(no subject)
Everything Seems to Fade
greta/chris Faller
based on chris' departure.
we_are_cities april 19, 2008 prompt.
The sky is so dark here, in the middle of the United States. Like ink, the sky is smearing its way down to the interstate, dripping in fat globs onto the windows of the tour bus. Everything is covered in a thin coating of jet-black ink: the ground, the pavement, the fields filled with grass that are bound to be somewhere beyond the edge of the road. There’s not a single streetlight anywhere to be found. No houses, no rest stops, no people living here to wipe away the ink. But, that’s just as well. The sky is claiming everything by making its mark on everything. The sky is declaring its power, the power to hold everything in the world in its strong grip. Tentative fingers reach towards the ink. They want the trace of the night on their tips and they want the black to drip down. These fingers want to find their place in this world.
Greta shivers with the November cold, rubs her clean hands together. Oily fingerprints are on the bus window now. She got too excited, thought she could actually fold and tuck herself away into the shadows. Silly, silly, she knows, it’s all just so funny and naïve. But nobody understands, not since everything’s been flipped upside-down, scrambled into a jumbled mess. Pulling herself together is becoming near impossible with nothing in order, with everyone else getting on with his life. No one speaks of it; no one calls him. Trying to stay calm doesn’t work. Greta thought this would be easier with Chris seeming so disposable and all. She didn’t… she didn’t quite get it before.
How do you bounce back? Greta feels like she used all her energy trying to bounce back these past few years, with all these deaths and break ups and near-disaster-misses. All of her Get Out of Jail Free cards have been used. All of her allotted advice from others has been graciously and greedily welcomed. She can’t turn anywhere. She can’t drag others down with her problems. Bob is thrilled for a fresh face, Darren is excited. Then there’s Greta, wallowing in the corner, trying to force herself to make this situation work. But it’s hard, when nothing is like before. It’s hard carrying on.
Because Chris used to spend hours with her. Quiet, slow hours in the night. Hours spent smoking and talking in nothing above a whisper. Hours no one knew about. Special, untouched hours that didn’t involve family or friends or Bob or even Darren. It was only Chris and Greta, Greta and Chris, alone and exploding with happiness. Pure happiness to just be together, figuring each other out one minute at a time. She leaves a pack of cigarettes in her purse, just to keep a shallow balance in her life.
Hands flutter towards the window again. Overwhelmed, palms press hard against the glass, trying to push through, trying to plunge into the ink. Greta makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, shakes her wild blonde hair. To just get out there, to be black all over is all she wants. To only be around for half the day, to be hiding during the light hours, seems bearable enough. That’s all she wants! Forget the past; it hurts too much. She wants to be the sky, wants to bleed murky ink all over the world, and wants to instill fear in the world’s inhabitants. She wants to be powerful too. She wants to be able to hang over Chris for the rest of her life just to give him hell.
greta/chris Faller
based on chris' departure.
we_are_cities april 19, 2008 prompt.
The sky is so dark here, in the middle of the United States. Like ink, the sky is smearing its way down to the interstate, dripping in fat globs onto the windows of the tour bus. Everything is covered in a thin coating of jet-black ink: the ground, the pavement, the fields filled with grass that are bound to be somewhere beyond the edge of the road. There’s not a single streetlight anywhere to be found. No houses, no rest stops, no people living here to wipe away the ink. But, that’s just as well. The sky is claiming everything by making its mark on everything. The sky is declaring its power, the power to hold everything in the world in its strong grip. Tentative fingers reach towards the ink. They want the trace of the night on their tips and they want the black to drip down. These fingers want to find their place in this world.
Greta shivers with the November cold, rubs her clean hands together. Oily fingerprints are on the bus window now. She got too excited, thought she could actually fold and tuck herself away into the shadows. Silly, silly, she knows, it’s all just so funny and naïve. But nobody understands, not since everything’s been flipped upside-down, scrambled into a jumbled mess. Pulling herself together is becoming near impossible with nothing in order, with everyone else getting on with his life. No one speaks of it; no one calls him. Trying to stay calm doesn’t work. Greta thought this would be easier with Chris seeming so disposable and all. She didn’t… she didn’t quite get it before.
How do you bounce back? Greta feels like she used all her energy trying to bounce back these past few years, with all these deaths and break ups and near-disaster-misses. All of her Get Out of Jail Free cards have been used. All of her allotted advice from others has been graciously and greedily welcomed. She can’t turn anywhere. She can’t drag others down with her problems. Bob is thrilled for a fresh face, Darren is excited. Then there’s Greta, wallowing in the corner, trying to force herself to make this situation work. But it’s hard, when nothing is like before. It’s hard carrying on.
Because Chris used to spend hours with her. Quiet, slow hours in the night. Hours spent smoking and talking in nothing above a whisper. Hours no one knew about. Special, untouched hours that didn’t involve family or friends or Bob or even Darren. It was only Chris and Greta, Greta and Chris, alone and exploding with happiness. Pure happiness to just be together, figuring each other out one minute at a time. She leaves a pack of cigarettes in her purse, just to keep a shallow balance in her life.
Hands flutter towards the window again. Overwhelmed, palms press hard against the glass, trying to push through, trying to plunge into the ink. Greta makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, shakes her wild blonde hair. To just get out there, to be black all over is all she wants. To only be around for half the day, to be hiding during the light hours, seems bearable enough. That’s all she wants! Forget the past; it hurts too much. She wants to be the sky, wants to bleed murky ink all over the world, and wants to instill fear in the world’s inhabitants. She wants to be powerful too. She wants to be able to hang over Chris for the rest of her life just to give him hell.