Author's Note: Wow! It sure has been awhile, hasn't it. The last time I wrote anything on here I was twelve and writing truly horrible Legend of Zelda fanfiction. Not that I've given up my love for Zelda, and Malink, of course, but I hope I can say that I've matured a lot since then, and that my writing has gotten so much better. Anyway, this is really just a series of drabbles I've been writing at school when I've been really bored - mostly during geometry - they are of course, not the best examples of my writing, but this is fanfiction! It's not supposed to be the next Harry Potter! So, I guess if you really love Portal as much as I do - and believe me that I'm head over heels for it - please enjoy these very random drabbles!
His Purgatory
He writes on the walls, everywhere, anywhere. Murals, scribbles, everything, anything. They help him forget, to float away on the monotony of painting. The gentle sweep of brush on concrete, like a ship on the sea. Sometimes, he is not even aware of what he's painting. And then, he'll look at what he's done, and the waves of guilt and regret will wash over his delicate ship, and completely destroy it in its mercilessness. And he remembers how he could have tried so much harder to save her, to save both of them. And he scrabbles on the walls of his cage, the impossibly large cage that he himself helped build. He is no better than a rat.
The Rat wishes that he could forget it all, but he can't.
He can't.
He can't.
The Rat screams into the endless hum and grind of ancient machinery, it makes him kick the walls, and the paint cans, and scratch at his ears until they bleed. But the sound never leaves him. The Machine is always there, always watching, and She is part of it. The Rat made Her into the Machine, and he hates himself, hates this cell. But he can't leave; all of the doors are locked and barred, and even if they weren't, she holds him there. His other failure, the child that was his responsibility. And it was his duty to protect her, but he had failed.
He hears them, both of them. The memories wave and flicker in front of him, usually so far away. He can hear them, hear them scream, beg, they need him to save them. And he runs, but they're just out of reach. One more step. But they never get closer. Then, occasionally, as if to torture him more, the memories appear so close that the Rat can reach in and touch them. Change every one of his failures. Correct the mistakes, right the wrongs. Change the past.
Change the past.
Change the past.
The only companion he has here is a Box. She was once alive, a real person. But she was tested once, and now she's dead, worse than dead. Just alive, inside the box, never able to reach up and open it. She's in the dark, calling out to the Rat; calms him, tells him that what he hears is not real. But he knows, deep inside, that it is. The screams of his failures bottle up inside, until they fill him up, and he thinks that he might explode. But he can't, not yet.
Because there's still one thing he has to live for: The hope that someday, she can be free. She can see the outside world with eyes filled with wonder, eyes that haven't seen the sun in so long. And he draws her, every detail etched in his mind. The cream skin and black hair. The field of wheat around her, the yellow of it, swaying in the wind, and the blue, blue sky. And there's no way to save her. No way. But...maybe he can.
But maybe he can.
But maybe he can.
If he can set her on her way. If anyone can escape the Machine's grasp, Her grasp, it would be her. His darling, darling daughter. His Chell. For her, he would do it. He would risk everything just to see her beautiful smile one more time. For her, he would change the future.
Change the future.
Change the future.