It's a Metaphor

by Miranda-Ge

This is TFIOS revisited through the POV of Augustus. I will update this very frequently by chapter as long as I am getting feedback, so please read and review (: It isn't going to be a carbon-copy of the story, but the essential events of the novel will of course remain in-tact. Rated T because of language, illness, and possibly disturbing content related to the subject matter.

*This is a work of fan-fiction. I don't own the rights to anything in TFIOS. This is simply the story re-told from another point of view. I may add some scenes or lines in at leisure, but the basic story will still be the same. In any case, I hope you guys like it. I'm writing it because Augustus is the most beautifully complex literary character that I have ever read and as a writer getting into his head is not only a challenge, but a privilege. I will be doing this story on a chapter-by-chapter basis, if the first few chapters are well received. I will begin this with a short prologue chapter and then update frequently, probably at least two chapters a week. So I cannot stress enough how much your read/reviews mean to me. Nothing is more valuable to a writer then feed back (: So please let me know how I'm doing.

Enjoy.*

Prologue

It was an early winter morning when I found out. 6:09 A.M. to be exact. I don't have much left of me, these days. Maybe not anything at all, but I can remember, and I remember it was precisely six-0-nine in the goddamn morning.

I had awoken to the inherently masculine voice of Sargent Max Mayhem screaming for the blood of his people (he did that a lot, Max Mayhem). In the darkness of my basement room I fumbled around my bed sheets for the source of the deep roaring. It took me a small infinity to track it down: the tiny, seemingly ancient flip-phone. I didn't need to waste time checking the front screen of the archaic block, I had already known who was on the other end.

"Comrade!" I began, surprised at my own ability to mask both my annoyance and exhaustion with a hint of faux-enthusiasm. "you dare wake a soldier at this hour?" I paused. There was nothing, not a sound, just silence of the worst variety. The kind that burrows into you, scraping against your eardrums with microscopic chisels.

"Isaac…?" I asked, sitting up intently. "Buddy, talk to me."

"It's back…" he answered, finally.

Of course I already knew what it referred to. In our circle, the word it had a separate and definitive meaning, like the word he in religious sects. The only difference is, he was their savior and it was our Diablo.

I didn't know what to say. There was really nothing you could say to a kid dying of cancer. So I just sat there, letting the prehistoric demons of silence notch away sections of my head.