A/N: I wrote this very quickly and it hasn't been beta-ed, so if there are any mistakes it's my fault.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe.
Her legs. They're pulled up. To her chest.
The air. It's heavy. Filled with memories. Of things she remembers. And things she doesn't.
Color. It's gone. Vanished into nothingness. Enviable nothingness.
A cage. That's what she's kept in. Like an animal. Like a wild beast, needing to be contained. As if she could do any harm. As if she isn't a hollow body, robbed of her spirit. Of everything.
Time. It's become trivial. A luxury. Who needs time when forgetting is all that matters?
Sanity. She's lost it long ago. It gave in before her.
Peter. He's there. In her head. Across the room. Next to her. Everywhere.
But she hasn't given in. She's been fighting. Fighting tiring battles against invisible soldiers. With never weakening intrepidness. Until now.
She can't. She just can't keep doing this. And that's okay. They're safe. Everyone is. So it's okay.
She sits back. Head against the wall. Eyes closed. Cheeks wet.
She lets it overtake her. Like a slowly filling bucket, her tears the last drops.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Then it spills over.
Time has passed. Of that she is sure. And of nothing else.
Light. It's seeping through her eyelids, bathing the night in an orange glow.
She opens her eyes. Green. Colors.
Trees. They're everywhere. All around her. Leaves rustling in the wind.
This forest. These woods. She knows them. Knows them like a dream you've never lived, yet always remembered.
Voices. They fill the air. Whispering. Ghostly . Haunting.
A little girl. The little child runs up to her. In her arms. They oblige willingly when ordered to hold. Onto her. Onto this.
A look. A second. Then she's gone.
A man. He's looking for something. Someone. He's gray. And old. And wrinkled. Like a grandpa.
"Olive, Olive." He says. He's looking for someone. Then he sees her. And smiles. And he's gone.
Confusion. It doesn't even cross her mind. It's like a dream. Everything is logical. But something's missing.
Someone.
Him.
The trees. It's like they're talking. Their crowns swaying in the wind, their voices carrying miles and miles. To the end of the world.
But that's not so far.
They can see, too. See the green of her eyes and the white of her skin. The bones in her body that stick out like branches. The tragedy of life and the perfection of this.
And him.
They can see a man. Walking towards her. They can see the sole tear pioneering its way down his cheek. They can see his hand touching her hair. Her nose. Her mouth. Her neck. Her arms. Her back. They can see the smile on her face, and the words on her lips. And the look in their eyes.
They can hear the sorrow. The hurt. The pain. The hope. The joy. The laugh. The love. They can hear him say:
"'Livia."
A/N: Please review?