Fic-It's not lost if you don't let it go
Feb. 28th, 2011 09:29 pmTitle:It's not lost if you don't let it go
Rating:G
Media:Fic
Characters:Luffy
Word Count: 263
Prompt: Youth
Spring is an anonymous idea for the crocus, because it has not baked in summer, basked in autumn nor shivered in winter. So too is Youth for Luffy; at seventeen he knows only that it is a Thing people bemoan losing.
At twenty, Luffy wonders why Aging matters. He is interested in Now, and aging is a concern for Later, optional at that. Certainly not inevitable. He lets go the half-conscious contemplation in favor of taming a colossal salamander.
At thirty, not that it matters to him, Luffy still finds that the fastest way from here to anywhere possible and sometimes not, is to slingshot his body and howl with joy all the way.
At forty-five you could just as easily find Luffy waxing histrionic as he capers around a large anthill, as you could find him draped despondently over a stubborn chef two hours after lunch.
At seventy, with stories enough that they could be murmured across the crest of every wave in every Blue, Luffy can still laugh the laugh that bubbles in his belly and explodes from his lungs as he stands atop a racing Laboon. He can still grin to light the abyss at a burst of wind and sea spray to the face.
Spring is an anonymous idea for the crocus, but that is fine because the crocus isn’t concerned about a label; it is concerned with chill-stung mornings, sun-lavished petals and the intoxicating aura of beginnings. So it is with Luffy, at eighty he thinks of meat, of nakama and the next big adventure.
Rating:G
Media:Fic
Characters:Luffy
Word Count: 263
Prompt: Youth
Spring is an anonymous idea for the crocus, because it has not baked in summer, basked in autumn nor shivered in winter. So too is Youth for Luffy; at seventeen he knows only that it is a Thing people bemoan losing.
At twenty, Luffy wonders why Aging matters. He is interested in Now, and aging is a concern for Later, optional at that. Certainly not inevitable. He lets go the half-conscious contemplation in favor of taming a colossal salamander.
At thirty, not that it matters to him, Luffy still finds that the fastest way from here to anywhere possible and sometimes not, is to slingshot his body and howl with joy all the way.
At forty-five you could just as easily find Luffy waxing histrionic as he capers around a large anthill, as you could find him draped despondently over a stubborn chef two hours after lunch.
At seventy, with stories enough that they could be murmured across the crest of every wave in every Blue, Luffy can still laugh the laugh that bubbles in his belly and explodes from his lungs as he stands atop a racing Laboon. He can still grin to light the abyss at a burst of wind and sea spray to the face.
Spring is an anonymous idea for the crocus, but that is fine because the crocus isn’t concerned about a label; it is concerned with chill-stung mornings, sun-lavished petals and the intoxicating aura of beginnings. So it is with Luffy, at eighty he thinks of meat, of nakama and the next big adventure.
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Date: 2011-03-01 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-04 06:18 am (UTC)Thanks :)
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Date: 2011-03-01 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-04 06:19 am (UTC)