100 Fic Challenge: Tears
Prompt Number: 26
Author: selvanic
Series: DOGS
Word Count: 553
Characters/Pairings: Heine
Rating: PG-13; for angst and language
Summary: Crying is supposed to be good for you. Good thing none of us much care for ourselves.
I can't remember when I last saw someone cry.
It's funny. Or it is for me. Anyone with a normal sense of humor might think it was sad. I've never much agreed with people who've normal anything...Normal's just a friendly way to say you're naïve. At least down here that's what it is.
Down here, no one seems to know what they're doing. I sure as hell don't. Running around in circles, chasing shadows and shooting down anyone who gets in my way, looking for something I wouldn't recognize if I ran face first into it, hoping to accomplish a goal I haven't decided on yet...Day in and day out, that's how I live. Hell, that's how we all live. And maybe that's why we've all forgotten how to cry.
What's the point, really? When has crying ever solved anything? When has breaking down into wails and sobs ever fixed whatever you were crying over? Never, that's when. Maybe in some disgusting fairy tale world somewhere, crying evokes pity and inspires some kind generosity...The real world isn't that forgiving. Tears mean weakness, and weakness means death. End of story. Literally.
Nill didn't even cry when I first found her. She was close, sure, but she didn't break. Though considering what she's been through...she's probably had the chance to learn that crying won't get her anywhere. She's probably found that out the hard way. Just like the rest of us.
Naoto, Ernst, Badou...Fuck, even Giovanni. Life's run over all of us. It's chewed us up and spit us out, crushed us under its heel, and then kicked what was left under its filthy doormat. And all of us crawled out from under that mess, fought back from the edge, and picked ourselves up, swearing never to end up there again. We left weakness behind, pointing a smoking gun in the face of our fears instead.
Pain, loss, anguish, doubt...I don't have time for any of it. That sinking feeling in my gut, the aching in my chest, the cold grip I feel on the back of my neck, all goes ignored. If I give in, if I break down, I'll get torn apart. And if I fall...who's next? Who's left? Who's won?
But there are times when, sitting alone in my apartment, my thoughts derail, my frustrations drown in emotions I pretend not to have, and I catch myself shaking. My shoulders rise, my throat tightens, and I can't sit up straight. Everything I've done, every fucking thing, comes back in a rush, swallowing me whole, the pain of my nails digging into my palm the only thing keeping me centered. I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't see...I want to scream but I can't find my voice. I want to tear everything apart, but I can't move.
And I want to cry, but I've forgotten how to.
I can't remember when I last saw someone cry...but I wish I could. I wish I could remember what it looked like, what it felt like. And it's funny because I know I'll never know. I laugh because it makes me sick. I write it off because there's no point in dwelling on the impossible. After all, the next time I see someone crying, I'll probably be the one putting the bullet between their eyes.
Author: selvanic
Series: DOGS
Word Count: 553
Characters/Pairings: Heine
Rating: PG-13; for angst and language
Summary: Crying is supposed to be good for you. Good thing none of us much care for ourselves.
I can't remember when I last saw someone cry.
It's funny. Or it is for me. Anyone with a normal sense of humor might think it was sad. I've never much agreed with people who've normal anything...Normal's just a friendly way to say you're naïve. At least down here that's what it is.
Down here, no one seems to know what they're doing. I sure as hell don't. Running around in circles, chasing shadows and shooting down anyone who gets in my way, looking for something I wouldn't recognize if I ran face first into it, hoping to accomplish a goal I haven't decided on yet...Day in and day out, that's how I live. Hell, that's how we all live. And maybe that's why we've all forgotten how to cry.
What's the point, really? When has crying ever solved anything? When has breaking down into wails and sobs ever fixed whatever you were crying over? Never, that's when. Maybe in some disgusting fairy tale world somewhere, crying evokes pity and inspires some kind generosity...The real world isn't that forgiving. Tears mean weakness, and weakness means death. End of story. Literally.
Nill didn't even cry when I first found her. She was close, sure, but she didn't break. Though considering what she's been through...she's probably had the chance to learn that crying won't get her anywhere. She's probably found that out the hard way. Just like the rest of us.
Naoto, Ernst, Badou...Fuck, even Giovanni. Life's run over all of us. It's chewed us up and spit us out, crushed us under its heel, and then kicked what was left under its filthy doormat. And all of us crawled out from under that mess, fought back from the edge, and picked ourselves up, swearing never to end up there again. We left weakness behind, pointing a smoking gun in the face of our fears instead.
Pain, loss, anguish, doubt...I don't have time for any of it. That sinking feeling in my gut, the aching in my chest, the cold grip I feel on the back of my neck, all goes ignored. If I give in, if I break down, I'll get torn apart. And if I fall...who's next? Who's left? Who's won?
But there are times when, sitting alone in my apartment, my thoughts derail, my frustrations drown in emotions I pretend not to have, and I catch myself shaking. My shoulders rise, my throat tightens, and I can't sit up straight. Everything I've done, every fucking thing, comes back in a rush, swallowing me whole, the pain of my nails digging into my palm the only thing keeping me centered. I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't see...I want to scream but I can't find my voice. I want to tear everything apart, but I can't move.
And I want to cry, but I've forgotten how to.
I can't remember when I last saw someone cry...but I wish I could. I wish I could remember what it looked like, what it felt like. And it's funny because I know I'll never know. I laugh because it makes me sick. I write it off because there's no point in dwelling on the impossible. After all, the next time I see someone crying, I'll probably be the one putting the bullet between their eyes.