Fic: The Destruction of Quinn Fabray (1/1)
Title: The Destruction of Quinn Fabray
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for Angst, themes and language
Spoilers: Definitely not.
Summary: Last Call verse. Five 100-word drabbles that pave the road between Firefly and Last Call.
The silence is the worst. Of all the reactions you expected, this was never one of them. He doesn’t scream, he doesn’t thump his bible and quote Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin, he doesn’t even hit you, the way he has so many times before. Instead he walks out of the room. You look to your mother, but in her drunken stupor she looks as lost and confused as you. He returns with an empty suitcase, laying it at your feet. “Daddy?” you ask, confused. He taps his watch. “You have ten minutes to get out.” And he retreats upstairs.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The clack as you work the pistol’s slide seems deafening in the quiet room. You look at him, still sleeping in the bed you share, but he doesn’t seem to have heard a thing. He doesn’t know you bought a gun. He’d probably be surprised you know how to use it. You have a moment of doubt when you think of how he’ll react, but in the end you put the barrel to your temple. And then, like a cliché from a storybook, your baby kicks inside you for the first time. The moment is gone - you can’t do it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You know you’re screaming, but the sound seems to be coming from a thousand miles away. Your baby girl is limp and cold in your arms, and no matter how much you scream she won’t ever wake again. Her tiny light, the only one in your cold and empty life, has been extinguished. You can feel his hands on you, trying to pull her away to give her to the paramedics, but you know it’s too late so you cradle her closer. There’s a sharp pinch in your arm when they eventually sedate you, and you pray it’s the end.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His leaving comes as no surprise. But you thought he had enough compassion not to do it as the life you created together was laid to rest. He leaves you standing there, in that shady grove, staring down at the patch of earth that’s consumed your daughter, your only child. On the breeze you catch a hint of your mother’s perfume, but a quick look around confirms it as just your imagination. You sink slowly to your knees, ruining the only nice dress in your wardrobe, and nourish that patch of earth with tears that won’t seem to ever end.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first girl in that bar who catches your eye looks like her. It’s no surprise - that’s what you were looking for, after all. A petite brunette, a build close enough that with alcohol in your blood and hair in your eyes you won’t notice that it’s not really her. She cries when you throw her out afterward, and it fills you with a vindictive pleasure. You listen to her bang on the door of the cheap motel room and smirk as you tell her she was a lousy fuck. It’s a pattern you’ll repeat endlessly, until you’re finally gone.
Author: cranberry_pi
Rating: R for Angst, themes and language
Spoilers: Definitely not.
Summary: Last Call verse. Five 100-word drabbles that pave the road between Firefly and Last Call.
The silence is the worst. Of all the reactions you expected, this was never one of them. He doesn’t scream, he doesn’t thump his bible and quote Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin, he doesn’t even hit you, the way he has so many times before. Instead he walks out of the room. You look to your mother, but in her drunken stupor she looks as lost and confused as you. He returns with an empty suitcase, laying it at your feet. “Daddy?” you ask, confused. He taps his watch. “You have ten minutes to get out.” And he retreats upstairs.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The clack as you work the pistol’s slide seems deafening in the quiet room. You look at him, still sleeping in the bed you share, but he doesn’t seem to have heard a thing. He doesn’t know you bought a gun. He’d probably be surprised you know how to use it. You have a moment of doubt when you think of how he’ll react, but in the end you put the barrel to your temple. And then, like a cliché from a storybook, your baby kicks inside you for the first time. The moment is gone - you can’t do it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You know you’re screaming, but the sound seems to be coming from a thousand miles away. Your baby girl is limp and cold in your arms, and no matter how much you scream she won’t ever wake again. Her tiny light, the only one in your cold and empty life, has been extinguished. You can feel his hands on you, trying to pull her away to give her to the paramedics, but you know it’s too late so you cradle her closer. There’s a sharp pinch in your arm when they eventually sedate you, and you pray it’s the end.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His leaving comes as no surprise. But you thought he had enough compassion not to do it as the life you created together was laid to rest. He leaves you standing there, in that shady grove, staring down at the patch of earth that’s consumed your daughter, your only child. On the breeze you catch a hint of your mother’s perfume, but a quick look around confirms it as just your imagination. You sink slowly to your knees, ruining the only nice dress in your wardrobe, and nourish that patch of earth with tears that won’t seem to ever end.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first girl in that bar who catches your eye looks like her. It’s no surprise - that’s what you were looking for, after all. A petite brunette, a build close enough that with alcohol in your blood and hair in your eyes you won’t notice that it’s not really her. She cries when you throw her out afterward, and it fills you with a vindictive pleasure. You listen to her bang on the door of the cheap motel room and smirk as you tell her she was a lousy fuck. It’s a pattern you’ll repeat endlessly, until you’re finally gone.