Ficathon [#2]
MORE PURA FIC.
I sort of set myself a weird challenge of posting a fic a day until college starts on Wednesday 6th, I doubt I'll manage it but it's worth a try.
I guess this counts as fic #2 of my little ficathon. Another Plastic Tree fan fic (but there should be a variety of stuff this week.)
summary: A ship's sinking and Tarou worries about sinking with it. [1200 words approx.]
Sink
I’ve been watching this ship go down for hours. It vaguely reminds me of myself, not for any reason especially, it just does. I suppose I see my life as one big disorder or something, slowly sinking, hour after hour, into a wreck of disrepair. But, anyway, I’m finding watching the ship sink oddly therapeutic. I don’t even know why it’s sinking; I’ve just been standing and observing it - the way you watch TV, hypnotised, for so many vacant seconds before you even realise what it is you’re watching - except, well, I’ve been watching this ship go down for hours.
This ship-watching is a little escapist, I suppose, I don’t want to go home so I’m just watching a ship sink. More than not wanting to go home, there’s nowhere I want to be. I don’t want to be working, performing, recording, any of it. I don’t want to go to a bar that’s jam packed full of people, don’t have anyone I want to visit or anyone I want to see and I don’t want to go home, that cabinet of a possessions strewn, disorganised - everywhere - from the last time I tried to find anything. Home is the place where my stuff is.
The ship, by the way, is only about a third underwater but I couldn’t say which end was the bow and which the stern to tell you the side that had gone down. My life too is about one third over, maybe more. I’ve probably gone through most of the best years of my life already and it worries me to think how little I’ve learnt along the way.
The place I’m watching the ship from is surprisingly empty, vaguely, I’m aware that no one else seems to have noticed the ship at all. If they have, there must be some better place to see it from but I’m quite happy just being here. I’d happily stay here until the ship disappeared beneath the surface but that isn’t going to happen because, some part of me is worried that if I see the whole thing sink the same thing will happen to me, because if I watch it to the end, comparing it to myself the whole time, it’ll be as if I’ve given up on myself. The ship’s going down but I don’t want to go down with it. My dilemma is that I still, I don’t want to go home and where else could I go? It’s not as if there’s anyone I’m close to who wouldn’t mind me showing up, late at night, just because.
I buy coffee from a vending machine - because that way I don’t even have to speak to anyone - and I take a mostly-empty train to some other neighbourhood and sit on the swings in a park, still thinking of the soon-to-be shipwreck that must be at least three eighths sunk by now. No matter what I do, I can’t help but picture the sinking ship and feel like I have the same fate.
My mobile phone vibrates inside one of my pockets and in my surprise I drop my not-even half drunk coffee and it spills all over my shoes. I take the phone out because it won’t stop. It’s an incoming call, I don’t even check who it’s from before I answer it.
I let them do the talking. “Hello?” They ask, “Are you alright?” And I recognise the voice as Akira’s. “I’ve been phoning your place for hours.”
“I haven’t been there.” I tell him as the coffee seeps through my cloth shoes and into my socks. “I’ve been watching a ship sinking…” I say this slowly but not as if there’s anything especially interesting about it. “Why did you want to speak to me?” I ask - because asking seems natural.
“I just wondered where you were so late, I guess.” He replies, sounding fairly unsure of himself.
“Akira, if I went to prison, would you visit me?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I guess, I mean, wouldn’t you visit me?”
“I don’t know, I might be too scared. I’ve never been to a prison before.” I kick myself off the ground on the little playground swing and ask him, “Are you at home right now?”
He tells me that he is and asks where I am.
“I’m in a kid’s playground,” I tell him and I mention how I rode the train to some neighbourhood I didn’t know to well, got off and wandered about for a while until I found it. I tell him about how I thought watching the ship until it sank would make me feel like I’d sunk too. And he asks me if I want to come over and I say yes but that it might take a while for me to get there.
The lights on the train are a whole lot brighter than street lights and they leave a yellowish outline in my eyes when I get off near Akira’s place. I take a taxi for the last part of the journey because my left sock is drenched through with cold coffee and it’s starting to itch.
Akira’s apartment building’s fairly new and classy with big windows and glass front doors which lead to a lobby where a guard sits at a desk and looks up from a newspaper tiredly as I enter. He doesn’t ask any questions though so I continue upstairs to see Akira.
Akira takes a minute to answer the door, not that I mind much. His apartment’s quite welcoming in comparison to mine, it seems warmer and cleaner and it’s like a landscape that’s been customised to fit his needs and desires. There are posters for films and bands in frames on his walls and there are several guitars on stands in view, a bookcase full of CDs and another of books. If my apartment’s a cabinet of possessions, his is a snapshot of his life.
Akira doesn’t mind me taking off my socks before I come inside, he makes coffee and we sit on his sofa and do band talk and then he asks about my watching the ship and then, when I’ve told him the whole story and he’s apologised for causing me to drop my coffee in the park, I ask again why he called.
“At first, I just wanted company, I guess.” He says, “But then I did get kind of worried because it was so late… Probably stupid of me.”
There’s a little moment of silence and Akira drinks some coffee awkwardly. “I was glad you called.” I tell him, “I was kind of feeling there was nowhere I could go.” He smiles at me, “But I like it here.”
It’s already late but I play guitar with Akira for at least a half hour before he says that I’m welcome to stay and rolls out a futon in the middle of his floor for me.
As I climb in between the airing cupboard-warm sheets, I say, “I guess that ship must’ve sunk by now.” And Akira smiles and says goodnight leaving me with somewhere to be that’s nicer than a sinking ship.
