Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Not mine.
Author's Notes: A counter-deathfic-like story, with no particular characters in mind. Just because I've been seeing deathfics in a lot of fandoms lately, I've been writing them myself, and a fandom just lost someone infinitely special and gifted.
Black Coffee
Like his coffee, he takes his grief black. For one that soberly understands, there is no other way to take it.
He hears the stories of murders: poisons slipped into wine glasses; swan dives off the Brooklyn Bridge; lovers, torn apart by tragedy; bloody, unidentifiable bodies left in alleys. He has heard them, and he knows the truth about them. These stories are not the norm in this city. They are, quite simply, stories, stories turned into melodrama and exaggerated for the sake of entertainment.
The fact that death can be entertaining to people makes his heart break.
In New York, death is freezing in a snowdrift because someone stole your boots. Death is wasting away from the inside, because no one will hire a street rat and you can never find a handout that will help you afford a doctor. Death is tripping on a cobblestone and falling in the path of a carriage without anyone to help you move out of the way.
Death is not a romantic, entertaining idea.
The people who find death entertaining are the ones with full bellies, who have a bed and a loved one to come home to and a stable job to come from. They always have money in their pockets and see the world through special blinders.
To be short, the people who find death entertaining have never experienced life.
They have never stopped in the middle of a street and stares skyward, overwhelmed by the shock and wonder of how beautiful and blue the sky is. They have never woken up the morning and looked in a cracked mirror, but still, they like what the see because they are there. They have never given their last penny to a beggar, not because of pity but because of compassion and realization that even though they have it bad, someone else has it worse, and they should be taken care of. They have never found a shoulder to lean on when they need it most. They have never been able to fall in love with life countless times, over and over and over and over again, no matter how many bad things happen to them. They have never realized how life is fragile and beautiful and wonderful and, above all things, fleetingly precious and needing to be cherished. But still, they sensationalize this thing they think they are captivated by, this thing they should avoid, not be entertained by.
Think about it next time you add cream and sugar to your coffee.
Author's Notes: A counter-deathfic-like story, with no particular characters in mind. Just because I've been seeing deathfics in a lot of fandoms lately, I've been writing them myself, and a fandom just lost someone infinitely special and gifted.
Black Coffee
Like his coffee, he takes his grief black. For one that soberly understands, there is no other way to take it.
He hears the stories of murders: poisons slipped into wine glasses; swan dives off the Brooklyn Bridge; lovers, torn apart by tragedy; bloody, unidentifiable bodies left in alleys. He has heard them, and he knows the truth about them. These stories are not the norm in this city. They are, quite simply, stories, stories turned into melodrama and exaggerated for the sake of entertainment.
The fact that death can be entertaining to people makes his heart break.
In New York, death is freezing in a snowdrift because someone stole your boots. Death is wasting away from the inside, because no one will hire a street rat and you can never find a handout that will help you afford a doctor. Death is tripping on a cobblestone and falling in the path of a carriage without anyone to help you move out of the way.
Death is not a romantic, entertaining idea.
The people who find death entertaining are the ones with full bellies, who have a bed and a loved one to come home to and a stable job to come from. They always have money in their pockets and see the world through special blinders.
To be short, the people who find death entertaining have never experienced life.
They have never stopped in the middle of a street and stares skyward, overwhelmed by the shock and wonder of how beautiful and blue the sky is. They have never woken up the morning and looked in a cracked mirror, but still, they like what the see because they are there. They have never given their last penny to a beggar, not because of pity but because of compassion and realization that even though they have it bad, someone else has it worse, and they should be taken care of. They have never found a shoulder to lean on when they need it most. They have never been able to fall in love with life countless times, over and over and over and over again, no matter how many bad things happen to them. They have never realized how life is fragile and beautiful and wonderful and, above all things, fleetingly precious and needing to be cherished. But still, they sensationalize this thing they think they are captivated by, this thing they should avoid, not be entertained by.
Think about it next time you add cream and sugar to your coffee.