Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers.
Well, I aintn't dead!!!!
Course, that's entirely debatable, this silver ring itches like crazy and I start sneezing when I get in direct sunlight….
Anyway, I just haven't written anything for quite a while, I wouldn't say it was writers block, just a lack of motivation.
Plus I'm working now (I work hard for the money!) although that's no excuse for my prolonged absence since I only started recently.
Anyway, this fics probably not entirely to my liking due to I'm WAY out of practice writing, and I wasn't feeling especially angsty at the time (usually I don't need to be)
I was just sitting down last night trying to work, half listening on a conversation in the background when Bon Jovi's 'its my life' started playing, drowning out the world.
So, that was the inspiration for this fic.
………
It's my life.
"Hey Jazz man, what's up?"
I looked over at Gears; outwardly my shell smiled, but inside…
"Hey Gears, what up'? "
"Oh, you know, the usual; I've got a nasty pain in my drive-train, I think I need my pulleys looked at again."
I nodded, smiled, then turned back to my work; if I encouraged him he'd be here all day.
"Well, I'm off to see Ratchet again, hopefully 'this' time he'll be able to find what's wrong with me."
"Ya, see ya round brother."
I sighed to myself as the smaller Autobot went on his way.
Nothing was wrong, no more than usual, but I still felt blue.
Much as I didn't want to let myself admit it, the war was getting to me…
Every day my comrade's stage more and more daring raids, looking for energon on this dead husk of a world.
Every day fewer return…
Can't Prime tell that this war's hopeless? The stalemate has
raged for millennia, why should it possibly change now?
And I'm supposed to be the optimist…
Glancing up I saw Prime through the small crack in the wall above my desk, opened in one of the countless airstrikes.
Bluestreak just walked in. At a gaze from Prime he shook his head.
I felt my spark sink; Bluestreak and Fusion went out on a raid mere decacycles ago…
The song on my radio abruptly ended; in the silence I can overhear part of the conversation in the next room.
"I'm sorry Bluestreak, I know you and Fusion were close."
Bluestreak sat on the edge of the small bench, and hung his
head, "Why Prime? Why?"
"I know. This war is a drain on all of us. But none of us can saw for sure when
Primus will call his children back to him in the Matrix."
I felt my spark turn cold; Fusion and I were close friends, the three of us were.
And now our mighty leader is going to get all philosophical on us…
Fusion didn't die because Primus wanted it, he died because of this stupid war.
Prime's stupid war…
"I got him Prime," Bluestreak lifted his eyes wearily from where his head was cradled in his hands, "I got the bastard that nailed Fusion."
Prime nodded slowly, putting his hand on Bluestreaks shoulder; I saw my friend shudder with a repressed sob.
This war…
Why were we fighting anyway? The Autobot propaganda said that the Decepticons were evil; that they had to be brought to justice for their war crimes.
That Primus-slag might work on new recruits; it had worked on us, but only bots with a few wits survived as long as we 'veterans' had.
And in that time you learned certain things.
The Decepticons were no guiltier than the Autobots; as much as I hate to admit it, our side is just as guilty; the excuse of "I was only acting under orders" was heard through the base almost daily.
If you really wanted to be philosophical, there was no good or bad side here; we were all mechs, the only difference being in our paint schemes; the sigils on our frames…
This whole war was just over a difference of opinion; the
Decepticons may have all been for conquest of the universe, but wasn't the
welfare of Cybertron a goal common to both sides?
We both wanted to serve our planet, we just couldn't agree on the best way to
go about it.
It was never spoken about of course, but the pained look on the Decepticon's faces just before we pulled the trigger told it all.
Pain, but also happiness. Relief. It would all be over in a few nanoseconds.
Both sides were sick of this war.
Of course, if Prime knew I had thoughts like this, sympathised with the enemy, then I'd be the next one to disappear…
My friends all know me as out-going, carefree, but I only 'act' like this as a response to all the misery and destruction I'm exposed to each and every day.
One day I'm just gonna crack, then there'll be just one more casualty to this war…
Only I know how thinly veiled my cheerful façade 'really' is…
Through the crack in the wall I saw Bluestreak sit up and stare at Prime.
"Do you want me to tell Jazz?"
"No Prime. Jazz… Fusion… probably best if I'm the one to tell him."
I saw Prime nod, Bluestreak hopped off the counter and headed towards the
hallway to my office.
Quickly I glanced over at my track player; it seemed to be jammed again on the cartridge change.
I unjammed it as I heard the footsteps approaching outside…
The door behind me opened, a few seconds later I felt Bluestreaks hand on my shoulder…
"Jazz… it's about Fusion…"
I didn't respond; my blaring music filled the air as the cartridge finally loaded, drowning out anything my comrade had to say.
A few seconds later I felt the hand withdraw, the sliver of light from the hallway winking out as my door was closed behind my retreating friend…
Yes, I may seem happy, cheerful, but with so much misery around the place I feel it's my duty to make it all seem unreal, to hide it all as a joke.
The war will still be there for me tomorrow; for now I just want to drown my sorrows in music…
………
Well, what'd you think? Leave a review and tell me, or just e-mail me outright, I love feedback.