To Sleep To Dream
****
To die, the playwright had once said. To die, to sleep, no more.
If death meant you got to sleep, he almost welcomed it coming through his door, almost welcomed its embrace.
Was it cowardice to hide beneath the swirl of sheets like this? Was it cowardice to want your eyes to stay closed to horrors? Was it cowardice to simply NOT WANT this legacy that had been forced upon him, shoved at him? Some men built their legacies. Others stole them. But not Gene Starwind.
No, Gene Starwind had taken his legacy from another's bloody hands, clutched it tight to his chest and watched a star fall, until her light could no longer be seen, until it was just a part of a brighter fire.
He wasn't a space rookie anymore. He'd had his trial by fire.
He knew better. He knew better when he'd watched it happen. Fire did not purify. Fire destroyed.
Some days, it just didn't pay to get out of bed.
Did anyone ever think that? Did anyone ever care about that? Did anyone think that maybe Gene Starwind didn't want to be an outlaw today, didn't want to deal with blood and death and deceit? Just for one day? Did anyone care that it was hard work to be a good guy in a universe full of bad things?
To sleep...perchance to...dream...
To die. To sleep.
The two, on these dark days, seemed interchangeable.
It was people like Harry MacDougal, that joyous little sociopath, that caused the fire to leap up in Gene Starwind's soul, till his heart was cooked in a fine hot rage. It was people like Fred Lao who stirred the embers. Fred, who had earned his money by being the only son in his family. Gene had earned his by being shot at. Was there no justice in the universe?
If there was justice in the universe, he wouldn't have had to lock his eyes on the fire that consumed his father's ship, the contained violence of that explosion.
If there was justice in the universe, Hilda wouldn't have fallen beneath the liquid heat of that star, never to be seen again, and pieces of the Leprechaun and the Purgatory wouldn't be scratching the sides of passing freighters as they made their runs, like whales in the sea of stars.
If there was justice in the universe, Melfina would wake up to the sound of birds outside her window and smile at herself in the mirror, pondering the most important questions of lip gloss, dates, shopping.
If there was justice in the universe, Jim would stop banging on the door and give him five more damn minutes.
Gene rolled over, the slickness of his scars sliding on the sheets, to reach one hand under his pillow. Feeling the cold solidity of his Castor, he yawned and yanked the sheets over his head.
Jim's knocking melted away beneath the thump and roar of the ocean of sleep. The playwright was wrong. Gene Starwind did not go to sleep to dream. The roll of that dark ocean promised something vastly, chillingly different.
Escape.
*****
My first-ever OLS fic! Nervous, nervous...
I wanted to give Gene something a little different. It seems that poor Gene goes through one indignity after another, with substantial damage to his pride (not quite as bad as Aisha, although she asks for it). I mean, basically what we're saying is that he managed to Forrest Gump his way to the Leyline. So I decided to throw a shadow on him and see how he looked in it.
I don't know whether or not to write any more of these, so feedback is greatly welcomed! I pray for reply...I'm ready.
S.
****
To die, the playwright had once said. To die, to sleep, no more.
If death meant you got to sleep, he almost welcomed it coming through his door, almost welcomed its embrace.
Was it cowardice to hide beneath the swirl of sheets like this? Was it cowardice to want your eyes to stay closed to horrors? Was it cowardice to simply NOT WANT this legacy that had been forced upon him, shoved at him? Some men built their legacies. Others stole them. But not Gene Starwind.
No, Gene Starwind had taken his legacy from another's bloody hands, clutched it tight to his chest and watched a star fall, until her light could no longer be seen, until it was just a part of a brighter fire.
He wasn't a space rookie anymore. He'd had his trial by fire.
He knew better. He knew better when he'd watched it happen. Fire did not purify. Fire destroyed.
Some days, it just didn't pay to get out of bed.
Did anyone ever think that? Did anyone ever care about that? Did anyone think that maybe Gene Starwind didn't want to be an outlaw today, didn't want to deal with blood and death and deceit? Just for one day? Did anyone care that it was hard work to be a good guy in a universe full of bad things?
To sleep...perchance to...dream...
To die. To sleep.
The two, on these dark days, seemed interchangeable.
It was people like Harry MacDougal, that joyous little sociopath, that caused the fire to leap up in Gene Starwind's soul, till his heart was cooked in a fine hot rage. It was people like Fred Lao who stirred the embers. Fred, who had earned his money by being the only son in his family. Gene had earned his by being shot at. Was there no justice in the universe?
If there was justice in the universe, he wouldn't have had to lock his eyes on the fire that consumed his father's ship, the contained violence of that explosion.
If there was justice in the universe, Hilda wouldn't have fallen beneath the liquid heat of that star, never to be seen again, and pieces of the Leprechaun and the Purgatory wouldn't be scratching the sides of passing freighters as they made their runs, like whales in the sea of stars.
If there was justice in the universe, Melfina would wake up to the sound of birds outside her window and smile at herself in the mirror, pondering the most important questions of lip gloss, dates, shopping.
If there was justice in the universe, Jim would stop banging on the door and give him five more damn minutes.
Gene rolled over, the slickness of his scars sliding on the sheets, to reach one hand under his pillow. Feeling the cold solidity of his Castor, he yawned and yanked the sheets over his head.
Jim's knocking melted away beneath the thump and roar of the ocean of sleep. The playwright was wrong. Gene Starwind did not go to sleep to dream. The roll of that dark ocean promised something vastly, chillingly different.
Escape.
*****
My first-ever OLS fic! Nervous, nervous...
I wanted to give Gene something a little different. It seems that poor Gene goes through one indignity after another, with substantial damage to his pride (not quite as bad as Aisha, although she asks for it). I mean, basically what we're saying is that he managed to Forrest Gump his way to the Leyline. So I decided to throw a shadow on him and see how he looked in it.
I don't know whether or not to write any more of these, so feedback is greatly welcomed! I pray for reply...I'm ready.
S.