fic: four minutes
Title: Four Minutes
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Length: 700~ words
Rating/Warnings: PG/Character death
Summary: Written for the "Kill a Character" challenge over at femslash_land
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Glee or its characters. That privilege belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and Ian Brennan (even if they abuse that regularly). I'm just playing with their characters, and will return them in almost-new condition when I'm done.
Four. The number of minutes they say the human brain can be without oxygen before there’s a serious risk of brain damage.
The four minutes I spent in the back of the ambulance, my mind was going faster than the 45 mile-an-hour-Ambulatory speeds.
I couldn’t stop the onslaught of memories, the important moments in my life, almost all of them revolving solely around the person whose limp hand was clutched tightly in mine.
The first time I met her, on the swings, in fourth grade; she was probably the only person besides me who wasn’t part of a group or clique. She seemed so lonely, sitting on the swing, dejectedly kicking a foot in the bark pieces. I asked her if she was OK, and she told me about the boy we called Noah, and what he’d done to her cubby (when we’d been more innocent, without the need for the security that lockers provided). It was the first time I’d ever cared enough to want to fight on someone else’s behalf, and I barely even knew this girl. We’d linked pinkies, and swung on the swings for the first of thousands of times.
The first time we’d kissed (not for real, although that would come not too long after); on a dare, at our eighth grade cheer camp. It was short, and altogether sweet, a simple meeting of lips that would make my heart race, and my cheeks flush (a reaction a kiss from her never failed to incite).
The first time the New Directions had won Sectionals; that joy, and sense of accomplishment. That feeling of being a part of something truly special. I remember her bundling me up in a hug, and me thinking “this is how it should be”, I’d never felt so safe or felt so free.
The regrets crept in, unbidden. Stealthing their way into the whirlwind carousel of my mind.
The first time we’d had sex; me adamantly denying that sex had anything to do with dating or feelings, and her willing to do whatever I needed (because really? We both knew I was lying when I was talking about us).
The first time she’d said, “I love you” and not in a ‘you’re my best friend’ way. My refusal to return the sentiment, although I’d never wanted to say three words more than in that moment, with our limbs entangled under sheets, her head somewhere near my heart and fingers absently tracing patterns on the back of my hand.
Me pretending not to notice the hurt in her eyes every time I left her, in her bed or mine, alone. For every time I foolishly thought that if I denied my feelings that they would go away.
Every memory corresponding to a beep on the monitor; each sound reflecting another heartbeat, every beat giving me a little more time. Enough time to get her to the hospital.
For her to wake up, to breathe and open her eyes and look at me and tell me she loves me.
For me to say it back.
God, I wanted to say it back.
In four minutes you can make a wish. You can have hope, and you can have your hopes dashed. You can remember everything about the person you love, and realize everything you hate about yourself.
In four minutes, you can listen to the intermittent noise of a heart monitor speed up and be replaced by the hollow drone of constant sound.
You can watch as the last ounce of consciousness drains from a person’s body.
You can feel the cool hand in yours grow colder, heavier.
Four minutes. Think about the things you can do in four minutes. Run a mile. Engage in a decent kiss. Enjoy a song. Make a cup of coffee. Hang out the washing.
Not much, is it?
But let me tell you, when the person you love is lying on a gurney in the back of an ambulance, the constant, continuous beep of a machine proclaiming their death?
Four minutes is everything.
***
Reviews are greatly appreciated, I usually don't write anything like this, so any criticism (worded nicely, of course) is welcomed.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Length: 700~ words
Rating/Warnings: PG/Character death
Summary: Written for the "Kill a Character" challenge over at femslash_land
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Glee or its characters. That privilege belongs to Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk and Ian Brennan (even if they abuse that regularly). I'm just playing with their characters, and will return them in almost-new condition when I'm done.
Four. The number of minutes they say the human brain can be without oxygen before there’s a serious risk of brain damage.
The four minutes I spent in the back of the ambulance, my mind was going faster than the 45 mile-an-hour-Ambulatory speeds.
I couldn’t stop the onslaught of memories, the important moments in my life, almost all of them revolving solely around the person whose limp hand was clutched tightly in mine.
The first time I met her, on the swings, in fourth grade; she was probably the only person besides me who wasn’t part of a group or clique. She seemed so lonely, sitting on the swing, dejectedly kicking a foot in the bark pieces. I asked her if she was OK, and she told me about the boy we called Noah, and what he’d done to her cubby (when we’d been more innocent, without the need for the security that lockers provided). It was the first time I’d ever cared enough to want to fight on someone else’s behalf, and I barely even knew this girl. We’d linked pinkies, and swung on the swings for the first of thousands of times.
The first time we’d kissed (not for real, although that would come not too long after); on a dare, at our eighth grade cheer camp. It was short, and altogether sweet, a simple meeting of lips that would make my heart race, and my cheeks flush (a reaction a kiss from her never failed to incite).
The first time the New Directions had won Sectionals; that joy, and sense of accomplishment. That feeling of being a part of something truly special. I remember her bundling me up in a hug, and me thinking “this is how it should be”, I’d never felt so safe or felt so free.
The regrets crept in, unbidden. Stealthing their way into the whirlwind carousel of my mind.
The first time we’d had sex; me adamantly denying that sex had anything to do with dating or feelings, and her willing to do whatever I needed (because really? We both knew I was lying when I was talking about us).
The first time she’d said, “I love you” and not in a ‘you’re my best friend’ way. My refusal to return the sentiment, although I’d never wanted to say three words more than in that moment, with our limbs entangled under sheets, her head somewhere near my heart and fingers absently tracing patterns on the back of my hand.
Me pretending not to notice the hurt in her eyes every time I left her, in her bed or mine, alone. For every time I foolishly thought that if I denied my feelings that they would go away.
Every memory corresponding to a beep on the monitor; each sound reflecting another heartbeat, every beat giving me a little more time. Enough time to get her to the hospital.
For her to wake up, to breathe and open her eyes and look at me and tell me she loves me.
For me to say it back.
God, I wanted to say it back.
In four minutes you can make a wish. You can have hope, and you can have your hopes dashed. You can remember everything about the person you love, and realize everything you hate about yourself.
In four minutes, you can listen to the intermittent noise of a heart monitor speed up and be replaced by the hollow drone of constant sound.
You can watch as the last ounce of consciousness drains from a person’s body.
You can feel the cool hand in yours grow colder, heavier.
Four minutes. Think about the things you can do in four minutes. Run a mile. Engage in a decent kiss. Enjoy a song. Make a cup of coffee. Hang out the washing.
Not much, is it?
But let me tell you, when the person you love is lying on a gurney in the back of an ambulance, the constant, continuous beep of a machine proclaiming their death?
Four minutes is everything.
***
Reviews are greatly appreciated, I usually don't write anything like this, so any criticism (worded nicely, of course) is welcomed.