Title: Definition: Harangue
Series: Definition
Author: Dream Writer 4 Life
Genre: Hangst — humour/angst
Rating: PG-13 for language
Archived: SD-1, here, and Cover Me. Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive!
'Shippers' Paradise: S/V
Spoilers/Timeline: Future fic: when Lauren is found out for the ugly mole she is
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Period. End of story. Wait, no it's not! Keep reading!
Summary: Harangue: a lengthy and aggressive speech. Reaction to the Mole Finding. First in the Definition Series. A Dream Writer Experience.
Author's Note: Written in France. Enjoy.

Definition: Harangue

Ha· rangue, noun: a lengthy and aggressive speech; verb intrans: lecture (someone) at length in an aggressive and critical manner.

"I want out.

"You know why?

"Because my world is crumbling. It's falling piece by piece and I can't stop it. Just breathing takes all my energy and overrides any other thought. At this moment, nothing could ever glue my world together as it was before, or at least in a phantom semblance of happiness. Everyone is gone, and now I am all alone. All of the trust, the trysts, and truths are gone: murdered, drowned, and burned. The former rock in my life has eroded — crumbled against the promises.

"The promises are broken.

"I can't breathe; the lies are suffocating me. I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of them, but no one's there with a life preserver. I'm struggling and struggling, but I-I can't get up over the crests. And they just stand there and laugh at me.

"Why does everyone like to screw me over? Do they find it fun? Does it give them pleasure? Sexual gratification? WHAT! Because I'm sick and tired of making them happy and not me. Is it really that hard to allow me five minutes of happiness now and then? Hell, I'd take five seconds! I want to do something for myself instead of the Agency or the Fate of the Free World as We Know It. Is that really too much to ask?

"I just — I need to get away. I need to find a place away from any noise, any movement, anything breathing.

"But I can't move. I'm stuck in the same rut doing the same self-destructive, character-deprecating things I've always done, and no other self-respecting, sane person would even think of. I mean, come on! Would a sane person be talking to themselves?

"I see death in every person's eyes: millions, billions of drones — lemmings — falling one after another over the cliff, not knowing or caring that it's coming, or why. I see hopelessness in every person's face; the look of a person who has surrendered to fear, succumbed to the weight of the world; forgotten how to love; forgotten how to feel; forgotten how to live.

"And it scares me.

"Because I know I look like them.

"Even though my job is far from normal, you really couldn't tell by just glancing at me. If I walked down the street, you couldn't pick me out from every other Joe Blow with his head bent, wrinkles blasting across his forehead, worrying over a missed deadline or such. I'd like to think I'd look happier: after all, I save the world practically every day. Shouldn't that give me some kind of satisfaction? Try again. It's, like, the exact opposite. And instead of carrying my work in a briefcase, it comes home with me in the form of scars. Yeah, completely not fair.

"And they don't heal like they used to. The scars, I mean. Time nor a good make-up job can erase them now. They...just...kinda....sit there. Bleeding. And I can't even deal with the emotional ones! They're such a taboo topic that I can't even bring up the broad categories without harsh glares. So much for being proactive about this.

"Add to that this whole 'mole' business, and you've got yourself a lifetime subscription to Loonies 'R Us. I can't believe she's — ah, I can't even say it! After all this time, she's the one who's been... That's — It's — Bullshit! Why? Why! WHY! Goddamn it! It's fucking stupid, is what it is! Goddamn fucking stupid! Heh. I can say whatever the fuck I want about the bitch; everyone already thinks I framed her so she'd be out of the picture and I could be with...But 'everyone' is wrong. If they were right, it'd be one hell of a plot device, and I'm so not about the contrivances. If anything, I'd make Lauren a shape shifter whose favourite form was a cow so I could run her over with my car repeatedly and then cook her up and eat her for betraying my country, my friends, myself—"

A voice clears from the doorway, and she spins around to see Vaughn. Whoops.

"Oh shit."

END