well, merry crisis and happy holidays. here's to another year of living. the fandom is dead, all hail the fandom? jokes aside, first piece of writing in years, inspired by a piece of poetry(1) from a literature class that was intriguing enough for me to use a similar structure.
dedicated to sparkybubbles. one comment on ao3 led to another and well, the rest is history.
some clarifications: this fanfic is told through postscripts, in which the text that said postscripts are referring to are omitted purposefully as part of the writing style. it's not as convoluted as evillious, but still something that make our head hurt. please read it with an open mind. the version on ao3 should have better formatting when it comes out, but this will have to do for ff.
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(the text has been omitted)
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(1)the city smells of cigarette smoke and ashes. there are lights as far as the eye can see, changing with nary the blink of an eye and flick of her wrist.
a place of opportunities, the ghosts tell her, a place where you can be what you want when you want. a city of dreams, both old and new.*
it isn't a decision she makes lightly. the concept is expressed as the sum of all the pleasures and pains encapsulated in all of the maybes and certainties of life. the very nature of pain is woven into the universe like the threads of a loom. all worlds spin in pain. all worlds stop spinning.**
(2)the acceleration of an object in free fall is nine point eight meters per second. the math is accurate enough. ***
(3)that's all she is. just another face in the crowd.
no one will remember. no one will forget.
"are you done with your monologue," a voice says.
(4)alongside the tissue and blood and sinew lies a beating heart that moves only on inertia and memory. this boy is dead, his eyes a pale whisper of the depth of his despair.****
(5)it isn't. *****
(6)in another world, he could have been the one to save her. in another world, she would even let him.
(7)the human body is perpetually in motion. whether she's running away from the inevitable or rushing towards it remains to be seen.
she's the only one in the elevator. it's descending, the lights casting a dull glow against her silhouette. the walls are closing in. the endless ocean comes down on her. her lungs are acid, bursting against her ribs. she's drowning.
she notices the ringing in her ears are her screams right before the doors open.
*a city of broken dreams, her mind tells her, where the world ebbs and flows to the whims of the elite, where children starve in the streets as their parents labor to earn just that single cent more for measly scraps. the lies that have been spoken seep through the cracks of this generation seep through the bones of both the old and the new as the lies drip past the concrete, past the banks and brothels and straight to the hegemony.
**the last stage of evolution is extinction.
***the building is within the accepted parameters. it is nearly one hundred meters high.
****"we're the same," he says, one hand reaching out.
*****it really isn't. ******
******the best lies are the ones where you sprinkle a grain of truth.*******
*******she takes his hand in hers.