|This Sliver of Time by minerva_fan
||[May. 31st, 2005|05:27 pm]
Battlestar Galactica Flashfiction
Title: This Sliver of Time|
A/N: Written for the “Future Challenge.” I’m not sure if it completely fits the challenge criteria, because it only gives a glimpse of what's happening in the fleet.
Summary: Time moves differently in the afterlife, and you're supposed to move with it. Some people just don’t get it.
It’s time, she said to me.
It’s time to return.
It seemed like a moment, just a flash of light and peace and freedom. I didn’t want to hear her words. Mother, I spoke to her in the way we spoke here, Mother, please, I’m not ready.
It’s time, my darling one, she said with her tenderness. She of the grain and the soil, she who was the archetype for all mothers, held me gently. You have been gone long enough, and see, they need you again.
We watched in the crystal pool, this place of seeing, this haunt of mine.
Others let go, I was told. It was not good to dwell on the lives of the living. There is too much to be done, too much preparation for your own return to that realm to cling to what is gone now.
It’s time, my love.
I watched as they struggled. I watched as children were born, and friends died, and dreams were crushed and born in Cylon nightmares. I watched as they traveled, crawled in miniscule FTL bursts toward sanctuary.
I saw my friends fight bravely—Lee and William, brave Adamas both. Kara with her bright soul, so bright it blinded in the waters. I wanted to help them, but She couldn’t let me. They had their own journeys to make, and the lives of the living are not the province of the dead.
I asked her once, what would happen if I were to put my finger in this water? Could a mere brush of my fingertip move them closer to Earth?
She told me then it was time to go, and for a moment, I considered listening to her. Then another attack came, and I was lost again in the world of my former life, and nothing she could do or say would convince me to release this vision.
It’s time, she said.
I did not want to go back. The law of averages would put me on Earth, with six billion other oblivious humans, and not with my friends. Not struggling and fighting and daring oblivion with my beloved ones.
She told me, of course, I would play a part in my own creation. She told me I would choose my role. But who could I be? What role could I play in this story that I have not already played? Laura Roslin was leader, student, traitor, lover. She was a religious leader and a fool, and I cannot bear to part with her.
She reminds me of the many lives I’ve lived before, and the many I will live again. They come back to me in a flash, shaming me with their overwhelming testimony to the enormity of time and my folly in attaching to such a short space of it.
And still I watch, mesmerized by the crystal pool. Stubborn in my faith that, no matter how miniscule, this sliver of time is what matters, this sliver of time is the focal point that will determine the future of the human race.
It’s time, she says, and her voice has taken on a new urgency. She speaks my soul name, the one I cannot ignore, and looks at me with her beautiful sad eyes. There is a chance.
A boy who had been rescued in the first attacks, Boxie, has grown to manhood. He has become a pilot, strong and brave like his mentors.
And his lover is about to conceive.
It is a chance, she says. The lover has twice miscarried, but this time, the pregnancy will come to term.
I do not need a second request. There is much to do, and no time to be spared for daydreaming about the past.
My future is about to begin.