I sort of set myself a weird challenge of posting a fic a day until college starts on Wednesday 6th, I doubt I'll manage it but it's worth a try.
I guess this counts as fic #2 of my little ficathon. Another Plastic Tree fan fic (but there should be a variety of stuff this week.)
summary: A ship's sinking and Tarou worries about sinking with it. [1200 words approx.]
Sink
I’ve been watching this ship go down for hours. It vaguely reminds me of myself, not for any reason especially, it just does. I suppose I see my life as one big disorder or something, slowly sinking, hour after hour, into a wreck of disrepair. But, anyway, I’m finding watching the ship sink oddly therapeutic. I don’t even know why it’s sinking; I’ve just been standing and observing it - the way you watch TV, hypnotised, for so many vacant seconds before you even realise what it is you’re watching - except, well, I’ve been watching this ship go down for hours.
This ship-watching is a little escapist, I suppose, I don’t want to go home so I’m just watching a ship sink. More than not wanting to go home, there’s nowhere I want to be. I don’t want to be working, performing, recording, any of it. I don’t want to go to a bar that’s jam packed full of people, don’t have anyone I want to visit or anyone I want to see and I don’t want to go home, that cabinet of a possessions strewn, disorganised - everywhere - from the last time I tried to find anything. Home is the place where my stuff is.
The ship, by the way, is only about a third underwater but I couldn’t say which end was the bow and which the stern to tell you the side that had gone down. My life too is about one third over, maybe more. I’ve probably gone through most of the best years of my life already and it worries me to think how little I’ve learnt along the way.
The place I’m watching the ship from is surprisingly empty, vaguely, I’m aware that no one else seems to have noticed the ship at all. If they have, there must be some better place to see it from but I’m quite happy just being here. I’d happily stay here until the ship disappeared beneath the surface but that isn’t going to happen because, some part of me is worried that if I see the whole thing sink the same thing will happen to me, because if I watch it to the end, comparing it to myself the whole time, it’ll be as if I’ve given up on myself. The ship’s going down but I don’t want to go down with it. My dilemma is that I still, I don’t want to go home and where else could I go? It’s not as if there’s anyone I’m close to who wouldn’t mind me showing up, late at night, just because.
I buy coffee from a vending machine - because that way I don’t even have to speak to anyone - and I take a mostly-empty train to some other neighbourhood and sit on the swings in a park, still thinking of the soon-to-be shipwreck that must be at least three eighths sunk by now. No matter what I do, I can’t help but picture the sinking ship and feel like I have the same fate.
My mobile phone vibrates inside one of my pockets and in my surprise I drop my not-even half drunk coffee and it spills all over my shoes. I take the phone out because it won’t stop. It’s an incoming call, I don’t even check who it’s from before I answer it.
I let them do the talking. “Hello?” They ask, “Are you alright?” And I recognise the voice as Akira’s. “I’ve been phoning your place for hours.”
“I haven’t been there.” I tell him as the coffee seeps through my cloth shoes and into my socks. “I’ve been watching a ship sinking…” I say this slowly but not as if there’s anything especially interesting about it. “Why did you want to speak to me?” I ask - because asking seems natural.
“I just wondered where you were so late, I guess.” He replies, sounding fairly unsure of himself.
“Akira, if I went to prison, would you visit me?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I guess, I mean, wouldn’t you visit me?”
“I don’t know, I might be too scared. I’ve never been to a prison before.” I kick myself off the ground on the little playground swing and ask him, “Are you at home right now?”
He tells me that he is and asks where I am.
“I’m in a kid’s playground,” I tell him and I mention how I rode the train to some neighbourhood I didn’t know to well, got off and wandered about for a while until I found it. I tell him about how I thought watching the ship until it sank would make me feel like I’d sunk too. And he asks me if I want to come over and I say yes but that it might take a while for me to get there.
The lights on the train are a whole lot brighter than street lights and they leave a yellowish outline in my eyes when I get off near Akira’s place. I take a taxi for the last part of the journey because my left sock is drenched through with cold coffee and it’s starting to itch.
Akira’s apartment building’s fairly new and classy with big windows and glass front doors which lead to a lobby where a guard sits at a desk and looks up from a newspaper tiredly as I enter. He doesn’t ask any questions though so I continue upstairs to see Akira.
Akira takes a minute to answer the door, not that I mind much. His apartment’s quite welcoming in comparison to mine, it seems warmer and cleaner and it’s like a landscape that’s been customised to fit his needs and desires. There are posters for films and bands in frames on his walls and there are several guitars on stands in view, a bookcase full of CDs and another of books. If my apartment’s a cabinet of possessions, his is a snapshot of his life.
Akira doesn’t mind me taking off my socks before I come inside, he makes coffee and we sit on his sofa and do band talk and then he asks about my watching the ship and then, when I’ve told him the whole story and he’s apologised for causing me to drop my coffee in the park, I ask again why he called.
“At first, I just wanted company, I guess.” He says, “But then I did get kind of worried because it was so late… Probably stupid of me.”
There’s a little moment of silence and Akira drinks some coffee awkwardly. “I was glad you called.” I tell him, “I was kind of feeling there was nowhere I could go.” He smiles at me, “But I like it here.”
It’s already late but I play guitar with Akira for at least a half hour before he says that I’m welcome to stay and rolls out a futon in the middle of his floor for me.
As I climb in between the airing cupboard-warm sheets, I say, “I guess that ship must’ve sunk by now.” And Akira smiles and says goodnight leaving me with somewhere to be that’s nicer than a sinking ship.