Fic: Other Withered Stumps of Time
Title: Other Withered Stumps of Time
Characters: Fred
Rating: G
Summary: "Sometimes, Fred feels like her brain's too full."
Disclaimer: Fred Burkle and any other people or places mentioned in this unofficial fanwork are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Not mine.
A/N: Fred perspective piece, during the summer between AtS season 2 and 3. My first shot at writing Angel fic and my first shot at Fred. Unbeta'd
"And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls"
-T.S. Elliot, The Wasteland
Sometimes, Fred feels like her brain's too full, because it's crammed with words and letters and numbers and letters-that-are-numbers and variables and values and formulas and equations, and it's just a lot of things to remember, all at once. There are far too many facts to know, too many names and terms and dates to keep track of, because there's so much history and the world is always changing, trending towards entropy. And, if nothing stays the same, how can she learn how everything was at one time, just to relearn it for the next time and the next and the next?
Fred thinks that she used to like to learn, in the time that was before; before Pylea, before the collar, before the cave, before Angel. Now, though, everything's so scrambled and mixed and matched, that it's a wonder she knows anything.
She was good at Physics and she liked to read books, or so Cordelia tells her when she comes to talk. She says that Fred is way smarter than she is, and she says lots of other stuff too, but it's a lot to remember. Fred thinks that some of the words and equations on her wall are Physics, but some days she isn't sure. Maybe she knew all those things once, but not anymore.
Fred likes to write stuff down, because then she can't forget. Then the words and numbers and symbols are always there, and even if she does forget, she can read it and remember it all over again. The walls in her room are covered in her scribbles, her writing, her thoughts, and she thinks that it all looks terribly beautiful if she squints her eyes so she can't tell what it says.
Only, Fred is running out of wall space, and she's filling in every tiny space and hole and gap she can find, but it feels like the words are growing closer together. Soon it will all be solid, and solids are incompressible, she knows that, and what happens then, when all the molecules and words and letters are too close together? When Fred can't write anymore, where will all of her thoughts go? How can she make them less of a jumble if she can't make them clear, turn them into words and letters and numbers, so it's just one language and she can understand it again?
She thinks that, maybe, if she could write down every thought she ever has, they'll stop bothering her, and everything will be peaceful and calm again, like she imagines it used to be. But, then she remembers how crowded her own four walls and ceiling and floor are, and she wonders how many rooms would it take to write down all of her thoughts. She thinks that if she had the formula, maybe she could know, but she when she tries to write one on her wall, it just fills a crevice between two other thoughts, and doesn't solve anything. Now there's even less space left than there was just a minute ago.
She hopes that if she writes everything down, it will stop confusing her and just leave her alone. If they all leave her alone, she won't have to write them on the walls, and then she can be done writing, before she runs out of space. There's only ever so much time, and she'd like some of it to be spent in silence. All of her thoughts are so loud now, and Fred just wants them to be quiet, before there's no room left.
Characters: Fred
Rating: G
Summary: "Sometimes, Fred feels like her brain's too full."
Disclaimer: Fred Burkle and any other people or places mentioned in this unofficial fanwork are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Not mine.
A/N: Fred perspective piece, during the summer between AtS season 2 and 3. My first shot at writing Angel fic and my first shot at Fred. Unbeta'd
"And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls"
-T.S. Elliot, The Wasteland
Sometimes, Fred feels like her brain's too full, because it's crammed with words and letters and numbers and letters-that-are-numbers and variables and values and formulas and equations, and it's just a lot of things to remember, all at once. There are far too many facts to know, too many names and terms and dates to keep track of, because there's so much history and the world is always changing, trending towards entropy. And, if nothing stays the same, how can she learn how everything was at one time, just to relearn it for the next time and the next and the next?
Fred thinks that she used to like to learn, in the time that was before; before Pylea, before the collar, before the cave, before Angel. Now, though, everything's so scrambled and mixed and matched, that it's a wonder she knows anything.
She was good at Physics and she liked to read books, or so Cordelia tells her when she comes to talk. She says that Fred is way smarter than she is, and she says lots of other stuff too, but it's a lot to remember. Fred thinks that some of the words and equations on her wall are Physics, but some days she isn't sure. Maybe she knew all those things once, but not anymore.
Fred likes to write stuff down, because then she can't forget. Then the words and numbers and symbols are always there, and even if she does forget, she can read it and remember it all over again. The walls in her room are covered in her scribbles, her writing, her thoughts, and she thinks that it all looks terribly beautiful if she squints her eyes so she can't tell what it says.
Only, Fred is running out of wall space, and she's filling in every tiny space and hole and gap she can find, but it feels like the words are growing closer together. Soon it will all be solid, and solids are incompressible, she knows that, and what happens then, when all the molecules and words and letters are too close together? When Fred can't write anymore, where will all of her thoughts go? How can she make them less of a jumble if she can't make them clear, turn them into words and letters and numbers, so it's just one language and she can understand it again?
She thinks that, maybe, if she could write down every thought she ever has, they'll stop bothering her, and everything will be peaceful and calm again, like she imagines it used to be. But, then she remembers how crowded her own four walls and ceiling and floor are, and she wonders how many rooms would it take to write down all of her thoughts. She thinks that if she had the formula, maybe she could know, but she when she tries to write one on her wall, it just fills a crevice between two other thoughts, and doesn't solve anything. Now there's even less space left than there was just a minute ago.
She hopes that if she writes everything down, it will stop confusing her and just leave her alone. If they all leave her alone, she won't have to write them on the walls, and then she can be done writing, before she runs out of space. There's only ever so much time, and she'd like some of it to be spent in silence. All of her thoughts are so loud now, and Fred just wants them to be quiet, before there's no room left.