Title: All the World's a Stage
Author: Lupa in Fabula
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville, but I'm using its characters anyway. You can sue me, but you won't get much. I've got 25 bucks and a cracker. And I stole that line from Tori Amos' "Silent All These Years," which is the soundtrack to this piece if you care. I know the themes aren't very similar, but some of the sentiments apply and hey, it's the thought that counts right? Oh, also I stole the fic's title from Shakespeare. I must be a kleptomaniac.
Archive: Ask and ye shall receive.
Feedback: Ego stroking and constructive criticism are both appreciated muchly.
Notes: This piece is really Lana's thoughts on herself, so it kind of non-contextual and disjointed - as thoughts tend to be. Or at least as my thoughts tend to be. But then again, most of my friends think I'm certifiable . . . And if you want to comment on the sentence fragments, you should know that they prefer to be called "stylistic devices."
Spoilers: None that I know of.
She wears that necklace like a mantle. No, like a cross. She crucifies herself everyday because she is afraid to live unbound - afraid to be free. Because free means alone and despite her orphan status and tragic demeanor, she has never been alone. Not really. She doesn't know if she could manage. She isn't ready to try.
The things she says she longs for are the very things she's hiding from. She says she doesn't want to be this fragile fairy princess, that it isn't really who she is. She doesn't know who she is, because she won't look. She acts the part that has been assigned to her like it is purely satirical. Like she holds nothing but contempt for her character. But she can't end the farce. There will be no honest portrayal of Lana Lang here tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, no insightful character study.
Lana stumbles through life, blind to herself. She knows it wouldn't be hard, just a matter of opening up the curtains, of letting in the light. But she can't do that. Who knows what the harsh fluorescent beams might reveal? What if inside she is as Spartan as the stage the night after closing? Or worse, what if she simply finds that she was the person they said she was all along, and her fairy princess costume isn't a costume at all? She isn't ready for that. Not yet.
Today isn't the first day of the rest of her life - you know, her real life - the glamorous one, in Metropolis, far away from the things she thought she knew. Or ought to know. The things she would rather forget.
No, today is just the dress rehearsal.
Everyone in full costume.
Author: Lupa in Fabula
Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville, but I'm using its characters anyway. You can sue me, but you won't get much. I've got 25 bucks and a cracker. And I stole that line from Tori Amos' "Silent All These Years," which is the soundtrack to this piece if you care. I know the themes aren't very similar, but some of the sentiments apply and hey, it's the thought that counts right? Oh, also I stole the fic's title from Shakespeare. I must be a kleptomaniac.
Archive: Ask and ye shall receive.
Feedback: Ego stroking and constructive criticism are both appreciated muchly.
Notes: This piece is really Lana's thoughts on herself, so it kind of non-contextual and disjointed - as thoughts tend to be. Or at least as my thoughts tend to be. But then again, most of my friends think I'm certifiable . . . And if you want to comment on the sentence fragments, you should know that they prefer to be called "stylistic devices."
Spoilers: None that I know of.
She wears that necklace like a mantle. No, like a cross. She crucifies herself everyday because she is afraid to live unbound - afraid to be free. Because free means alone and despite her orphan status and tragic demeanor, she has never been alone. Not really. She doesn't know if she could manage. She isn't ready to try.
The things she says she longs for are the very things she's hiding from. She says she doesn't want to be this fragile fairy princess, that it isn't really who she is. She doesn't know who she is, because she won't look. She acts the part that has been assigned to her like it is purely satirical. Like she holds nothing but contempt for her character. But she can't end the farce. There will be no honest portrayal of Lana Lang here tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, no insightful character study.
Lana stumbles through life, blind to herself. She knows it wouldn't be hard, just a matter of opening up the curtains, of letting in the light. But she can't do that. Who knows what the harsh fluorescent beams might reveal? What if inside she is as Spartan as the stage the night after closing? Or worse, what if she simply finds that she was the person they said she was all along, and her fairy princess costume isn't a costume at all? She isn't ready for that. Not yet.
Today isn't the first day of the rest of her life - you know, her real life - the glamorous one, in Metropolis, far away from the things she thought she knew. Or ought to know. The things she would rather forget.
No, today is just the dress rehearsal.
Everyone in full costume.