sienamystic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sienamystic) wrote2005-09-15 10:39 pm
sienamystic) wrote2005-09-15 10:39 pm
Entry tags:
Heart of Darkness
A little Angela-entric Constantine drabble, to play off my low-grade crankiness. G-rated, so click without fear, lovelies.
Angela is not considered, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, to be an angry person. She has been praised all her life for her calm strength, for her serenity in the face of great odds. Her partners tell other cops about how she always keeps her cool.
She knows it is all a lie. For too many years now, she has raged silently, fists clenched, teeth bared, all unspoken. She does not know precisely what set this black spot inside her soul, but she suspects it bloomed there the first time she saw Isabelle strapped to a gurney and screaming until her voice rasped away into nothingness.
Isabelle saw demons all around her. Now Angela sees them as well. They terrify her in precisely the same way that Isabelle’s screams did. And although she still has faith, rooted in a place so deep that she rarely has to think about it consciously, sometimes she wants very badly to open the door to her anger and let it fly out of her like a black bird.
Constantine’s lip is starting to bleed from where she has punched him in the mouth. His eyes are surprised, wary, and much more respectful than they had been three seconds ago. Her hand is throbbing, and she absently shakes it, hoping she didn’t break anything.
When he grins at her, blood staining his chin, she smiles back, and inside some small part of her rejoices.
Angela is not considered, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, to be an angry person. She has been praised all her life for her calm strength, for her serenity in the face of great odds. Her partners tell other cops about how she always keeps her cool.
She knows it is all a lie. For too many years now, she has raged silently, fists clenched, teeth bared, all unspoken. She does not know precisely what set this black spot inside her soul, but she suspects it bloomed there the first time she saw Isabelle strapped to a gurney and screaming until her voice rasped away into nothingness.
Isabelle saw demons all around her. Now Angela sees them as well. They terrify her in precisely the same way that Isabelle’s screams did. And although she still has faith, rooted in a place so deep that she rarely has to think about it consciously, sometimes she wants very badly to open the door to her anger and let it fly out of her like a black bird.
Constantine’s lip is starting to bleed from where she has punched him in the mouth. His eyes are surprised, wary, and much more respectful than they had been three seconds ago. Her hand is throbbing, and she absently shakes it, hoping she didn’t break anything.
When he grins at her, blood staining his chin, she smiles back, and inside some small part of her rejoices.