I've been planning on making a video to James and John for a little while now (and songs are just difficult to come by you know?) and this popped into existence when I was running the bath (yes, creativity doesn't half have some timing :p).
I think this would be set some time after Normandy (obviously) but I'm guessing around the 60/70s because that sounds like a good time for this. :p
Tell me if you can guess who it is (and I guess the tags and such might give it away but meh)
And yes, I suck at naming things (something I have in common with Tesla apparently)
Kasey
Free of You?
Some nights it's easier for him to forget. To forget everything that came before, that came as a result. To simply forget.
Some nights, it's not. (A lot of nights.)
He didn't know what type this night was and he didn't care. He was lost and drowning in reckless abandon; him, reckless? Oh no. Not him. Never him. He was never reckless, he was always calculating, always analysing, always watching. He was never reckless. Except when he was.
Maybe it's some strange form of apathy, maybe he's too far gone in grief and despair, or maybe he just wishes he was. It gets harder for him before it gets easier (not really. Easy is boring, easy is dull, easy is safe).
Perhaps he's just wishful, no not wishful, wistful. Longing and pining as he sips his scotch (and dreams of faraway times) in the dead of the night and tries to forget but remember it all at the same time. He can't forget, but he won't remember either.
He lacks both the capacity and the will to do either, and sometimes (a lot of the time) he hates himself for it, for this. This gift, this curse, this hellish existence of his (because it really is hell for him on nights like this).
But can he really wish to be free of all of this? (He doesn't want to let it go because it's all a part of him) Could he have lived another life? (Would he have survived another life?) A dull, boring, standard-length life. Could he have survived not knowing them? (Him?) He doesn't think so (he knows he couldn't have).
Maybe tonight's not as bad as he initially thought (or maybe it is but his mind's working too fast for him to ponder anything for long). Maybe he should stop moping around ("I'm not moping around Helen") and wishing to forget ("Why would I want to forget all of this Nigel?"). He couldn't, wouldn't, ever forget what (who) made him to be as he is now; even if he should ("I'm fine. I'm content.")
The last dredges of his scotch are drained in seconds and he leaves the empty tumbler on the desk ("I don't drink Nikola. It doesn't do me any good.") He leaves his dark office, leaves the lights on low, and puts the ghosts to bed for a little while (they'll whisper to him and make him toss and turn all night long but he doesn't care) as he settles himself for another reckless night.
The dials should be checked (he always checks because he's responsible like that) but he doesn't care for it now. What would it matter if he stopped ticking now? (Would it really be so damaging to people for him to pass now after all this time?)
It's always like this though isn't it? Always the brief moment when he considers turning this dial and ending it all. He made this cruel perpetuator of his life and he can unmake it if he so wishes (wishes but doesn't want, because he could never want death without seeing him one more time).
He's spent a hundred years with this choice of his and he guesses he'll spend a couple more carrying it with all the ghosts in his mind. He's got time as yet.