Do you know what you've done …do you know what you've done - DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!
You have forced me to create a brand new category, a category for the greatest film in the history of the world and even worse, you've forced me to fill it with my ramblings and various undeveloped brain farts.
Oh-ho-ho! You're all in for it now!
A-hem Anyway, this will be a series of Withnail and I ficlets, rated M for language, mature themes and man sex.
If I get enough ( or any ;D ) reviews, who knows, some of them may turn in to fully fledged fics.
So yeah….enjoy?
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Drabble 1: Three Little Words
Pairing:Withnail/Marwood (For those of you who don't know; Marwood is "I", he's named in the script and screenplay, but never in the film.)
"Listen Withnail, it's a stinker, why don't you go back?"
"Because I want to walk you to the station."
Another failed attempt at dissuading my companion, well…then this was it, time for cold hard facts.
I stopped and looked him hard in the face.
"Well don't, please don't, I really don't want you to."
Placing a hand upon his thin shoulder, I plaster the best smile I can on my face,
"I'm shall miss you Withnail."
There's not a hint of a smile on his; in fact, I've never seen him look so helpless, so vulnerable and so strangely innocent. His face looks even gaunter than ever, his cheekbones like knives under the surface of his pale skin, causing his great eyes to appear even larger then normal. They shine with a genuine misery. It all just makes me want to grab the stupid; skinny shit and never let him go…oh why must you make this so damn hard for me?
"I shall miss you too." He pauses, "Chin, chin!"
It is the most heartfelt, genuine thing he's ever said to me, and I can feel it. His silent pleading, begging me not to go, call me selfish, and perhaps I am, but I know for certain he's never going to survive without me. But I can't take this anymore.
And so, I turned my back and walked away.
It took every ounce of strength in me to keep walking and not look back. Not to look back at the tall, sparse figure I knew would be watching my every move, praying to God that I'd turn around.
Little does the world know what fine actors the both of us made, every day we were in role, playing the part of the mutual friends, hiding what we both knew to be true. Yet how could I live like that? How could I go on, living a lie, letting a love live unacknowledged?
It is indescribably painful.
And I can't be the strong one anymore. I can't.
The whole while I walk, I strain my ears for the sound of hurried footfall, a sudden embrace, a desperate kiss. The whispering – or shouting of those three words, three words every inch of me craves.
But no there's no sound. No sound but the distant traffic and steady rainfall.
I continue onward, towards whatever awaits me. A part of me has died, and I mourn that loss; allowing tears to silently fall, hiding themselves amongst the wetness all around me. But I know that after death comes rebirth…for most at least…
He didn't say them.
He didn't say them.
Oh god, why couldn't he say them?
Those three, little, words.
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Withnail's POV
Fine, oh fine you bastard! Walk away then, don't even look back while you're at it, and just leave me standing here. It's alright, I'll be ok.
Who am I fucking kidding? Of course I won't be ok.
Well what do you want me to do? Proclaim my love for you here in the rain, for all to hear? Present myself as the filthy creature I am? Tell you how I feel so you can look at me with disgust – perhaps even a little pity, and have an even better reason to go?
Bastard! Fucking bastard!
Why should I get down on one knee lay my heart on a silver platter, so you can knock it out of my hands! You're not a revolting sodomite like me. Your heart doesn't flip in your chest every time our eyes meet. You don't fantasize a certain warm body next to yours when you're alone and cold. I know you don't because if you did…you'd never be walking away.
Selfish fucking bastard! Pretty bastard! Damn it I love you.
All those Shakespeare sonnets, I always thought them so bloody whiny and always about, fucking, love!
But I understand now. I truly do.
Why, I think all this wallowing in self-pity and dramatic set of falling rain warrants some Hamlet. Yes, indeed! I even have the perfect soliloquy to end this play of heartbreak and suffering:
I have of late - but wherefore I know not - lost all my mirth; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! How like an angel in apprehension! How like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither…nor woman neither.
I bow to the unresponsive bitches behind the gate and examine the wine…yes, there's just enough to fill the barrels of my dear Uncle's shotgun…yes! What a dramatic, fitting way to go. A true finale for the thespian! And I hope that bastard guiltily returns to our squalid flat and discovers my blasted corpse. Hah! And I hope he weeps. How I hope he weeps, perhaps then he can appreciate a tiny fraction of my pain.
Alas! It's always the fate of the unappreciated in the world to vanish from it so young.
Well, it's my curtain call, yet there's no one to throw the roses.
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Thank you to anyone who read this.
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FOR FUCK'S SAKE "SKY HIGH" HAS MORE FANFICS THAN W&I – FUCKING CRAPPY SKY HIGH?
A-hem, sorry, no more ranting now, I promise.