[Fic: And now for the descent]
sunday_reveries: image # 5 [text reads: the death of me]
Pete had always known it was going to end this way. It was just the Campbell way to go, apparently. Who had ever thought up planes in the first place? Those damn Wright brothers. Bicycles had nothing to do with planes anyway. The brilliant mind of Icarus had been dashed to bits when he had flown too close to the sun. Man had feet, not wings, and they were clearly meant to be on the ground.
It was strange. Everyone around him was panicking, screaming. Some were straining against their lapbelts, others had put their heads between their legs. Pete just sat straight-backed and watched as the clouds rose while they fell. 30,000 feet was quite a ways to fall, and he intended to watch every second of it. It always helped not knowing how many scotches you had had before the pilot made the announcement.
So. These were to be his last moments alive. He supposed he ought to be thinking about his wife, his brother and mother, Peggy even, the only woman he'd ever truly loved, but it was Draper he couldn't stop thinking about. How would he react when he heard about Pete's death? Would he laugh openly? Feign surprise, shock, sorrow? Would there be anything to collect amidst the wreckage, for the funeral? Would his wife cry? Would the boys from the office show up for the funeral, would Peggy? Would Don? Did Pete even care what they said after his death? What was the point in asking all these questions? Could he just enjoy his final moments, all he had left in his life, in happiness with a good memory lingering in his brain after it was rendered useless?
Peggy. Her face, her kind smile. The way she looked up at him, admiringly, awed, that night he had showed up at her door. There was the way she felt under his hands. Her lips, brushing against his neck. The kiss he wanted to last forev--
Muse: Pete Campbell
Word count: 319 words.
Pete had always known it was going to end this way. It was just the Campbell way to go, apparently. Who had ever thought up planes in the first place? Those damn Wright brothers. Bicycles had nothing to do with planes anyway. The brilliant mind of Icarus had been dashed to bits when he had flown too close to the sun. Man had feet, not wings, and they were clearly meant to be on the ground.
It was strange. Everyone around him was panicking, screaming. Some were straining against their lapbelts, others had put their heads between their legs. Pete just sat straight-backed and watched as the clouds rose while they fell. 30,000 feet was quite a ways to fall, and he intended to watch every second of it. It always helped not knowing how many scotches you had had before the pilot made the announcement.
So. These were to be his last moments alive. He supposed he ought to be thinking about his wife, his brother and mother, Peggy even, the only woman he'd ever truly loved, but it was Draper he couldn't stop thinking about. How would he react when he heard about Pete's death? Would he laugh openly? Feign surprise, shock, sorrow? Would there be anything to collect amidst the wreckage, for the funeral? Would his wife cry? Would the boys from the office show up for the funeral, would Peggy? Would Don? Did Pete even care what they said after his death? What was the point in asking all these questions? Could he just enjoy his final moments, all he had left in his life, in happiness with a good memory lingering in his brain after it was rendered useless?
Peggy. Her face, her kind smile. The way she looked up at him, admiringly, awed, that night he had showed up at her door. There was the way she felt under his hands. Her lips, brushing against his neck. The kiss he wanted to last forev--
Muse: Pete Campbell
Word count: 319 words.