Irrevocable
Title: Irrevocable
Written for: fanfic100
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Character: Jess Mariano
Prompt: 030. Death.
Word Count: 1068
Rating: PG
Summary: Somehow the image of that stretcher being rolled out of the building, with the shapeless black plastic bag seemingly carelessly thrown on it made my stomach twitch.
Author's Notes: I started writing this in the morning, but then I realized that what I had written was not about Jess at all, but about me. And I guess reading what I had written got me into a rather depressed mood. But I decided to try to write this one anyway, if only to get past that feeling, and this is the result. I know I posted a fic just a couple days ago on kinda the same theme (at least vaguely), but well, here’s one more. Look at this one as therapy if you like.
Disclaimer: I never have and (sadly) never will own anything related to Gilmore Girls or Jess Mariano.
It’s final.
There’s no choice left. Once you’ve passed that line there’s no going back, nothing you can do to change it.
That’s probably the thing that scares me most about it. The fact that it’s definite.
Fucking irrevocable.
I never believed in all that crap about heaven and hell. And even if I did, what’s the point? There’s no way I’d go to heaven anyway, so I’d still be pretty screwed.
Right?
No, to me it’s simple. You die. And that’s it.
No angels, no pearly gates, no happy ending. Just a pile of bones, flesh and skin that slowly returns to nature.
Or fast if they burn your body.
And when it happens, everything you did in life and everything you didn’t do will forever be left behind, as a reminder of your life and the choices you made.
No matter how crappy they were or how much you regret them, they’ll be there and they’ll be the only thing left of you.
A rather depressing thought, considering the choices I’ve made so far.
Ok, so it’s a fucking terrifying thought; fits perfectly somewhere in the general vicinity of a really damn hard punch in the gut.
The problem is, I don’t know how to fix any of it.
But I better figure out something soon, ‘cause there’s no way in hell I’m gonna end up like the guy they just wheeled out of the building on a stretcher, stashed in a black body bag.
With no one to care if you’re gone, no one to remember you as anything else than a bunch of trouble.
There has to be some way.
Right?
The paramedics push the stretcher into the waiting ambulance and soon the street is empty again. Or as empty as it gets around here at midnight. There’s always people hanging around in the corners and the entryways to the buildings.
It’s never quiet. And it always smells like a dump. It’s fucking disgusting when you think about it.
But then again, I’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking in the past months.
The police have already talked to everyone in the vicinity, including me, although the only thing I know is what I heard when I got here not that long ago. And then they had already sealed off the building.
By now they are gone and have probably already written the death off as an overdose. Shrugged it off as something inevitable.
It‘s a wide known fact in the neighborhood that Mike has been stoned more or less constantly for the past years. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise to anyone that he was dead.
But somehow the image of that stretcher being rolled out of the building, with the shapeless black plastic bag seemingly carelessly thrown on it made my stomach twitch.
It wasn’t a good feeling. Far from it.
Not that I’m in any immediate danger of dying from an overdose. But in this neighborhood, you never know what happens.
It’s not like Mike was the first person I’d seen wheeled off to a waiting ambulance. And he would be far from the last.
And next time it could just as easily be me getting in the way of a bullet or get caught in the middle of one of the street fights that seem to come with increasing frequency.
It’s not like it’s never happened.
Through some crazy fluke I’ve just managed to avoid it so far.
But somehow in the past couple of minutes the fog that has been taking over my mind in the past months disappeared. The fog I had swept everything I didn’t want to remember in was suddenly gone in less than a second.
And standing there, suddenly without that barrier between me and the reality is one hell of a wake up call.
And I wonder how the hell I ended up here.
Of course, I know the answer to that question. I didn’t give a damn about what happened to me when I got back to the city and then I just went on.
And nothing ever gave me a reason to care again. No, I never gave myself a reason to care.
Because caring would mean that I had to see everything, remember everything, feel everything. And I couldn’t handle that.
I’m still not sure if I can handle it, but I don’t think I have a choice anymore.
Or maybe I do and I already made it without knowing it.
However it happened I’m here, for the first time in a while completely conscious of the world around me.
And I’ve made my choice.
And somehow that suddenly seems like the easy part.
What the hell am I gonna do now? How the hell am I gonna get some direction on my life, get out of this place and actually do something worth while?
Yeah, that’s a damned good question.
And to tell the truth I have no fucking idea.
But realizing that is a start, right? It has to be because otherwise I’m just gonna be back where I was only a few minutes ago.
And there’s no way I’m gonna let that happen again.
I suddenly feel someone staring at me and I realize I’ve been standing here for too long, staring after the ambulance. It’s not a good idea to do that around here, something I should damn well know by now.
I only hope that my face hasn’t revealed anything that went on in my head, ‘cause that would be even more stupid.
But when I start walking into the building, and continue up to the apartment no one follows me. I let out an involuntary breath of relief and climb the last couple of stairs, entering the seventh floor.
I shudder on the inside at the state of the place and wonder how the hell I could have lived here for so long, deciding to get out of here as fast as possible.
That has to be a good first step. If not I have no idea what would be.
But it feels right.
For the first time in a long time.
Maybe in time I’ll even be able to right some of the mistakes I’ve made. If not all so at least enough to make me able to go forward in life.
