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fandomweekly2025-11-30 12:20 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2025-11-30 12:20 pm
Entry tags:
[#281] THE MEMORY IN MY MIND (TORCHWOOD)
Theme Prompt: #281 - Mirage
Title: The memory in my mind
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jack is troubled by strange dreams of men who don’t exist.
Jack found himself standing in the middle of a desert, his boots sinking slowly into the deep warm sand as he slowly slipped down the ridge on which he was standing. He lifted a boot and readjusted himself unconsciously, knowing well how to position his body to distribute his weight and avoid sinking or slipping further. It was born out of half a lifetime of living in a desert world, as innate as blinking and breathing.
He felt the first gust of hot air rush at his body. It warmed his face and made the skin underneath his shirt prickle as the sun beat down on him from above. It ruffled his hair and he drew in a deep breath of it. Without being able to say how, he knew this was no random place, but rather the sands of his boyhood home. There was a scent on the air, hot and spicy, carrying the smell of Argarbis leaves, drying in the heat of the sun, ready to be picked. He remembered the smell of them roasting over the grill as the spindly leaves were crushed by hand and patted into the meat, burning and giving off their smoky aroma. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting it once more, the flame charcoaled spices and hot meat juices dripping.
He turned his back to the sun, looking out over the dunes to the west. He was too far inland to see the ocean from here, yet he knew it was there, some distance over the sea of sand. He and his brother often walked the many miles from their village to the untouched shores to search for washed up treasures – shells and stones and sometimes the calcified bones of jellyfish that were fun to carve. Sometimes they came to fly kites, or bring the toboggan that they’d repurposed from something made for careening down sand dunes into something with fat wheels and a sail that could speed along the firm wet sand on a blustery day. They were times that he remembered fondly before the day everything had changed.
He climbed to the top of the ridge, a desire to stand atop the world once more and look out over the endless expanse of sand, having forgotten how much he’d longed to come back and see the Boeshane one more time.
At the top of the ridge he shaded his eyes with his hand as his gaze stretched over the vista, and was surprised to spot another person on the next dune ridge standing there looking back at him, shimmering in the heat. The figure waved. ‘Son! Son!’ The voice was strong and friendly, and triggered something in the back of his mind that he couldn't figure out, but it gave Jack pause. Why was this man calling out to him, calling him son?
‘Son!’ The man called again. Jack could just make out the whites of his teeth as he continued to smile and wave, beckoning him over.
‘Dad?’ Jack yelled out, the word feeling unfamiliar in his mouth, having never used it.
‘I’m over here, Son!’
Without understanding why, Jack yelled out again. ‘Dad!’ He began moving down the dune, the sand sinking under his feet as he scrambled diagonally down the face of it.
‘C’mon, Son!’
Jack rushed and his foot went out from under him, the sand slipping away and he felt his hip drop into the side of the dune, sliding uncontrollably down the tall mountain of shifting grains, unable to do more than use his hands to try and control his descent. He tumbled the last half dozen yards, head over backside, coming to an unceremonious stop at the bottom and rolling over onto his back. He pushed himself to his feet once more and started jogging up the next dune, trying to reach his father. ‘Dad!’ He puffed as the sand refused to let him move at speed.
‘I’m right here, Son!’
Jack kept his head down, concentrating on each step, legs burning from the effort. He kept pushing himself, knees protesting, calves screaming, sweat running in a river down his spine until finally he crested the top. ‘Dad!’
But the man was gone. Jack’s eyes searched the area, looking for footprints, but the sand was pristine and untouched but for the trail he’d left behind him, and one small scuttling squiggle left by a sand scorpion.
‘Dad!’ He yelled out again, feeling a sob clutch at the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. He dropped onto his knees in exhaustion and grief. There’d been no one there. Just a mirage, calling out to him in a desert where he was the only one left alive.
He punched a fist into the sand and screamed.
‘Jack! Jack!’ His eyes exploded open as he felt someone shaking him. He flailed again the grip for a moment before he realised where he was. In bed, in Ianto's apartment, in Cardiff. Planet Earth.
‘Jack!’
Ianto’s voice sounded worried. Jack just blinked until he felt fully grounded back in his surroundings. It was just a dream. ‘I’m okay,’ he finally said. ‘Just a bad dream. That’s all.’
Ianto slumped back next to him in bed, pressing close, one arm draped across Jack’s chest, hand stroking it despite the dampness of sweat. ‘You were yelling out,’ he said. ‘I had to wake you. You kept yelling the word “Dad”.'
Jack worked on slowing his heaving breaths. ‘I don’t have a dad,’ he replied, feeling a heaviness settle in his stomach. ‘You know that.’
‘Everyone has a dad,’ Ianto replied. ‘You just don’t remember him.’
Ianto’s words struck a chord. He didn’t remember his dad. Why did that seem so strange? Not having ever met him wasn’t the same thing, and yet Jack felt off, like there was some precious memory which had once been there but that he could no longer find. He didn’t have a dad, so who was the man in his dream?
