Newton's First Law
Title: Newton's First Law
Fandom: Torchwood
- Characters: T3 + Rhys
Rating: G
Summary: A phantom watches with a bird's eye view, watches it all come to a stop.
Notes: So everyone's battering around, "Gwen's the heart," "No, Ianto's the heart," "It's Gwen," "It's Ianto," "WTF no?" Et cetera. Let's just say, it really is only one of them (though the other is just as paramount). And those random capitals you'll find, those are on purpose. Implied spoilers for CoE Day Five, 2nd person POV. Kinda essay, kind of not. Don't have to agree, but, you know, as you like.
You wonder and you wonder: where does It come from? You see it, and you feel it, and you wonder. You would take eons to figure it out, eons just watching the body in motion, the singular unit. You see, and you hear, and you feel what it means. The body in motion is constantly changing, constantly updating, because of loss and gain to its whole. And you look, and you see, and you feel this incarnation is by far the cleanest, the simplest, and the saddest.
The age is the mind, it is the judgment upon which the rest of the body works, where it leads the body with its bits in tow, wrapped in the physical, the dogmatic, the centrifugal. You watch it move with confidence, hiding its thoughts for the better of the quest, not looking back only forward to a future it cannot want ever ever ever, to the darkness of Endlessness that cannot be extinguished by want or will or the tears draining it dry.
The mother is the heart, where hope and light and optimism bleed outward, seeing the best, wishing for the best, making it happen, happen, willing it to happen, pulling the body to Believe, moving forward to a place where it can rest in peace. You understand its desperation to hope, to dream, and to see that niche when all else fails, even if it takes the blood to run a circuit through it to make it respond as it should.
The ghost is the soul, the unencumbered essence, the Push of action unseen, unconscious shadows cloaking its movement to keep both and all working perfectly, to perfection as best it will manage. Sliding and gliding to keep the body in motion Alive with activity the mind and heart cannot see, the functions, the keepsakes, the everyday monotony you could never understand why it bothers with, why it continues moving forward forward forward until there is nothing left to back up.
The body in motion tends to stay in motion. Outside pressures bend it to move. You see, and you watch, and you have to wonder: the arm and the spinal cord have already been ripped away. The body in motion lives to its barest basics. Would it all fall apart if one more was taken before those are replaced?
And then you see it: yes. Yes it does.
The body in motion tends to stay in motion until an external force applies itself. And now, the body has stopped.
The soul withered, the mind fled, and the heart only just keeps beating as the blood circulates within it. The body is comatose. You see this, you hear this, you feel this. And you wonder more: what will wake it up?
Fandom: Torchwood
- Characters: T3 + Rhys
Rating: G
Summary: A phantom watches with a bird's eye view, watches it all come to a stop.
Notes: So everyone's battering around, "Gwen's the heart," "No, Ianto's the heart," "It's Gwen," "It's Ianto," "WTF no?" Et cetera. Let's just say, it really is only one of them (though the other is just as paramount). And those random capitals you'll find, those are on purpose. Implied spoilers for CoE Day Five, 2nd person POV. Kinda essay, kind of not. Don't have to agree, but, you know, as you like.
You wonder and you wonder: where does It come from? You see it, and you feel it, and you wonder. You would take eons to figure it out, eons just watching the body in motion, the singular unit. You see, and you hear, and you feel what it means. The body in motion is constantly changing, constantly updating, because of loss and gain to its whole. And you look, and you see, and you feel this incarnation is by far the cleanest, the simplest, and the saddest.
The age is the mind, it is the judgment upon which the rest of the body works, where it leads the body with its bits in tow, wrapped in the physical, the dogmatic, the centrifugal. You watch it move with confidence, hiding its thoughts for the better of the quest, not looking back only forward to a future it cannot want ever ever ever, to the darkness of Endlessness that cannot be extinguished by want or will or the tears draining it dry.
The mother is the heart, where hope and light and optimism bleed outward, seeing the best, wishing for the best, making it happen, happen, willing it to happen, pulling the body to Believe, moving forward to a place where it can rest in peace. You understand its desperation to hope, to dream, and to see that niche when all else fails, even if it takes the blood to run a circuit through it to make it respond as it should.
The ghost is the soul, the unencumbered essence, the Push of action unseen, unconscious shadows cloaking its movement to keep both and all working perfectly, to perfection as best it will manage. Sliding and gliding to keep the body in motion Alive with activity the mind and heart cannot see, the functions, the keepsakes, the everyday monotony you could never understand why it bothers with, why it continues moving forward forward forward until there is nothing left to back up.
The body in motion tends to stay in motion. Outside pressures bend it to move. You see, and you watch, and you have to wonder: the arm and the spinal cord have already been ripped away. The body in motion lives to its barest basics. Would it all fall apart if one more was taken before those are replaced?
And then you see it: yes. Yes it does.
The body in motion tends to stay in motion until an external force applies itself. And now, the body has stopped.
The soul withered, the mind fled, and the heart only just keeps beating as the blood circulates within it. The body is comatose. You see this, you hear this, you feel this. And you wonder more: what will wake it up?