Existentialist (Leah)
Genre: S/V, slightly AU
Summary: Go back to early season 2 (possibly around the time of "The Getaway"). A resculpuring of the Syd/Vaughn relationship.
Disclaimer: I didn't create Alias (JJ Abrams did), etc etc.
Feedback: As this is my first posted fanfic in a long time, feedback is very important to me. So please, feed back.
Prologue
It starts with an idea. Take the idea and turn it into something useful – give it words. Write it down. That’s what a journal is for, after all. You studied English in grad school. You should be good at this. Your pen is poised over the crisp, unused paper, ready to work.
But this is something you can’t write down. Something you’re almost afraid to give words. If the innocent, unassuming leather-bound journal fell into the wrong hands, it could mean the end. The end of what, exactly?
You. Him. Any idea the two of you ever had about anything really, and about each other in particular. For all intents and purposes, it would be the end of the world.
And anyways, assigning words to this idea would make it stale. Words are necessary to utilize ideas, but they strip some of the beauty. And when that beauty is lost, things just don’t sparkle the way they did before they had a name.
For example, take rain. It’s a beautiful concept, droplets of water falling from the sky. Washing the world new. In the right light, it shimmers, showering the earth with bursts of freshness. At the same time, it’s all recycled. That water has already hit the ground, countless times before. Older than man. Possibly even older than time itself. Full of secrets, longings, passions that belong to others. People who may have long since perished. As it falls, it whispers the secrets of these people. If you listen closely, you can sometimes hear them.
But then you give it four letters.
Rain.
The ‘R’ is harsh, killing some of the beauty. That’s not the half of it. How can four letters encompass an eternity of secrets?
Title: The Beauty of the Rain
Author: Existentialist (Leah)
Genre: S/V, slightly AU
Summary: Go back to early season 2 (possibly around the time of "The Getaway"). A resculpuring of the Syd/Vaughn relationship.
Disclaimer: I didn't create Alias (JJ Abrams did), etc etc.
Feedback: As this is my first posted fanfic in a long time, feedback is very important to me. So please, feed back.
Prologue
It starts with an idea. Take the idea and turn it into something useful – give it words. Write it down. That’s what a journal is for, after all. You studied English in grad school. You should be good at this. Your pen is poised over the crisp, unused paper, ready to work.
But this is something you can’t write down. Something you’re almost afraid to give words. If the innocent, unassuming leather-bound journal fell into the wrong hands, it could mean the end. The end of what, exactly?
You. Him. Any idea the two of you ever had about anything really, and about each other in particular. For all intents and purposes, it would be the end of the world.
And anyways, assigning words to this idea would make it stale. Words are necessary to utilize ideas, but they strip some of the beauty. And when that beauty is lost, things just don’t sparkle the way they did before they had a name.
For example, take rain. It’s a beautiful concept, droplets of water falling from the sky. Washing the world new. In the right light, it shimmers, showering the earth with bursts of freshness. At the same time, it’s all recycled. That water has already hit the ground, countless times before. Older than man. Possibly even older than time itself. Full of secrets, longings, passions that belong to others. People who may have long since perished. As it falls, it whispers the secrets of these people. If you listen closely, you can sometimes hear them.
But then you give it four letters.
Rain.
The ‘R’ is harsh, killing some of the beauty. That’s not the half of it. How can four letters encompass an eternity of secrets?