Lost In Translation
folder
G through L › House
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,673
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › House
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,673
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Lost In Translation
Title Lost In Translation
Author cryptictac
Character House
Rating G
Words 700, roughly
Disclaimer I don't own 'House' or any of its affiliates.
Notes This is based from the end of 'Paternity' (102), after the lacrosse game is over.
---
Soul, you've lost control of all you've had
~
He stares across the empty field.
The silence is crisp and stark, remnants of cheering from the crowd that had long departed from the stands now settled upon the grass like forgotten dust, leaving an eerie echo lingering in his ears. A familiar echo of solitude. The sun shies behind a map of grey clouds across the sky and the wind breathes soft bursts of cool air as if the world is trying to whisper a secret; a secret that keeps getting lost in translation. A bit like the game of Chinese whispers.
Life keeps getting lost in translation, and Gregory House has long since given up trying to interpret every riddle regarding him that crosses his path. Ironic as that is, seeing he spends countless hours solving riddles to save other people’s lives. Yet he can’t solve his own.
Or maybe he can, but he just doesn’t want to.
Life isn’t fair; House knows that, he’s a doctor. He’s seen the trickery of human condition, the deception of the human body, the way everything can suddenly stop in one simple heartbeat. Life can be an infarction.
His leg hurts.
He leans against his cane and, with a quiet grunt of pain, shifts upon the spot he’s been standing since the long-ago finished lacrosse game that was being played on this forlorn field started. The breeze keeps whispering its distorted secret and Gregory turns his eyes down to his feet, watching them awkwardly move with the dependence of his walking stick.
Dependence. The ripple of that word through his mind causes his lips to upturn in the briefest of wry smiles. Dependence.
Gregory hates that word. He hates it because he hates being dependent, yet he has no choice, and he hates being left without choice. People depend on him to cure lives, yet he can’t cure his own disability. People walk from Princeton-Plainsboro with the blessing of his treatment, typically unaided and he walks with a mark of dependence, his limp a sheer disfigurement. His cane is like a scar. Such a telling scar it is. Such an ugly scar. The relentless pain in his leg is a taunt, reminding him day in and out that, while the puzzle of the human body can be pieced together with fact and treatment, the riddle of reason for life’s paths can never be solved; why one person can walk away unmarked and another be cursed for life. It’s a riddle not worth trying to translate.
That’s why Gregory House doesn’t want to solve his own riddle. The unfairness of it all, it hurts too much.
He heaves a deep, weary sigh, studying the blades of pristine grass that shiver within the wind’s secret whispers and he blinks away the sting of frustrated tears in his eyes. There’s no point in tears, even when the pain in his leg becomes too much to bear. Even when he wants to throw down his cane in rage and get down on his knees and ask, why do people deserve to be burdened with the weight they carry? His tears, they would only get lost in translation just like everything else does.
It’s for this reason House smiles again; a small smile into the whispering wind. Sticks and stones may break his bones, but the world keeps turning and he has no choice but to keep turning with it.
No choice. He hates not being able to have choice. Just like he hates dependence. No choice. But he has learned that acceptance is the greatest triumph over the world; he’s burdened with this because that’s just the way it is. There is no translation to be lost in that answer.
Gregory grunts in pain again quietly and turns from the wind and its distorted whispers. He may have the scar of this infarction, be weighted down with the unfairness of life and the slivers of flesh it carves from him, be perhaps the most lonely soul there is, but he’s alive. Pain and burden is just part of the riddle of life.
Gripping his cane, the mirth in his spirit lifts as the clouds part and the sun shines down warmly on his back and he begins to slowly walk away.
~
What lies beneath,
Look in the shadows and the spaces in between...
Soul, where is my soul?
---
Please review
Author cryptictac
Character House
Rating G
Words 700, roughly
Disclaimer I don't own 'House' or any of its affiliates.
Notes This is based from the end of 'Paternity' (102), after the lacrosse game is over.
Soul, you've lost control of all you've had
~
He stares across the empty field.
The silence is crisp and stark, remnants of cheering from the crowd that had long departed from the stands now settled upon the grass like forgotten dust, leaving an eerie echo lingering in his ears. A familiar echo of solitude. The sun shies behind a map of grey clouds across the sky and the wind breathes soft bursts of cool air as if the world is trying to whisper a secret; a secret that keeps getting lost in translation. A bit like the game of Chinese whispers.
Life keeps getting lost in translation, and Gregory House has long since given up trying to interpret every riddle regarding him that crosses his path. Ironic as that is, seeing he spends countless hours solving riddles to save other people’s lives. Yet he can’t solve his own.
Or maybe he can, but he just doesn’t want to.
Life isn’t fair; House knows that, he’s a doctor. He’s seen the trickery of human condition, the deception of the human body, the way everything can suddenly stop in one simple heartbeat. Life can be an infarction.
His leg hurts.
He leans against his cane and, with a quiet grunt of pain, shifts upon the spot he’s been standing since the long-ago finished lacrosse game that was being played on this forlorn field started. The breeze keeps whispering its distorted secret and Gregory turns his eyes down to his feet, watching them awkwardly move with the dependence of his walking stick.
Dependence. The ripple of that word through his mind causes his lips to upturn in the briefest of wry smiles. Dependence.
Gregory hates that word. He hates it because he hates being dependent, yet he has no choice, and he hates being left without choice. People depend on him to cure lives, yet he can’t cure his own disability. People walk from Princeton-Plainsboro with the blessing of his treatment, typically unaided and he walks with a mark of dependence, his limp a sheer disfigurement. His cane is like a scar. Such a telling scar it is. Such an ugly scar. The relentless pain in his leg is a taunt, reminding him day in and out that, while the puzzle of the human body can be pieced together with fact and treatment, the riddle of reason for life’s paths can never be solved; why one person can walk away unmarked and another be cursed for life. It’s a riddle not worth trying to translate.
That’s why Gregory House doesn’t want to solve his own riddle. The unfairness of it all, it hurts too much.
He heaves a deep, weary sigh, studying the blades of pristine grass that shiver within the wind’s secret whispers and he blinks away the sting of frustrated tears in his eyes. There’s no point in tears, even when the pain in his leg becomes too much to bear. Even when he wants to throw down his cane in rage and get down on his knees and ask, why do people deserve to be burdened with the weight they carry? His tears, they would only get lost in translation just like everything else does.
It’s for this reason House smiles again; a small smile into the whispering wind. Sticks and stones may break his bones, but the world keeps turning and he has no choice but to keep turning with it.
No choice. He hates not being able to have choice. Just like he hates dependence. No choice. But he has learned that acceptance is the greatest triumph over the world; he’s burdened with this because that’s just the way it is. There is no translation to be lost in that answer.
Gregory grunts in pain again quietly and turns from the wind and its distorted whispers. He may have the scar of this infarction, be weighted down with the unfairness of life and the slivers of flesh it carves from him, be perhaps the most lonely soul there is, but he’s alive. Pain and burden is just part of the riddle of life.
Gripping his cane, the mirth in his spirit lifts as the clouds part and the sun shines down warmly on his back and he begins to slowly walk away.
What lies beneath,
Look in the shadows and the spaces in between...
Soul, where is my soul?
---
Please review