Hello! Long time no see...I'm sorry! School's just started up and I'm really busy. I promise I'll get my "As Time Turns" updated soon :)
In the mean time- this is a terminator fic that just came to me when I was listening to "Miserabile Visu" by Anberlin. The lyrics (in italics and bolded) are from the song. I suggest listening to it while reading this story :) *hint hint nudge nudge* The song starts out good and gets better as the song progresses, so it is TOTALLY worth listening to the whole thing.
Now, without further adieu, let us continue
I do not own terminator or anberlin
Phase
Listen closely to the words I speak
Lord knows if I'll ever, ever again be
The flow of time seems flawless. It appears to wind onward, a smooth river uninterrupted by events that shape its banks into the ebb and flow visible to those trapped within its invisible currents. Yet if a person were to step through the barrier separating time and the universe, they would see that time is anything but organized. The stream would be choppy, its surface broken and pockmarked and its direction twisted into billions of knots that haven't a hope of being untangled. At times, the edges would widen as some location further down the road bent over upon itself, affecting what came before with what was to come. Time, it would seem, has no order.
It had been prophesized that the future would come to pass. In some ways, it had already happened. How else could the future inform the past of the events that were to come? To think about such things is as complicated as the flow of time itself. The only thing that can be determined for certain is what is happening here and now.
It was here and now that the future overlapped the past, sending the present spiralling toward its destiny.
Such words never spoken before
On the way he declared the world
He had never met his father. He had no pictures, no trinkets or memories to recall him by. His father had died before he was even born. The only memento passed to his son couldn't even be called tangible. It was his father's name, whispered almost reverently from his mother's lips that gave him a reason to live even when he wanted nothing to do with his life.
Kyle Reese.
Kyle Reese had loved his mother, and she had loved him back. He could see the traces in his mother's eyes when she looked at him, knew she was not just seeing her son but the father also. Sarah dedicated her life to the memory of her lover and the future of her son. Every moment spent preparing; no expense spared to insure her son was well equipped to face what would come.
The son admired his mother as much as he longed for a sense of normality. She constantly defied the odds and remained strong in the midst of a world (and often son) full of doubt.
Sarah's words, told to her by Kyle and by the son himself many years in the future, gave him something to hold on to when his life lost direction. "No fate but what we make". He knew he had to believe that, to believe his existence and struggles were not in vain.
He had to believe that everything could change.
Scared for our lives I turn to your hand
Hold this tight while we run if we still can
Somewhere deep down, he knew they hadn't stopped Judgement day. Even with Cyberdine Systems out of the picture, there was an unsettling feeling deep in his chest. It followed him for years, as boy grew into man. The fateful day came and passed and nothing changed. There was an artificial air to each moment, as if the world existed on borrowed time. Time that would ecstatically twist upon itself until the pieces fell back into place. And so he ran- ran away from reality, from his destiny. Never staying long in one place before journeying to the next, he tried to escape his fate.
Fate caught up with him the moment the third terminator appeared in his life. The future was intervening once again and sent back a familiar face to insure his survival. Caught up in a flurry of events, he didn't count on the influence of another human being.
A girl, vaguely familiar to him. Dark red hair, alluring features, and a temper to rival his mother's. Under different circumstances he may have found her fascinating. Her name, she said, was Katherine Brewster.
The sky will turn dark very soon
The days are numbered when there's blood on the moon
Strange, how a person may look back in retrospect and see how obvious certain things are. It is so simple to get caught up in "I should have's" and "If things had been different" that we often forget that living life is harder than watching it. In the heat of the moment we may wander blindly down the path until stumbling on that single missing element.
He came to the conclusion seconds before the machine confirmed it. The war had not been averted several years before, merely postponed. The end of the world was hours away. Thinking was abandoned as he fell into the pattern of behaviour his mother had pounded into every molecule of his body years before. A plan was formulated, a last ditch effort to salvage humanity.
The earth will shake and the sky will fall
The eyes will open of those enthralled
It seemed as if everything he did was slow. He was too late to prevent the computers takeover. Before his eyes, the horror his mother had warned him of brushed off the chains of humanity and came to life. All it took was a fraction of a second (it was the best technology created by man) and control lost the human element.
The fight was explosive and crippling. It could be likened to the breaking of a dam, flooding everything in its path with no hope of repair. He was broken and terrified and lost. But then the red haired girl took his hand, and led him towards one final hope.
What disasters may come
Whatever it may be
At the end of the age
It will land you and me
Tragedy may bring
Whatever may fall
At the end of the world
You'll still belong
John Conner stood in deafening silence. The bunker around him was dust choked and dim, and he could almost pretend that this was one of his mother's old hideouts. Could almost pretend that this-none of it- was happening.
But then he would note the heavy stone walls, the provisions stacked high in corners, the steel door. It was hard to pretend when the truth was blatantly obvious. He had believed that this bunker would contain the final way to prevent the future his mother had warned him about. Instead, it would provide him with the means to survive even a nuclear holocaust.
Turning wordlessly, he turned to face Katherine. Her expression was wary and resigned, but ultimately accepting. "He sent us here to live." She whispered.
Look up into the eastern sky
When you hear the voice, say you last goodbye
The entire world was blissfully calm. Glass towers tore into the sky, scraping the heavens with bright fingers. The sunlight, born of a brilliant sunset and sunrise and mid-afternoon sun ran down monoliths both artificial and human in design to soak the ground in molten gold. In a few brief moments it was if all the glory of the age of man stood on display. The last moment was perfect.
Look back to the eastern skies
When the ghosts take hold of the men who died
Somehow, the collective conscious of man seemed to sense this moment in time when everything would change. For an inexplicable reason conversation ceased and voices were quieted. For the first and last time in modern history all the cultures of the world were bound into one.
Look up into the eastern sky
When your fathers weep and your mothers cry
The bombs exploded one after another above the people. Though dull in comparison to the raging sky, it was electrifyingly blinding. This is how civilization ended.
Look up into the eastern sky
Buried deep beneath the mountain, Katherine reached out and took the hand of John Conner. She held fast as the world ripped apart far above. Safe below, the warmth that spread along the connection of flesh kindled the spirit in both survivors.
An old radio finally crackled to life. Many voices, frantic, filled the bunker. Some asked for help, others were just panicked monologues. He listened to them for a few moments, knowing what he should do but fearing taking the final step to embrace his destiny. Katherine squeezed his hand gently, sending him strength.
He picked up the microphone, pressing the talk button down. The voices immediately ceased as he formulated his words. Finally he spoke, and as he did he found himself filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. "This is John Conner. If you are listening to this you are the resistance."
Outside, the world was drenched in radioactive dust. Splendour was reduced to pile after pile of rubble. What had once been grand and proud was now a graveyard of the past. For the longest of time there was silence and stillness. When it finally seemed like nothing living was left, the stones began to stir. From the throes of destruction rose isolated patches of life to face a new era. Behind the blood red clouds above the sun began to make its way to earth. ..
Look children to the eastern sky