The Light That Failed Pt 13

From the Story Arc: A Fine And Private Place

Previous Story in the Arc: The Light That Failed Pt 12 by Bestial Boy (Monday, October 10, 2005)

Next Story in the Arc: The Light That Failed Pt 14 by Social Medicine (Monday, October 10, 2005)

(posted Monday, October 10, 2005)

((For those of you who may have wondered why Bella's arc has always been called "A Fine And Private Place."))

Zach’s Comm buzzed, and when he looked down, it was with a sense of shock.

It was from Bella. But—

He fumbled for the key.

Bella’s bright voice came clearly over the tiny speaker.

“Hey. If you’re getting this it’s ‘cause something not so good happened to me. And—babe? I know this is mushy, but I get to be mushy right now. You know me.

So, this is kind of our poem. Flame and Johnny have Dylan Thomas, well, I have Andrew Marvell.”

She began to recite as he listened, wordlessly.

“Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run. “

Silence for a moment.

“We made him run, babe. And we had a good, good run. You’ve made me happier than I had any right to be. You’re my star, ever and always. I love you.”

Silence, and the “end of transmission” light.