Minutes To Midnight
Chapter One: Shadow of the Day
*Note from Shado: Ok this one came to me and just won't leave me alone. I have a massively huge plot bunny sitting on my head and it refuses to let the muses talk until it's done with me. So, I apologize for making you all wait on the other fics I've got going. Bear with me while I appease this monster. I'm not sure where or what he's planning to do with this… I'm just his slave until he's finished. This was written listening to the album Minutes to Midnight by LinkinPark. I've often thought this album needed a story to go with it… evidently the Plot Bunny from Hell agrees. The lyrics and songs are not in order, as this progresses you'll see why. Each song is for a specific character.*
***the lyrics have been removed per the request of catspats31- sorry guys.***
The room was disgustingly cheerful. Flowers lined the available surfaces, cards interspersed among the bouquets, and there were even a few stuffed toys. He hated everything they represented, but didn't have the heart to remove them. They provided some comfort of color amidst the sterility of white. He loathed everything this room represented with every fiber of his being. But what he hated most was the insistent ever present beeping and hisses of the ventilator. In the long hours of the night, the sounds reminded him of his failures with every blip and hiss. The machines mocked him; counted his failure out with unmerciful precision. Even as he hated them, he feared the silence that was coming; the inevitable ending to the life they kept tethered.
He had tried everything he knew; every bit of science he could manipulate; every rumor, hint and a few rather…eccentric ideas. It had not been enough. No one blamed him; yet he could not escape blaming himself. So, now he sat, keeping vigil, doing his penance for not being good enough; for not being smart enough. Subdued, head bowed by guilt, he tuned out the world; listening only to the silent accusation from the dying. At some point he slept.
The bright sunlight was an insult. There was no denying that. Irritated he stood stiffly, crossing to the dual windows situated over the small heating unit. From the halls outside, the distant voices of staff going about their daily routines was also irritating. He could hear them talking, voices bright and cheerful and all he wanted to do was snarl and put an end to them. Someone, somewhere laughed, and for an instant he visualized crushing the life out of whomever dared. He squashed the urge with ease though; long years of practice made it easy enough.
For a moment, he stared out the window, seeing the bright blue of the cloudless sky, the newly budding trees with their promise of spring. The lawn in front of the facility bustled with activity, mirroring the interior's halls; as people walked to and fro. A bird flew past and his eyes tracked it, without really seeing. His anger sparked again; at the sight of such life outside these four walls. Reaching out, he twisted the blinds closed; shutting out the world and its brightness.
His shoes squeaked on the tile as he crossed back to his chair. He settled into it with a heaviness that was beyond the physical. His hand closed gently over the one lying so still on the bed. The hiss and bleeps of the monitors telling him that nothing had changed in his few minutes of inattention, a small comfort. The machines, with all their attached tubing and leads, were only prolonging the inevitable, he knew this. Yet in his heart, hope still festered; a slow poison for which there was no antidote.
The sound of the door opening, the soft tread of the day shift nurse coming in, didn't distract him from his vigil. She smiled wanly at him, reaching for the chart on the table. He didn't return her smile; there was no need. He knew what her checks would show. She finished her job, the scratching of the pen against paper writing down words; the words that would make the doctors press once again to discontinue life support. Words that he would fight tooth and nail against with everything that he was.
He stared at the face, once vibrant with life, now a pallid imitation. He ignored the wasted body, seeing only the smile that could light a room. His mind, calmed for now, flew backward in time, to when this all began…
***Can you guess who? Two guesses. And who's in the bed? For that you get several guesses...lol... Don't blame me, blame TPBFM. So, should I continue? Let me know. Shado.***