Standby

by Karu Leonnese

Notes: This is the first thing I've written for this. Ironically, it's based on almost true circumstances. I don't know if that should scare meh or not. Scri's thoughts are in parentheses, and Scriabin belongs to Zarla. Basically Edgar's whole current character is hers as well. Thankehs Zar. :grins:

Edgar's POV, which is really hard to write first-person for meh.

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I've finally figured out what to call it. How I've been going through the days lately. To use one of his themed metaphors, I've been running on standby. That's what I'm calling it, because I don't know of anything else -to- call it.

(A shared language, how nice.)

I haven't seen him in a few days. I'm pretty sure this has something to do with it.

(Understatement of the century, right there.)

I don't run on standby when he's there. I didn't used to at all. It's becoming a problem I should look into, if I was in any mood to do it. That's what standby does. It robs you of all but the most basic of thoughts.

It's based on routine. Standby isn't much if you have to think. You get up, get through the day, and somehow it's time to sleep again, without you really knowing where the day went. But then again, at that time, you don't really care. Laundry, dishes, cooking… it's all become a blur that my body works through without me even thinking about it anymore. Eating is a necessity, so it doesn't matter what you eat. I believe I went through a pack of ramens and a few cookies yesterday. My stomach hurts.

(I believe you're hungry.)

I didn't used to be this way.

So I get through my days on standby. Then sooner or later, we meet up again, and for some reason, I'm feeling things again. Albeit, usually fear, but it is -something- at least, and it's becoming a comfort just to feel scared. It doesn't make the fear lessen any, but it is good to feel at all.

(There's a lesson to be learned from that.)

The only thing I seem to feel in this mode is anger. Before all this, I was blessed with a huge amount of patience. This seems to be growing dangerously thin these days, surprising even myself with random outbursts to slight things that used to not even bother me.

(Especially people.)

They seem to grow more and more infuriating each day. Every little thing they do seems to enrage me now.

I find this a bit unsettling.

I believe I'm becoming more like him. At least that's what the voice tells me. Which is another problem altogether. While learning to deal with his voices and mood changes, I seem to be developing a few of my own.

(Scriabin.)

I don't know how it started. But then again, I don't think anyone really -knows- how these things begin. Regardless, he's always there. A constant running commentary in my head, pointing out my faults and flaws with a sadistical glee. Telling me every little thing I've done wrong, every little thing I could've done right, could have changed, could have prevented…

(I believe you're going on a bit.)

I seem to be doing that a lot lately as well.

People annoy me. The existence of an entire species seems to be little more than to screw each other over for a few material things. Destroying the very planet they live on, so they can spend their few decades living as lazily as possible.

(That's life.)

It didn't used to bother me so much.

I watched a game show the other day. I don't think I can anymore. So many screaming people, clamoring for a chance to get more free stuff. They make so much noise, the people. I find it more and more unnerving.

(That's living.)

It didn't used to bother me so much.

Simple things. Sure, I might not have had the most exciting life, but at least I could remember how I spent my days. Now it's all a blur.

(And you seem to jump subjects almost incoherently.)

Even inanimate objects are becoming a source of anger. The computer I'm on keeps shutting down before I can save. It's happened three times now, and I've lost about half of what I've said. I'm tempted to retype it, but I can't really remember that well.

(Memory seems to be yet another thing that's leaving you from this situation.)

I know I've changed.

(But is it for better, or for worse?)

I don't know.

(Aye, there's the rub.)

I've taking a liking to cereal.

(What?)

I know it seems random, but that's what this is about. The thoughts in my head currently. And they don't seem to be running on any train they used to.

(Cereal?)

It doesn't matter what kind. It seems to be the only thing I actually care about eating on standby. It's crunchy and scrapes the roof of my mouth. I've become increasingly aware that I enjoy this.

(Masochist.)

God, I'm starting to sound just like him. How did this happen? How did I go from another face in the crowd to…to this? Cereal…it's as bad as Spagettios. What's wrong with me?

(You're going crazy. I thought you knew that.)

I just don't know. I'm tired. Tired of fighting, tired of trying to prove myself…

(Tired of being in denial?)

Especially tired of arguing with myself.

(Then just admit I'm right.)

I tried to read again the other night.

(There you go, avoiding the inevitable once again…)

I tried to read again the other night. I used to read all the time, all kinds of books. Now I can't focus. I can read the same paragraph a dozen times and it still won't sink in.

Things seem to be getting more disjointed as I sit here. Even the beginning of this is in more control than I currently have.

(Guess what else is similar…)

Oh god, the Die-ary.

(Bingo.)

I know I'm changing.

(You're going crazy. I thought you knew that.)

Leave me alone. I'm going to sleep.

(Sweet dreams, Edgar dear.)

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Well, that was surreal. :shrugs: