The Truth is Worse
Title: The Truth is Worse
Author: vamplover82
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
POV: Third
Summary: Frank finds himself stuck and falling apart.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the guys of MCR, and this certainly isn’t true.
Author notes: Comments and con crit. are much appreciated. Written for the Surrealism challenge at mychemicaltest.
Paintings used: The Persistence of Memory
The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory
Podfic version can be found at Mediafire or the Archive.
One second Frank was standing in his apartment, and the next, he was standing on the shore of what, a lake? The ocean? He looked out, seeing the sun set over the body of water and some large bluffs. He turned around, and oh, there was a dead tree. And was that…a melting clock? His mind briefly flashed an image of a painting he’d seen once. Yeah, God, it looked just like that.
Frank walked toward the tree, an inexplicable shiver running through him. As he got to the tree, he looked in awe at the clock draped over it. It looked real, but there was no way clocks could be made like that. But when he touched it, it felt like metal and glass. That was…kind of creepy.
He wandered a little further, and oh man, there were a ton of ants on that clock! Frank backed away and tripped over something, falling backward. The thing began to writhe and groan. He stood and watched it in mild horror for a minute, until it turned over and he saw a huge, slimy, slug-like thing crawling out of it.
He took off running along the shoreline as fast as he could. And to think, he had always liked that painting. He had never fully appreciated how creepy it was until just now. As Frank continued running, he approached another scene that looked almost exactly like the one he had just left.
Only, the closer he got, the more he saw that it wasn’t the same at all. Everything was fragmented, even the ground. He looked down at himself and saw that he was fragmenting, too. A couple of his fingers had separated from his hand, and when he moved it, the fingers stayed where they were.
Frank ran back in the direction he had come from, terrified of falling completely apart. Instead of the tree, clocks, and bluffs, though, Frank saw a vast emptiness. But still, he kept on running as he left more and more pieces of himself behind. There had to be something better in the emptiness. Right?
Author: vamplover82
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
POV: Third
Summary: Frank finds himself stuck and falling apart.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the guys of MCR, and this certainly isn’t true.
Author notes: Comments and con crit. are much appreciated. Written for the Surrealism challenge at mychemicaltest.
Paintings used: The Persistence of Memory
The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory
Podfic version can be found at Mediafire or the Archive.
One second Frank was standing in his apartment, and the next, he was standing on the shore of what, a lake? The ocean? He looked out, seeing the sun set over the body of water and some large bluffs. He turned around, and oh, there was a dead tree. And was that…a melting clock? His mind briefly flashed an image of a painting he’d seen once. Yeah, God, it looked just like that.
Frank walked toward the tree, an inexplicable shiver running through him. As he got to the tree, he looked in awe at the clock draped over it. It looked real, but there was no way clocks could be made like that. But when he touched it, it felt like metal and glass. That was…kind of creepy.
He wandered a little further, and oh man, there were a ton of ants on that clock! Frank backed away and tripped over something, falling backward. The thing began to writhe and groan. He stood and watched it in mild horror for a minute, until it turned over and he saw a huge, slimy, slug-like thing crawling out of it.
He took off running along the shoreline as fast as he could. And to think, he had always liked that painting. He had never fully appreciated how creepy it was until just now. As Frank continued running, he approached another scene that looked almost exactly like the one he had just left.
Only, the closer he got, the more he saw that it wasn’t the same at all. Everything was fragmented, even the ground. He looked down at himself and saw that he was fragmenting, too. A couple of his fingers had separated from his hand, and when he moved it, the fingers stayed where they were.
Frank ran back in the direction he had come from, terrified of falling completely apart. Instead of the tree, clocks, and bluffs, though, Frank saw a vast emptiness. But still, he kept on running as he left more and more pieces of himself behind. There had to be something better in the emptiness. Right?