fic: the tictocs stop (and they're playing the barber adagio) [1/3]
Title: the tictocs stop (and they're playing the barber adagio) [1/3]
Author: azuredamsel
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13. The apocalypse is scary stuff, kids.
Word Count: 746
Author’s Notes: It's an apoca!fic in three parts. I know this is short, but it'll work better this way. Promise. ♥
time is all around
except inside my clock
everybody's waiting for their lover to unlock (and --
leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die)
regina spektor
This is how the world starts to end:
There's a girl. (Valerie.)
She's home from college on the summer. She's leaning against the counter at a Starbucks, and holds up her wrist to see if her shift is over.
-- the end of the world will come like a thief --
The watch stopped two hours ago.
It's night when she gets home and she definitely stayed too late, but people kept coming and ordering lattes: venti, venti, venti. (People order coffee when something is wrong but they can't fall asleep and forget.)
Valerie's always been a little bit of a sucker. At this moment, it leaves her craving sleep. But her parents aren't home yet, and --
The clock on the oven isn't working. Neither is the one on the microwave.
Something's wrong. Maybe the power went out? But all the clocks are stopped within a minute of the time on her watch. (She checks four times before she believes it.)
Her parents don't come home.
The trains are stopped. She can still get the news, sometimes. Erratically. Everything's erratic. No one knows what time it is, and apparently no one can find out.
They're saying it's some cult. And later, when the sky's starting to turn from black to grey, they start calling it the Cult of Eternity.
She's too tired to laugh.
She stays in the house for a day or so. It's not like she can tell. Then the phone calls start to get to her (Are your parents there? and Are you okay? and Have you heard anything?)
So she puts on her sneakers (pink converse, dusty) and starts walking. In the absence of time, it seems as though everything is that simple.
No one's outside, but the day (afternoon? morning?) is sunny and. You know, it's so much easier not to think about it. It's easier to pretend like she's this little girl running away from home, decked out in her favorite pair of pink shoes.
Against the sky, Valerie's little, and against lost time, she's utterly powerless.
Might as well acknowledge the fact.
The sun sets and Valerie keeps walking. Fleetingly, she thinks she should have brought a cannister of pepper spray along. Who knows who's out there, homeless and timeless and completely dangerous?
She's walking towards the city -- she hit the train tracks before too long -- but Valerie's always lived in the suburbs. She's only figuring out what "the city" means as she walks. Already the houses have gotten a little smaller and greyer.
A yawn stops her. She's tired enough. How long has she been walking?
Valerie falls asleep before she can even attempt to figure it out.
And she's still alive in the morning. This may or may not be a blessing.
Once upon a time it took Valerie forty-five minues to get into the city on the train.
On foot it takes two days, give or take a couple of hours or so.
But this city isn't what she's used to; it's ragged around the edges. The number of bums has skyrocketed. And no, she doesn't have any loose change.
Her stomach started growling in the morning and it's afternoon and she's only got a dollar left. There are a few pennies in her left front pocket.
(Yesterday she bought waffles and pretended not to notice the waitress' running mascara. She focused on the butter and syrup instead.)
She's slumped in a corner before she realizes. (It's a distance of three-and-a-half feet to pathetic.)
And then she looks up and there's this man standing above her -- slim and just this side of wiry, dark hair starting to curl at his temples. Maybe a few years older than her. And Valerie has just enough energy to curl herself up in a ball.
You never know who might try something. (Once upon a time, Valerie would have thought him quite cute.)
He sits down next to her.
"Do you want something to eat?"
She doesn't move.
"Are you okay?"
She shifts her head so she can see him. He doesn't look too intimidating. You never know, though.
"Time doesn't work any more," she says after a little while, "so are you okay?"
"It still works," he replies. "We just don't know how."
"Oh." Valerie is (was?) an English major.
The man sighs.
"I'm Derek," he says after a pause, like that will smooth everything over.
Yet somehow, it does.
"I'm Valerie, and I would love something to eat." This covers up the rumbling of her stomach quite nicely.
