Fear of the Fallen (S/A)
Title: Fear of the Fallen (S/A)
Author: cookiecoins
Pairing: Jalex
POV: Jack's
Summary: The first step to change is revisiting the past
Disclaimer: I own no-one in this story and nothing to do with their lives are controlled by me. This is completely fictional.
Author Notes: Inspired by English coursework - "The Quest"; your character is on a journey, and must overcome obstacles on the way - this is my interpretation (within the given word limit) Enjoy!
I am about to change someone’s life. Am I scared? No, I’m not scared; I’m terrified. A cold sweat teems threateningly against my forehead and my eyes dart erratically back and forth: anxiety. Do I want to do this? My fingers clutch onto the steering wheel fearfully like a lifeline. However, my efforts are futile: I am aware that this ring of metal, cool to the touch, is unable to stop the inevitable from happening.
Is this wise? May tells me that this is for the best: “you can’t start living in the present if you’re stranded in the past” she had slurred on night, a glass of white wine weighing on her hand and a drunken haze weighing on her mind. I had merely sent her a tight smile at the time and took a sip from my tap water, yet her words had thrown me into a disorientated and confused stupor alike to her own.
The car in front of me is slow, but I don’t mind. An elderly man probably resides in that dark green Sedan, hands shaking at the wheel and eyes squinting through a large pair of spectacles. Usually, this would infuriate me; I can feel the wrinkles creasing at my skin as the seconds pass, waiting for the sluggish man in the green Sedan to drive off into the distance and return home to his kind-eyed wife.
However, never before have I related so strongly to this man: my hands tremble at the wheel, my eyes squint through lurking tears and my heart sinks as I think of how this man may in fact be returning to an empty household: his kind-eyed wife now only a ghost standing in the hallway; her laughter a painful echo in his life. No, I can’t be annoyed by this bumbling old buffoon. As I said, I can relate.
I cast a wary glance to the passenger seat, my eyes searing holes into the loosely wrapped bunch of flowers which now occupy the previously vacant seat. My heart constricts and I allow a shaky breath to pass my lips as I try to focus my mind on the road: the task ahead. Once again, my eyes stray to the traitor flowers alone to my left, slowly dying with wilting petals. The flowers don’t belong in here; they are not welcome on the passenger seat which still holds a faint reminder of his oatmeal and honey scent.
A traffic light blinks red. The zombie with their foot on the pedal slows down. What has stopped me from doing this before? One year ago, I was invincible: nothing could stop me. If I had been challenged to a race, I would laugh and say “of course I can race you, if you’re ready to lose.” Truthfully, I was the one that wasn’t ready to lose. I can run a thousand races, but I don’t want to: I’m still not ready to lose. My greatest enemy is my fear of loneliness and denial of the truth; I walk a lie and fake a smile whilst reality screams its decision in my face. I have stopped listening to reality.
The light changes to green and I am allowed to move. My body moves and jolts the car into motion, but my mind is frozen in place: do I want to move? I am so close now, my destination waits like a predator hiding in the shadows: silent but deadly. Two blocks away from here, I am going to change someone’s life. The blood rushing through my ears is a constant drumbeat in my mind: a reminder that I am not a hollow shell of a person and I am as alive as the old man ahead is slow.
The seconds feel like hours in this car, my breaths being forced out of my lungs and the purr of the engine droning out the sounds of laughing children outside. It’s sunny outside, which is unusual: today is not supposed to be a beautiful day. I rev the engine and move faster.
As I pull into the entrance, I miss the old man lumbering along the road; a stranger holding my hand through this ordeal seems more attractive than enduring it myself. I pull on the handbrake and the engine cuts, leaving me to drown in the silence. The silence has never sounded so menacing. I scramble out of the car with wide eyes and find my legs propelling myself away from the car.
I’m not sure where I am running, but anything seems better than what I have run away from. As I come to stop, my chest heaving and my palms sweating, I realise that I was not only running away from the car, I was running away from the person I’ve been for the past year. I look to where I have stopped, and drop my gaze to find the flowers caught in a vice-like grip in my hands. This is it: this is happening. I’ve made it home.
I settle down on the grass and take a deep breath. The cold, hard stone in front of me has stolen my life from me for the past year, and I am finally ready to take it back.
“Hey Lex” I lay the flowers against the gravestone, the vibrant yellow pouring life and warmth into the silent ground. I smile: Alex would like that “Sorry I haven’t visited.”
I am about to change someone’s life; that life is my own.