Fallen Hero
D/C: Don't own 'em.
A/N: I felt like writing a crazyfic stream of consciousness thing. I think I like it. Be sure you read all of the big paragraph. If you read into it, you'll understand better.
by: Anna M.
Colours. Colours on the wind on the breath of the people who walk through, pretend to be sorry with their fake breath, fake eyes hollow eyes hollow breath. I wonder, I wonder are my eyes so empty so hollow last time I saw them they were haunting haunting haunting and so painful that I smashed them, smashed them right into themselves right into the ripping shards, they rip, tear, make my face so rough so rough and ugly, so ugly they won't let me see it anymore, took all of me away, I no longer stare at that old cut, that old scar that jagged scar that marked me scarred me for death carved my fate into my brow marked for death. But I escaped. I escaped no one else did, I saw them all reach for me like I could save them, like I had some power I could save them make them live again every night they visit me, not them but their memories, their memories waltz in my brain around in my brain their voices filter through that dark that terrible terrible dark I can never be rid of never again escape into the confines of society that terrible dark. The dark that chains me to that night, that night, why always that night, over and over, like a looping reel, like a broken record just keeps playing, those hollow green eyes, hollow green flashes, the grip of the cold dark the laugh. The laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Never gone, never from my head. Never that laugh, never gone. Ha ha ha ha ha, it says to me, it laughs to me, it laughs and laughs. Ha ha ha ha ha. Not like sweet bells, like red sparkling in the sun, nothing like that. Ha ha ha ha ha. Like nails on a chalkboard, like the broken shards, broken tearing shards that deepen those shallow, hollow eyes. Never so much pain. Never so much pain as that night, never so much, not even turning the day to night forever, never so much as that pain, pain, coursing through, like tunnels, like I'm tunnels, my body, like tunnels, and then it's done, and it's over, and I've won. But I haven't really won, never really, really I've just lost a little less. Just lost a little less.
"Does he always mutter like that?" The girl answered, leaning against the cold, weather-beaten, long unused subway wall. She ran her finger down the bars of his makeshift cage.
"Yes, usually, this is when he's most responsive. His mind was under incredible pressure. And intense pain. No one really ever expected him to make it through unscathed. No one expect this, but...."
"Why do we have to hide like this? Hospitals in old underground stations, living like... slaves, captive in our own damn victory. Victory comes at a price. I would never have paid this much for it. Never."
"Were you one of the fighters?" The doctor asked.
"No, I wish I could say I was, but... my family all went. They made me promise to stay. And now I'm the only one left."
"Shall I tell him you stopped by when he becomes more responsive?"
"Well, I... I suppose. If it will help. If it will help, tell him Ginny stopped in."
The doctor smiled weakly. "I'll be sure to do that." The girl turned to leave.
"He was a hero, you know," the doctor said, and she stopped and turned.
"He still is," she whispered, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "He still is."
D/C: Don't own 'em.
A/N: I felt like writing a crazyfic stream of consciousness thing. I think I like it. Be sure you read all of the big paragraph. If you read into it, you'll understand better.
by: Anna M.
Colours. Colours on the wind on the breath of the people who walk through, pretend to be sorry with their fake breath, fake eyes hollow eyes hollow breath. I wonder, I wonder are my eyes so empty so hollow last time I saw them they were haunting haunting haunting and so painful that I smashed them, smashed them right into themselves right into the ripping shards, they rip, tear, make my face so rough so rough and ugly, so ugly they won't let me see it anymore, took all of me away, I no longer stare at that old cut, that old scar that jagged scar that marked me scarred me for death carved my fate into my brow marked for death. But I escaped. I escaped no one else did, I saw them all reach for me like I could save them, like I had some power I could save them make them live again every night they visit me, not them but their memories, their memories waltz in my brain around in my brain their voices filter through that dark that terrible terrible dark I can never be rid of never again escape into the confines of society that terrible dark. The dark that chains me to that night, that night, why always that night, over and over, like a looping reel, like a broken record just keeps playing, those hollow green eyes, hollow green flashes, the grip of the cold dark the laugh. The laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Never gone, never from my head. Never that laugh, never gone. Ha ha ha ha ha, it says to me, it laughs to me, it laughs and laughs. Ha ha ha ha ha. Not like sweet bells, like red sparkling in the sun, nothing like that. Ha ha ha ha ha. Like nails on a chalkboard, like the broken shards, broken tearing shards that deepen those shallow, hollow eyes. Never so much pain. Never so much pain as that night, never so much, not even turning the day to night forever, never so much as that pain, pain, coursing through, like tunnels, like I'm tunnels, my body, like tunnels, and then it's done, and it's over, and I've won. But I haven't really won, never really, really I've just lost a little less. Just lost a little less.
"Does he always mutter like that?" The girl answered, leaning against the cold, weather-beaten, long unused subway wall. She ran her finger down the bars of his makeshift cage.
"Yes, usually, this is when he's most responsive. His mind was under incredible pressure. And intense pain. No one really ever expected him to make it through unscathed. No one expect this, but...."
"Why do we have to hide like this? Hospitals in old underground stations, living like... slaves, captive in our own damn victory. Victory comes at a price. I would never have paid this much for it. Never."
"Were you one of the fighters?" The doctor asked.
"No, I wish I could say I was, but... my family all went. They made me promise to stay. And now I'm the only one left."
"Shall I tell him you stopped by when he becomes more responsive?"
"Well, I... I suppose. If it will help. If it will help, tell him Ginny stopped in."
The doctor smiled weakly. "I'll be sure to do that." The girl turned to leave.
"He was a hero, you know," the doctor said, and she stopped and turned.
"He still is," she whispered, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "He still is."