Title: The memory in my mind
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jack is troubled by strange dreams of men who don’t exist.
Jack found himself standing in the middle of a desert, his boots sinking slowly into the deep warm sand as he slowly slipped down the ridge on which he was standing. He lifted a boot and readjusted himself unconsciously, knowing well how to position his body to distribute his weight and avoid sinking or slipping further. It was born out of half a lifetime of living in a desert world, as innate as blinking and breathing.
He felt the first gust of hot air rush at his body. It warmed his face and made the skin underneath his shirt prickle as the sun beat down on him from above. It ruffled his hair and he drew in a deep breath of it. Without being able to say how, he knew this was no random place, but rather the sands of his boyhood home. There was a scent on the air, hot and spicy, carrying the smell of Argarbis leaves, drying in the heat of the sun, ready to be picked. He remembered the smell of them roasting over the grill as the spindly leaves were crushed by hand and patted into the meat, burning and giving off their smoky aroma. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting it once more, the flame charcoaled spices and hot meat juices dripping.
He turned his back to the sun, looking out over the dunes to the west. He was too far inland to see the ocean from here, yet he knew it was there, some distance over the sea of sand. He and his brother often walked the many miles from their village to the untouched shores to search for washed up treasures – shells and stones and sometimes the calcified bones of jellyfish that were fun to carve. Sometimes they came to fly kites, or bring the toboggan that they’d repurposed from something made for careening down sand dunes into something with fat wheels and a sail that could speed along the firm wet sand on a blustery day. They were times that he remembered fondly before the day everything had changed.
He climbed to the top of the ridge, a desire to stand atop the world once more and look out over the endless expanse of sand, having forgotten how much he’d longed to come back and see the Boeshane one more time.
At the top of the ridge he shaded his eyes with his hand as his gaze stretched over the vista, and was surprised to spot another person on the next dune ridge standing there looking back at him, shimmering in the heat. The figure waved. ‘Son! Son!’ The voice was strong and friendly, and triggered something in the back of his mind that he couldn't figure out, but it gave Jack pause. Why was this man calling out to him, calling him son?
‘Son!’ The man called again. Jack could just make out the whites of his teeth as he continued to smile and wave, beckoning him over.
‘Dad?’ Jack yelled out, the word feeling unfamiliar in his mouth, having never used it.
‘I’m over here, Son!’
Without understanding why, Jack yelled out again. ‘Dad!’ He began moving down the dune, the sand sinking under his feet as he scrambled diagonally down the face of it.
‘C’mon, Son!’
Jack rushed and his foot went out from under him, the sand slipping away and he felt his hip drop into the side of the dune, sliding uncontrollably down the tall mountain of shifting grains, unable to do more than use his hands to try and control his descent. He tumbled the last half dozen yards, head over backside, coming to an unceremonious stop at the bottom and rolling over onto his back. He pushed himself to his feet once more and started jogging up the next dune, trying to reach his father. ‘Dad!’ He puffed as the sand refused to let him move at speed.
‘I’m right here, Son!’
Jack kept his head down, concentrating on each step, legs burning from the effort. He kept pushing himself, knees protesting, calves screaming, sweat running in a river down his spine until finally he crested the top. ‘Dad!’
But the man was gone. Jack’s eyes searched the area, looking for footprints, but the sand was pristine and untouched but for the trail he’d left behind him, and one small scuttling squiggle left by a sand scorpion.
‘Dad!’ He yelled out again, feeling a sob clutch at the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. He dropped onto his knees in exhaustion and grief. There’d been no one there. Just a mirage, calling out to him in a desert where he was the only one left alive.
He punched a fist into the sand and screamed.
‘Jack! Jack!’ His eyes exploded open as he felt someone shaking him. He flailed again the grip for a moment before he realised where he was. In bed, in Ianto's apartment, in Cardiff. Planet Earth.
‘Jack!’
Ianto’s voice sounded worried. Jack just blinked until he felt fully grounded back in his surroundings. It was just a dream. ‘I’m okay,’ he finally said. ‘Just a bad dream. That’s all.’
Ianto slumped back next to him in bed, pressing close, one arm draped across Jack’s chest, hand stroking it despite the dampness of sweat. ‘You were yelling out,’ he said. ‘I had to wake you. You kept yelling the word “Dad”.'
Jack worked on slowing his heaving breaths. ‘I don’t have a dad,’ he replied, feeling a heaviness settle in his stomach. ‘You know that.’
‘Everyone has a dad,’ Ianto replied. ‘You just don’t remember him.’
Ianto’s words struck a chord. He didn’t remember his dad. Why did that seem so strange? Not having ever met him wasn’t the same thing, and yet Jack felt off, like there was some precious memory which had once been there but that he could no longer find. He didn’t have a dad, so who was the man in his dream?
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