ease my mind
lol I wrote fic, I wrote fic lol
Um, even if you're not into Bebop read it? It's my first attempt at writing since my crashed and burned NaNo
a century to fall
Cowboy Bebop, 650ish words, implied Jet/Faye, PG
In the last moments of his life, Spike Spiegel thought of very few things. There wasn't much time left, from the initial hit to the last hit on the stairs. In those moments, when one sees life flashing before their eyes, he saw Julia. He saw his life flashing before his eyes then, if it was Julia. And it wasn't Julia, eyes wide, falling forward he saw. It wasn't Julia in the rain near graves. It wasn't Julia and the petals of paper. It was the Julia that haunted his dreams, the one he couldn't touch. The one that only existed here now, in his mind. He could see her face burned into his eye lids, finally seeing the future. Her face that was no longer there. That was the future.
*
Jet Black felt old. Old and tired and that the day had lasted too long. The night was slowly becoming day and he couldn't believe what he was waiting for. Some sign of Spike, even though he knew it wasn't coming. He smoked cigarette after cigarette and Faye had stopped crying long ago, or maybe he had tuned her out. He had better things to do than deal with the misplaced grief of a woman.
He actually didn't. There was a lot of things he told himself now and as the sun came up, he wondered which were lies or if all of them were. Life was too short for the truth sometimes. But on the other hand, life is too short to live in a dream. Spike lived in both. A world of truth and a world of lies and running. It was hard to balance the two.
To Jet, there was a lot to sort.
Lie one, Spike was alive. Lie two, he didn't care. Lie three, he had tuned Faye out (on the contrary, was listening intently for her rustling somewhere on the ship.) Lie four, he hoped she wasn't awake. Truth one, he didn't know what he wanted at this moment.
Was grief the appropriate response to your dumbass partner getting himself killed? Was there a point in anger if he was alive? Was there a point in questions?
Lie five, nothing had a point anymore. Truth two, she was waiting in the doorway.
*
Luck can come from the most broken of mirrors or the most crippled of situations. Faye knew this. Faye knew luck because she had a whole renewed lifetime of bad luck. It was the kind of luck that didn't involve horses or dice. That was just pennies in the whole well. The luck that mattered, the day to day living had been extremely harsh. And now back on the Bebop after another blow, she wondered where this would turn now.
She had nowhere to go, she knew that. Well, that was partly true. She was here, somewhere, wasn't she? Speaking physically. But emotionally, she was another place. She had been since the return of her memories, one hand in the future, one hand in the past, holding on to both. But now her grip loosened on the past slightly. She'd seen what past did to people. She hoped it hadn't done to Spike what she knew it had. The past was done and every moment you breathe it's another little bit slipping. Breathe slowly.
She hadn't slept any and wondered if Jet was awake. As much as she told herself it didn't matter, she saw her last words with Spike in a scroll in her mind. Most notably his past, his future, his eyes. What a hypocrite. What a stupid hypocrite.
Crying, huddled on the ship, she saw in bursts and flashes moments she had forgotten. Somewhere in a ship, hours ago, Spike was doing the same and flying towards them, the moments. Somewhere on the Bebop, Jet was doing the opposite and looking so intently in the future, he didn't see her come in.
I close my eyes and I keep seeing things
Um, even if you're not into Bebop read it? It's my first attempt at writing since my crashed and burned NaNo
a century to fall
Cowboy Bebop, 650ish words, implied Jet/Faye, PG
In the last moments of his life, Spike Spiegel thought of very few things. There wasn't much time left, from the initial hit to the last hit on the stairs. In those moments, when one sees life flashing before their eyes, he saw Julia. He saw his life flashing before his eyes then, if it was Julia. And it wasn't Julia, eyes wide, falling forward he saw. It wasn't Julia in the rain near graves. It wasn't Julia and the petals of paper. It was the Julia that haunted his dreams, the one he couldn't touch. The one that only existed here now, in his mind. He could see her face burned into his eye lids, finally seeing the future. Her face that was no longer there. That was the future.
*
Jet Black felt old. Old and tired and that the day had lasted too long. The night was slowly becoming day and he couldn't believe what he was waiting for. Some sign of Spike, even though he knew it wasn't coming. He smoked cigarette after cigarette and Faye had stopped crying long ago, or maybe he had tuned her out. He had better things to do than deal with the misplaced grief of a woman.
He actually didn't. There was a lot of things he told himself now and as the sun came up, he wondered which were lies or if all of them were. Life was too short for the truth sometimes. But on the other hand, life is too short to live in a dream. Spike lived in both. A world of truth and a world of lies and running. It was hard to balance the two.
To Jet, there was a lot to sort.
Lie one, Spike was alive. Lie two, he didn't care. Lie three, he had tuned Faye out (on the contrary, was listening intently for her rustling somewhere on the ship.) Lie four, he hoped she wasn't awake. Truth one, he didn't know what he wanted at this moment.
Was grief the appropriate response to your dumbass partner getting himself killed? Was there a point in anger if he was alive? Was there a point in questions?
Lie five, nothing had a point anymore. Truth two, she was waiting in the doorway.
*
Luck can come from the most broken of mirrors or the most crippled of situations. Faye knew this. Faye knew luck because she had a whole renewed lifetime of bad luck. It was the kind of luck that didn't involve horses or dice. That was just pennies in the whole well. The luck that mattered, the day to day living had been extremely harsh. And now back on the Bebop after another blow, she wondered where this would turn now.
She had nowhere to go, she knew that. Well, that was partly true. She was here, somewhere, wasn't she? Speaking physically. But emotionally, she was another place. She had been since the return of her memories, one hand in the future, one hand in the past, holding on to both. But now her grip loosened on the past slightly. She'd seen what past did to people. She hoped it hadn't done to Spike what she knew it had. The past was done and every moment you breathe it's another little bit slipping. Breathe slowly.
She hadn't slept any and wondered if Jet was awake. As much as she told herself it didn't matter, she saw her last words with Spike in a scroll in her mind. Most notably his past, his future, his eyes. What a hypocrite. What a stupid hypocrite.
Crying, huddled on the ship, she saw in bursts and flashes moments she had forgotten. Somewhere in a ship, hours ago, Spike was doing the same and flying towards them, the moments. Somewhere on the Bebop, Jet was doing the opposite and looking so intently in the future, he didn't see her come in.
I close my eyes and I keep seeing things