Hay everyone! (who knows who I am..) It’s great to be back. Just got my hands on the Last Guardian. I’m up to *consults book* page 143 so no spoilers! The UK covers are so pants that I had to remove it upon leaving Waterstones and hide it…
Anyway, in light of the release, I faced a compulsion that I have not had in over a year to go to AF FanGathering again! I so miss this site… And the old layout…
But anyway, I posted this in FF.Net a little while ago so… I thought I’d post it here too. I have kinda stolen the Alexander the Great children, but it doesn’t really matter. Also, please listen to The Everthere by Elbow when reading!
Quote ~ ‘If I lose a secret here and there, and take my time on every stair, can I rely on you, when this whole thing is through, to be for me, the everthere?’ ~ The Everthere ~ Leaders of the Free World ~ elbow
Books. How Artemis Fowl loved books. Any book, really, though any book fanatic will say they love any book, though Artemis was quite versatile in his reading. Since having children, he would even sit and read a good infant’s book, and not strictly to the infant. Maybe just for the nostalgia. Minerva often mocked him, though he knew that one major joy of having Alexander after that three or four year gap which consisted of friends over and parent’s evenings, but no little feet and sticky fingers had been the reclaim of story time.
Thankfully, Alexander would comply with being made to sit at the drop of a hat and have a book read to him. Samantha, his older sister, though only nine, would often read him books. Or tell him stories. Sometimes, not strictly for children. At his current age of eighteen months, he’d had all of the ‘Molly Moon’ series read to him, extensive ‘Charlie and Lola’ and three of the ‘Harry Potter’ books, before Artemis had read though the series quickly and deemed them inappropriate for a toddler.
At that moment, Artemis was sitting lazily in his front room reading ‘Life and Laughing’ by Michael McIntyre. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have even touched such a mundane book. A book purely for humour, but he had climbed from his high horse and had a go, and found that ‘common books’ weren’t really so bad after all.
And he admitted it to himself that he enjoyed laughing at silly things sometimes.
And he could very directly relate to accidentally hitting a small child over the head with a Wii remote.
Little things which would be forgotten, which seemed big, but were now just material for friendly chatter, or that void of pointless conversation between getting into bed on a night and actually falling asleep.
After all the achievements, all the boasting and the upsides, sometimes, it was nice to share a little weakness, a little secret, with a person close. And though he knew Minerva would mock him over something as mundane as say, burning himself on the oven, or Domovoi succeeding in jumping out and frightening him, or say, maybe, possibly, if not so, certainly, finding a little grey hair shining bright and proud against the black, it was good to be laughed at.
Everything seemed smaller, and easier to bare.
And after all, there were bigger matters, and why was he worrying?
His little grey hair wasn’t world shattering.
He knew world shattering.
In magazines, people complained about being cheated on, or on telly, someone was finding drugs on their boyfriend, or they didn’t know the father of their child because they’d been sleeping around and hadn’t even planned for little Henry, he’d just popped up out of the blue, thanks to their uneducated bar jumping, which had resulted in bed jumping, and now Jenny was having a DNA test to find out and…
Who really gave a shit?
How about, when his mother had stopped recognising him? Or when his father had gone missing? Or when Butler had died? Or his father? And poor tiny little Sylvian who Alexander had probably have forgotten all about by now, even though they had been as close as bread and butter for a time?
And this wasn’t a competition, because he was over all of this.
Hadn’t forgotten, oh no! He would never forget. But his mother’s bouts of insanity were just a memory which made up who he was, and he could look back on Sylvian with a smile, because now he could appreciate the life, and not just the death.
And Artemis knew better than anyone that soon he would have salt and pepper hair, and then soon after, he would have a full head of silver, like his father had before he’d passed away, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really mind.
He wasn’t scared of change. And what would inevitably happen to his hair; would just be a sign on how long he’d lived, and a reminder to himself of how much he’d learned. Maybe he would suit salt and pepper hair.
And people said that grey hair was a striking attribute.
And so, upon discovering his little silver shimmer on walking past the hallway mirror, and having stood, dithering for a good few minutes, his fore finger and thumb pinched dangerously onto the fragile strand, he’d though against the violent act of ripping it out of his head.
Artemis had smiled at his reflection and removed his fingers. He tipped his head to the right to have a good look at his appearance, plus the only silver coloured hair, and decided that it should stay. His honest smile had climaxed into a tiny laugh, and he ran his fingers through his dark hair, careful not to hide the new addition. After all, he wasn’t ashamed.
He was only thirty five. Another five until forty. He wasn’t old. Not at all. And still, forty wasn’t old either, really. Seventy was old.
So he’d go prematurely grey. What of it?
And so he’d gone to the book shelf and had picked up his latest book.
It was actually Domovoi’s book. He liked watching comedy. The boy didn’t own many books, since he wasn’t fanatical like the rest of his family, but he could do amazing things with a football.
Smiling at the accidents and trips of a man in a similar state to himself, who was not too far away in the world, only across a small expanse of sea to his right, he felt better. Something warm and quietly joyful was settled neatly just above his stomach, but he couldn’t say it was really in his heart. That little gathering of warmth, he realised, was simple contentedness.
It was okay.
Tonight, when he went to bed, Minerva would chat to him about pointless little things while Domovoi, Samantha and Alexander slept peacefully, and maybe she would notice the speck of salt among plentiful pepper, but probably wouldn’t say a word. She might smile a little, and play with the hair on the left of his head discreetly, but in context, it was fine.
Because after all, even though it was a small and insignificant quality he had gained, it was still something to add to the plentiful list of things life had taught him, and another thing that made him human, and relatable to everyone else.
And if he lost a secret here and there, and got salt and pepper in his hair, he would rely on her, for a good talking to, in that time between bed and sleeping to be his everthere.
How’d it go? I posted something like this a while back, but I think it was humour. I like this one better.
I suppose I have to catch up on new faces again… See you later