Seven (Prologue) 0/7
Prison Break Fiction
Characters: Sara, Michael Jnr, Lincoln, ensemble, Michael
Chapter: Prologue
Length: 500 words
Genre: AU, drama, reflective
Rating: pg
Summary: A lot can happen in four years...
A/N: This is a Sister Story to wrldpossibility’s Seven, told from a mirror perspective. You will need to read her story to follow this, but I believe hers may stand alone. We will see. There are seven short chapters planned, and the 21 & 22 finale and TFB are the backdrop for this collaboration. Amy and I intend to post one part each per week, with a couple of days between each chapter.
Seven
I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done
‘Run’ - Snow Patrol
They’re losing him.
His vision is failing, but he can still hear words echoing as erratically as footfalls against the labyrinth of subterranean Fox River. He’s finally come full circle. Or not.
‘We’re losing him!’
Someone told him once - perhaps it was the venerable Charles Westmoreland? - that hearing is the last sense to be stolen by this unremarkable common place, that you can die with the sound of love ones in your ears, even while your soul ascends from the shadow of life.
‘We are losing him. For God’s sake-’
‘Well we can’t! He’s too important. Stabilize! DO it, now!’
He can’t see, and he’s glad. The darkness allows him a sole window to Sara, and gives him the luxury of truly seeing her for all time. Her ethereal beauty, her inner grace. The unsullied skin, the glow of a life without fear, an existence void of pain. If only this deal involved the erasing of her memory - so she could continue without the baggage of their shared experience - but the mere thought of having never met her causes the gloom to seep from his head and collapse over his heart.
Michael loses the sense of smell, he feels the weight of his limbs canopy the edge of a bed and surrender to the lack of energy required to keep them aware. It’s dwindling, his attention to plan and detail is receding like the sharp edges of reality. He begs to have the voice to ask them to let him go. Just let go . . .
‘But I love you. So much. Nursery schools, dinner, movies, faith and hope. Love and children and family. Don’t you leave me, Michael! Not now!
‘SARA!’
But he knows she’s not there. It’s not part of this final deal, and the majority of the shell that is Michael Scofield is happy she’s not bearing witness to the epilogue of his life. The electric shock a mere magician’s ruse for an undercurrent of more deceit and a bargaining tool for further power. God, but he is tired.
And the gargoyle of the tumour presses more deeply into the vault of his brain, while he listens to the monsters that barter to use his mind once more.
four years later
He always sheds tears. He wonders if he’s gone a day in the last half-decade without crying, and then he knows it doesn’t matter. He can only see through a veil anyway, the hurt liquifying from his eyes doing nothing further to shatter the clarity of the scene.
She’s beautiful. She always is, and their son is living proof that good can emerge from the most sordid rabble of confusion and despair. He is touched by this scene every single time, and he feels the warmth in her hug with Sucre, her sincere kiss upon his brother’s cheek, and her moment with Alex. It’s like viewing a reel from a family movie - in sepia - where a woman is surrounded by strength and love, but laments the physical loss of the rib closest her heart.
And he watches, without touching.
Characters: Sara, Michael Jnr, Lincoln, ensemble, Michael
Chapter: Prologue
Length: 500 words
Genre: AU, drama, reflective
Rating: pg
Summary: A lot can happen in four years...
A/N: This is a Sister Story to wrldpossibility’s Seven, told from a mirror perspective. You will need to read her story to follow this, but I believe hers may stand alone. We will see. There are seven short chapters planned, and the 21 & 22 finale and TFB are the backdrop for this collaboration. Amy and I intend to post one part each per week, with a couple of days between each chapter.
Seven
I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done
‘Run’ - Snow Patrol
They’re losing him.
His vision is failing, but he can still hear words echoing as erratically as footfalls against the labyrinth of subterranean Fox River. He’s finally come full circle. Or not.
‘We’re losing him!’
Someone told him once - perhaps it was the venerable Charles Westmoreland? - that hearing is the last sense to be stolen by this unremarkable common place, that you can die with the sound of love ones in your ears, even while your soul ascends from the shadow of life.
‘We are losing him. For God’s sake-’
‘Well we can’t! He’s too important. Stabilize! DO it, now!’
He can’t see, and he’s glad. The darkness allows him a sole window to Sara, and gives him the luxury of truly seeing her for all time. Her ethereal beauty, her inner grace. The unsullied skin, the glow of a life without fear, an existence void of pain. If only this deal involved the erasing of her memory - so she could continue without the baggage of their shared experience - but the mere thought of having never met her causes the gloom to seep from his head and collapse over his heart.
Michael loses the sense of smell, he feels the weight of his limbs canopy the edge of a bed and surrender to the lack of energy required to keep them aware. It’s dwindling, his attention to plan and detail is receding like the sharp edges of reality. He begs to have the voice to ask them to let him go. Just let go . . .
‘But I love you. So much. Nursery schools, dinner, movies, faith and hope. Love and children and family. Don’t you leave me, Michael! Not now!
‘SARA!’
But he knows she’s not there. It’s not part of this final deal, and the majority of the shell that is Michael Scofield is happy she’s not bearing witness to the epilogue of his life. The electric shock a mere magician’s ruse for an undercurrent of more deceit and a bargaining tool for further power. God, but he is tired.
And the gargoyle of the tumour presses more deeply into the vault of his brain, while he listens to the monsters that barter to use his mind once more.
four years later
He always sheds tears. He wonders if he’s gone a day in the last half-decade without crying, and then he knows it doesn’t matter. He can only see through a veil anyway, the hurt liquifying from his eyes doing nothing further to shatter the clarity of the scene.
She’s beautiful. She always is, and their son is living proof that good can emerge from the most sordid rabble of confusion and despair. He is touched by this scene every single time, and he feels the warmth in her hug with Sucre, her sincere kiss upon his brother’s cheek, and her moment with Alex. It’s like viewing a reel from a family movie - in sepia - where a woman is surrounded by strength and love, but laments the physical loss of the rib closest her heart.
And he watches, without touching.