(no subject)
Once upon a time, Katurian had been the sort to write only happy stories, complete with loveable protagonists and endings that were always, always perfect. But this, of course, was a long time ago; twenty-two long years, to be exact, since his writings had been innocent and untainted by what he'd come to learn life was really like. And yet, it seemed that was all the bookshelf was willing to give him, books full of sickening-sweet stories about fairies and fluffy animals who could speak, ones likely to be read to a child at bedtime rather than make them go out and murder innocent people. Kids' books, the lot of them, and none of them worth his time, as far as he could see.
And then there, in between heavy leatherbound volumes with pages tipped in gold, was a small orange paperback, the color alone vivid enough to get his attention even without the words written down the spine. The Pillowman. Almost frantically, he pulled it from the shelf, stumbling backwards a few inches from where he was crouched. The Pillowman was his story, as far as he knew, no one had read it save the detectives and his brother, then the only copy had been burned, and yet somehow, the name printed as the author was one he'd never heard, Martin McDonagh. "Oh, what the hell," he whispered, staring at it for a long moment, like it was offensive just in its existence; finally, he flipped through a few pages and settled on one near the middle.
What he saw wasn't, to his surprise, the story he had written, nor was it something titled the same coincidentally. It was he and Michal, their names, things they'd said, things they'd done, every nauseating detail of the night in the prison cell there in black and white, formatted like a play, of all things. He stared more intently, having to will himself to read forward, to see how much the slim book held of his life (too much, he was sure, but still, he had to know). Everything, all of it was there in front of him; the book fell from his hands at what was marked as the end of 'Act two, scene one,' as if it were that fucking simple, splitting his life into parts, dividing the events that had brought him here like he weren't actually there to be reading it. And there was only one thing he could say - "Fuck."
[Is canon puncture time! I like bookshelf EPs, apparently. Comments will most likely include spoilers for The Pillowman. Immediate ST, as I'm off to bed shortly, but I needed to get this up before tomorrow because I still have another EP to write. :D]
And then there, in between heavy leatherbound volumes with pages tipped in gold, was a small orange paperback, the color alone vivid enough to get his attention even without the words written down the spine. The Pillowman. Almost frantically, he pulled it from the shelf, stumbling backwards a few inches from where he was crouched. The Pillowman was his story, as far as he knew, no one had read it save the detectives and his brother, then the only copy had been burned, and yet somehow, the name printed as the author was one he'd never heard, Martin McDonagh. "Oh, what the hell," he whispered, staring at it for a long moment, like it was offensive just in its existence; finally, he flipped through a few pages and settled on one near the middle.
What he saw wasn't, to his surprise, the story he had written, nor was it something titled the same coincidentally. It was he and Michal, their names, things they'd said, things they'd done, every nauseating detail of the night in the prison cell there in black and white, formatted like a play, of all things. He stared more intently, having to will himself to read forward, to see how much the slim book held of his life (too much, he was sure, but still, he had to know). Everything, all of it was there in front of him; the book fell from his hands at what was marked as the end of 'Act two, scene one,' as if it were that fucking simple, splitting his life into parts, dividing the events that had brought him here like he weren't actually there to be reading it. And there was only one thing he could say - "Fuck."
[Is canon puncture time! I like bookshelf EPs, apparently. Comments will most likely include spoilers for The Pillowman. Immediate ST, as I'm off to bed shortly, but I needed to get this up before tomorrow because I still have another EP to write. :D]