![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daily_prompt: #868, photo prompt
Nov. 26th, 2012 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xifengTitle: Fish and Chips and Vinegar
Author: Wang Xi-feng.
Challenge:daily_prompt. Original.
Warnings: Offstage character death, more a mention than anything.
Summary: 1991. Fish and chips are the best!
It's been a long evening, and Alisja feels, paradoxically, both her age and her youth. Her hips and knees protest at her insistence on walking all night, and by the end of the evening she's clutching Stepka's hand and trying not to lean on him; he's ten years older than she is, and she doesn't like to think about that. The lights twinkle, like little fairy globes, and Alisja is reminded of the balls and parties of her youth, and one particularly wonderful summer night when she was a girl. She sneaks a glimpse at her half-brother and finds him smiling, his eyes shining. Is he thinking of it too?
"I suppose we'll have to head back any time now," she says, wincing as her foot bites back and sends pain shooting up one calf. "We're a couple of old has-beens, you and me."
"I can keep going if you can," Stepka says, and there is something in the way he looks so like Anna just then that makes Alisja's throat close. She chokes down the tears and forces a smile; if she speaks the beloved, dreaded name, everything will go to pieces and this evening won't be fun anymore. Three years on, Stepka has been able to construct no kind of life without his sister, and Alisja knows in her heart that it can never get better, that Anna's last breath was Stepka's death-blow as well.
Funny, how Anna can make them both jump through hoops even though she's no longer here.
"I'll keep going, if you're not tired yet," Alisja says. They round the corner, following the path; she watches the other people go by. Tonight, it's mainly young couples and families, though here and there she can catch other older people. She supposes they must look like an old couple; she and Stepka have the same father, but don't look much alike. As a girl, she always wanted the Harlov features, the coal-black hair and the pale, steel-colored eyes; it hadn't occurred to her then that the hair would fade to grey, the eyes grow dim and rheumy in time.
"Are you hungry?" Alisja starts, as if she's a child again, and turns to look at Stepka; he flicks his head in the direction of the cart, and she sees the magic words.
FISH AND CHIPS.
"You know," Alisja says, her lips curving in a smile, "I think I am. Are you?"
"You know I am. You can't get decent fish and chips in the States."
The fish is hot and the batter faintly redolent of beer, the chips salty and greasy – they still make these the old-fashioned way, with lard. Stepka has never cared for mushy peas, but Alisja wants some and manages to scoop them out of the little styrofoam container without too much trouble. "Oh, Stepka, this is good, isn't it? This is like what we used to have when I'd come here for the summer. My cousins and I used to live on these."
She smiles at him over the rim of the basket, and for a moment, in the flickering, fairy lights, she looks young again.
Author: Wang Xi-feng.
Challenge:
daily_prompt. Original.Warnings: Offstage character death, more a mention than anything.
Summary: 1991. Fish and chips are the best!
It's been a long evening, and Alisja feels, paradoxically, both her age and her youth. Her hips and knees protest at her insistence on walking all night, and by the end of the evening she's clutching Stepka's hand and trying not to lean on him; he's ten years older than she is, and she doesn't like to think about that. The lights twinkle, like little fairy globes, and Alisja is reminded of the balls and parties of her youth, and one particularly wonderful summer night when she was a girl. She sneaks a glimpse at her half-brother and finds him smiling, his eyes shining. Is he thinking of it too?
"I suppose we'll have to head back any time now," she says, wincing as her foot bites back and sends pain shooting up one calf. "We're a couple of old has-beens, you and me."
"I can keep going if you can," Stepka says, and there is something in the way he looks so like Anna just then that makes Alisja's throat close. She chokes down the tears and forces a smile; if she speaks the beloved, dreaded name, everything will go to pieces and this evening won't be fun anymore. Three years on, Stepka has been able to construct no kind of life without his sister, and Alisja knows in her heart that it can never get better, that Anna's last breath was Stepka's death-blow as well.
Funny, how Anna can make them both jump through hoops even though she's no longer here.
"I'll keep going, if you're not tired yet," Alisja says. They round the corner, following the path; she watches the other people go by. Tonight, it's mainly young couples and families, though here and there she can catch other older people. She supposes they must look like an old couple; she and Stepka have the same father, but don't look much alike. As a girl, she always wanted the Harlov features, the coal-black hair and the pale, steel-colored eyes; it hadn't occurred to her then that the hair would fade to grey, the eyes grow dim and rheumy in time.
"Are you hungry?" Alisja starts, as if she's a child again, and turns to look at Stepka; he flicks his head in the direction of the cart, and she sees the magic words.
FISH AND CHIPS.
"You know," Alisja says, her lips curving in a smile, "I think I am. Are you?"
"You know I am. You can't get decent fish and chips in the States."
The fish is hot and the batter faintly redolent of beer, the chips salty and greasy – they still make these the old-fashioned way, with lard. Stepka has never cared for mushy peas, but Alisja wants some and manages to scoop them out of the little styrofoam container without too much trouble. "Oh, Stepka, this is good, isn't it? This is like what we used to have when I'd come here for the summer. My cousins and I used to live on these."
She smiles at him over the rim of the basket, and for a moment, in the flickering, fairy lights, she looks young again.
