Disclaimer: "I hurt myself To see if I still feel I focus on the pain The only thing that's real"
(An: …emo much? I've been seeing a strange animal lately, something I haven't glimpsed in a long time: good movies. V for Vendetta blew me away, and I spent about an hour with this fic stewing in my brain. I had a more grandiose vision for it, but I'm not that ambitious. This is very scatterbrained and rambly- I say he's kind of hallucinating from the blood loss, but you may call it crap if you like. Oh, the opening quote is from Nightwish- not a classic, I know, but I suck at appropriate quotes.)
"My tale is the most bitter truth: time pays us with but earth and dust, and a dark, silent grave." Not exactly Hemingway, but appropriate. I am dying, after all. Even if I didn't recognize the feeling, I would know- my clothes are slick with blood, my blood, and my eyesight, never spectacular, is wavering.
I will make it, though- I must. That hope is all I have left; my memories slip away from me like water through cupped hands. My first are of Larkhill, of course, but I am happy to see those go. Too long have they clung to my heart like poisonous burrs. Ah, but there is after the explosion…
The first time I died was in the fire. My body was raw, like someone had skinned me without bothering to kill me first and then rubbed me all over with salt. I was thirsty, and I was so weary- I just wanted it all to end. I had no conviction, as when planning to blow up Larkhill- all I had was pain. Even the hatred had left me for a while- I was empty. The only coherent thought: Away, away, I have to get away from there.
So I walked, and soon I found a creek. The stones hurt my feet, but the silt and water were heaven on my burns. I stared up at the sky, lying in the water, and wondered who I was. It didn't take long for the hate to fill me again.
Struggle. Struggle. So much of the rest is nothing but. Grand escapes. Grand thefts. Grand statements. All for this moment. Was it worth it?
Ah, but that way lies madness. I cannot doubt myself, not this late in the game. There's no turning back… I had that chance, and I walked away. My recollections pass me by as if they are painted on the walls I stumble along, and I am far too happy to leave that particular memory behind me. If the trail of my blood is the price I must pay for forgetting that look on her face… so be it.
I am happy to leave most of my memories anyway. Too much hatred. I don't want my last moments to be tainted with it. Too much of my life has.
Until Evey. Ah, God, Evey. The only reason I'm trying to get back to the tube I left is because of you. I'm sure that if- once, once, once, not if, I must not doubt or I will not prevail- I see you again, it will all come spilling out: how I have come to love my heartbeat because of the way it quickens every time I see you, how my nightmares have turned to dreams of you and I sitting by the Thames, how your last words haunt me ("We could leave-" have you no idea how long I hoped for that myself?).
I wish I had something else pleasant to remember, but all of my good memories eventually lead to you, dear. You reminded me that I was human, for you reminded me I could feel shame- shame that I could not accept your offer. But I have sought this for too long to be denied on the eve, my love.
After all, before you, this is what kept me alive. It is what kept me alive a few minutes ago (Was it so little? It has already started to feel like it was years since I started stumbling down these tunnels) when the pain was more intense- agony. But I have died before, and the pain faded quickly. Now it is nothing but pain, and pain I can bear. I have lived with it my whole life.
The first time I died was like this. It took longer for the agony to dim, but laying down in the water, naked as the day I was born, helped me think, to deal with the pain and hatred thrumming in my veins. My desire for revenge anchored me.
I suppose I should be glad that I am dying in body this time, not just in spirit. Now that I have achieved my goals, what would be the point…?
Evey, I suppose (I said it always comes back around to you), and good books, and lost culture, and all the other things that have kept me more or less sane over the years… and to see this country reclaim itself, to be a part of it instead of just outside of it…
But that's an impossibility. A silly dream I thought I'd let go of years ago. Those who create change are never wise enough to know how to shape it- anarchy is just another form of government, and it can go as wrong as any other. Anyway, people would not answer to someone they cannot look at.
You have a good face, Evey. They will listen to you. They know you are with me, and they know that I have made you who you are. They will learn that you can help them make use of what I have done- what they will do.
…Oh, I would love to see you lead…
There are a thousand things I would like to do right now, and I suppose there's no point in thinking about them- they would just waste time that I no longer have. I just must keep walking, no matter the temptation to sit and quietly bleed to death.
That alone is enough to keep me going- I have never done anything quietly in my life, and I do not intend to begin now.
Besides, my last several deaths were quiet, and that made them all the more painful. Evey, will you ever know how truly sorry I am? …No, not now, I suppose. If I had the time (but I will not- the trail is slowly widening) I would tell you how every time I walked out of that room and left you there, every time I walked back inside to resume the farce, every time I heard you scream… I died, and I was certain there was no coming back, but there always was, and I hated myself more every moment.
You called for your parents for the first week, and then you started calling for me, Evey, and I was quite certain that I would not survive the night. Not with you reciting every v word you knew between sobs, as if they were a charm that would pull me to you.
And then you found Valerie's note and read it aloud… That was the only time that you were with me that I was not thinking of you- I was remembering the night I read it myself. That note became my lifeline, just like it did for you. It made me think about someone else (who is she why does she care is this a trick), made me stop wondering who I was and start wondering where I was… cemented that feeling that made me start experimenting whenever I was not the experiment, inventing a way to escape.
And then the next day, you looked me calmly in the eye and told me you were not afraid to die, and I let you go. I lost count of how many times I died that day. My hands danced over broken shards of mirror; there was almost as much blood as now.
I close my eyes and try to forget, try to stumble on faster. Whenever I pause, the memories catch up, and no grand words will ever make them go away.
(I haven't written plain old angst in a such a long time… it felt really, really good. Please review? This is my first Vendetta fic.)