When Derek grabs her hand to help her up, she almost forgets that the world is might be ending.
It's not like Valerie could really forget.
Author: azuredamsel
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13. The apocalypse is scary stuff, kids.
Word Count: 746
Author’s Notes: It's an apoca!fic in three parts. I know this is short, but it'll work better this way. Promise. ♥
time is all around
except inside my clock
everybody's waiting for their lover to unlock (and --
leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die)
regina spektor
This is how the world starts to end:
There's a girl. (Valerie.)
She's home from college on the summer. She's leaning against the counter at a Starbucks, and holds up her wrist to see if her shift is over.
-- the end of the world will come like a thief --
The watch stopped two hours ago.
It's night when she gets home and she definitely stayed too late, but people kept coming and ordering lattes: venti, venti, venti. (People order coffee when something is wrong but they can't fall asleep and forget.)
Valerie's always been a little bit of a sucker. At this moment, it leaves her craving sleep. But her parents aren't home yet, and --
The clock on the oven isn't working. Neither is the one on the microwave.
Something's wrong. Maybe the power went out? But all the clocks are stopped within a minute of the time on her watch. (She checks four times before she believes it.)
Her parents don't come home.
The trains are stopped. She can still get the news, sometimes. Erratically. Everything's erratic. No one knows what time it is, and apparently no one can find out.
They're saying it's some cult. And later, when the sky's starting to turn from black to grey, they start calling it the Cult of Eternity.
She's too tired to laugh.
She stays in the house for a day or so. It's not like she can tell. Then the phone calls start to get to her (Are your parents there? and Are you okay? and Have you heard anything?)
So she puts on her sneakers (pink converse, dusty) and starts walking. In the absence of time, it seems as though everything is that simple.
No one's outside, but the day (afternoon? morning?) is sunny and. You know, it's so much easier not to think about it. It's easier to pretend like she's this little girl running away from home, decked out in her favorite pair of pink shoes.
Against the sky, Valerie's little, and against lost time, she's utterly powerless.
Might as well acknowledge the fact.
The sun sets and Valerie keeps walking. Fleetingly, she thinks she should have brought a cannister of pepper spray along. Who knows who's out there, homeless and timeless and completely dangerous?
She's walking towards the city -- she hit the train tracks before too long -- but Valerie's always lived in the suburbs. She's only figuring out what "the city" means as she walks. Already the houses have gotten a little smaller and greyer.
A yawn stops her. She's tired enough. How long has she been walking?
Valerie falls asleep before she can even attempt to figure it out.
And she's still alive in the morning. This may or may not be a blessing.
Once upon a time it took Valerie forty-five minues to get into the city on the train.
On foot it takes two days, give or take a couple of hours or so.
But this city isn't what she's used to; it's ragged around the edges. The number of bums has skyrocketed. And no, she doesn't have any loose change.
Her stomach started growling in the morning and it's afternoon and she's only got a dollar left. There are a few pennies in her left front pocket.
(Yesterday she bought waffles and pretended not to notice the waitress' running mascara. She focused on the butter and syrup instead.)
She's slumped in a corner before she realizes. (It's a distance of three-and-a-half feet to pathetic.)
And then she looks up and there's this man standing above her -- slim and just this side of wiry, dark hair starting to curl at his temples. Maybe a few years older than her. And Valerie has just enough energy to curl herself up in a ball.
You never know who might try something. (Once upon a time, Valerie would have thought him quite cute.)
He sits down next to her.
"Do you want something to eat?"
She doesn't move.
"Are you okay?"
She shifts her head so she can see him. He doesn't look too intimidating. You never know, though.
"Time doesn't work any more," she says after a little while, "so are you okay?"
"It still works," he replies. "We just don't know how."
"Oh." Valerie is (was?) an English major.
The man sighs.
"I'm Derek," he says after a pause, like that will smooth everything over.
Yet somehow, it does.
"I'm Valerie, and I would love something to eat." This covers up the rumbling of her stomach quite nicely.
When Derek grabs her hand to help her up, she almost forgets that the world is might be ending.
It's not like Valerie could really forget.