To hopefully some day wake up not hating myself.
Written for: fanfic100
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Character: Jess Mariano
Prompt: 030. Death.
Word Count: 1068
Rating: PG
Summary: Somehow the image of that stretcher being rolled out of the building, with the shapeless black plastic bag seemingly carelessly thrown on it made my stomach twitch.
Author's Notes: I started writing this in the morning, but then I realized that what I had written was not about Jess at all, but about me. And I guess reading what I had written got me into a rather depressed mood. But I decided to try to write this one anyway, if only to get past that feeling, and this is the result. I know I posted a fic just a couple days ago on kinda the same theme (at least vaguely), but well, here’s one more. Look at this one as therapy if you like.
Disclaimer: I never have and (sadly) never will own anything related to Gilmore Girls or Jess Mariano.
It’s final.
There’s no choice left. Once you’ve passed that line there’s no going back, nothing you can do to change it.
That’s probably the thing that scares me most about it. The fact that it’s definite.
Fucking irrevocable.
I never believed in all that crap about heaven and hell. And even if I did, what’s the point? There’s no way I’d go to heaven anyway, so I’d still be pretty screwed.
Right?
No, to me it’s simple. You die. And that’s it.
No angels, no pearly gates, no happy ending. Just a pile of bones, flesh and skin that slowly returns to nature.
Or fast if they burn your body.
And when it happens, everything you did in life and everything you didn’t do will forever be left behind, as a reminder of your life and the choices you made.
No matter how crappy they were or how much you regret them, they’ll be there and they’ll be the only thing left of you.
A rather depressing thought, considering the choices I’ve made so far.
Ok, so it’s a fucking terrifying thought; fits perfectly somewhere in the general vicinity of a really damn hard punch in the gut.
The problem is, I don’t know how to fix any of it.
But I better figure out something soon, ‘cause there’s no way in hell I’m gonna end up like the guy they just wheeled out of the building on a stretcher, stashed in a black body bag.
With no one to care if you’re gone, no one to remember you as anything else than a bunch of trouble.
There has to be some way.
Right?
The paramedics push the stretcher into the waiting ambulance and soon the street is empty again. Or as empty as it gets around here at midnight. There’s always people hanging around in the corners and the entryways to the buildings.
It’s never quiet. And it always smells like a dump. It’s fucking disgusting when you think about it.
But then again, I’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking in the past months.
The police have already talked to everyone in the vicinity, including me, although the only thing I know is what I heard when I got here not that long ago. And then they had already sealed off the building.
By now they are gone and have probably already written the death off as an overdose. Shrugged it off as something inevitable.
It‘s a wide known fact in the neighborhood that Mike has been stoned more or less constantly for the past years. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise to anyone that he was dead.
But somehow the image of that stretcher being rolled out of the building, with the shapeless black plastic bag seemingly carelessly thrown on it made my stomach twitch.
It wasn’t a good feeling. Far from it.
Not that I’m in any immediate danger of dying from an overdose. But in this neighborhood, you never know what happens.
It’s not like Mike was the first person I’d seen wheeled off to a waiting ambulance. And he would be far from the last.
And next time it could just as easily be me getting in the way of a bullet or get caught in the middle of one of the street fights that seem to come with increasing frequency.
It’s not like it’s never happened.
Through some crazy fluke I’ve just managed to avoid it so far.
But somehow in the past couple of minutes the fog that has been taking over my mind in the past months disappeared. The fog I had swept everything I didn’t want to remember in was suddenly gone in less than a second.
And standing there, suddenly without that barrier between me and the reality is one hell of a wake up call.
And I wonder how the hell I ended up here.
Of course, I know the answer to that question. I didn’t give a damn about what happened to me when I got back to the city and then I just went on.
And nothing ever gave me a reason to care again. No, I never gave myself a reason to care.
Because caring would mean that I had to see everything, remember everything, feel everything. And I couldn’t handle that.
I’m still not sure if I can handle it, but I don’t think I have a choice anymore.
Or maybe I do and I already made it without knowing it.
However it happened I’m here, for the first time in a while completely conscious of the world around me.
And I’ve made my choice.
And somehow that suddenly seems like the easy part.
What the hell am I gonna do now? How the hell am I gonna get some direction on my life, get out of this place and actually do something worth while?
Yeah, that’s a damned good question.
And to tell the truth I have no fucking idea.
But realizing that is a start, right? It has to be because otherwise I’m just gonna be back where I was only a few minutes ago.
And there’s no way I’m gonna let that happen again.
I suddenly feel someone staring at me and I realize I’ve been standing here for too long, staring after the ambulance. It’s not a good idea to do that around here, something I should damn well know by now.
I only hope that my face hasn’t revealed anything that went on in my head, ‘cause that would be even more stupid.
But when I start walking into the building, and continue up to the apartment no one follows me. I let out an involuntary breath of relief and climb the last couple of stairs, entering the seventh floor.
I shudder on the inside at the state of the place and wonder how the hell I could have lived here for so long, deciding to get out of here as fast as possible.
That has to be a good first step. If not I have no idea what would be.
But it feels right.
For the first time in a long time.
Maybe in time I’ll even be able to right some of the mistakes I’ve made. If not all so at least enough to make me able to go forward in life.
To hopefully some day wake up not hating myself.