Title: Mercy Me.
Pair: none, genfic baby!
Rating: um, T for murder…
Warning: poilers for the end of the movie, in fact, if you haven't seen it don't read this but hey, if you haven't seen it why are you looking at fanfic for it, hmm?
Disclaimer: no, I don't own Stephen King's illustriously twisted mind. Or his ridiculously quik writing skills. Though I'm getting towards being able to write a full 30k story in just a week. Gimme a bit more time and I'll be there. Oh trust me, I'll be there.
Rant: yeah, I had to write this, this story just freaking called to me from my Stephen King obsessed mind…
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The nights in the windowless rooms were the best. Because then he didn't have to see that everything outside was normal and he could pretend that they died for a reason.
He could pretend that the monsters were still out there and that he'd been merciful.
That he'd given them the bullets because he loved them.
He hated when they tried to make him normal, because they made him come out of his windowless room and sit in the sun and look out the window or watch TV and he'd scream, or cry, most of the time both.
Because for a week, there was mist, and in that mist, was terror.
And he was merciful.
They talked about him, when they thought he wasn't listening, good christfuck, he was crazy not deaf. They talked about him with pity usually, or with the simple weary tiredness that comes with babysitting a crazy man for your weekly paycheck.
He lost everything during the incident. His wife, his home, most of his friends. Even his son.
Nobody knew that he'd done it, that he'd been the one to shoot Billy in the head himself, the military was good at keeping secrets and he promised not to say anything if they kept that one for him.
Back when he was sane enough to use blackmail or logic or anything else really.
Back before the nightmares.
It was bad enough that he alone survived, but the bullshit cover-up… sure, they'd thought it was a chemical spill at first too, that didn't mean the rest of the US of A was going to believe giant fucking monsters were caused by a chemical plant exploding.
At least not one.
Good thing there was a conveniently chained together group of oil refineries off the East coast then, wasn't there? Owned by the government of course.
It made him sick.
They thought he was nuts when he talked about the conspiracy but those were actually the moments he was most sane.
The worst nights were when the sky was clear and they restrained him to his bed, weaning him off some of the drugs clouding his system before he OD'ed and he could see the moon and knew, just KNEW, that everyone who died, died for no reason. That every last soul… Ollie, Dan, Norman…
They all fucking died because God wanted them to.
Maybe that psychotic bitch had been right, maybe they were supposed to die.
But dear god… why Billy?
As punishment for him? For me? For the world?
Or just fucking because?
Sometimes David just wished he'd taken a bullet. That they had drawn straws or something… but that would be selfish, and he was merciful, he had to tell himself that, because if he wasn't merciful, he was a murderer.
And he couldn't stand being a murderer.
So he laid in his bed, staring up through the barred window at the clear night sky, screaming, and replaying his promise over and over again in his mind.
No Billy, I won't let the monsters get you…
Fin.
Yeah… I just finished the movie and was like "damn, classic King ending… Poor asshole."
So yeah… the ending to Cell was fucked over like that too. Just so you know.
The Stand was pretty bad now that I think about it… in fact, King just screws over the idea of a happy ending like some kind of old whore, doesn't he?
Damn, now I have to go reread Eyes of the Dragon. At least it's reasonably happy…
In case you haven't noticed, I'm like, 'happy ending's best friend.
Most of the time… .