"...I hate myself. --;; This story's terrible. Why am I putting it up,
then? Because I enjoy showing other authors how to write. See, this is what
you're not supposed to do. At first, I didn't think it'd be a songfic, but
then I remembered this one tune... Everything is from the point of Moonbay
(the Chaotic Century Series, y'know) and it's all in first person. I think.
It was 3:00 a.m. when I wrote this, so I'm probably wrong. R&R, of course."
"Oh, and everything in bold is dreaming. Yeah." --;;
Disclaimer: "I don't own any of this, really. Chaotic Century belongs to... people..." Shifty eyes. "And the song is titled 'Where Have All the Cowboys Gone', by Paula Cole."
***
...This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
At the end of a long journey, you get to lie down. You get to grow old, maybe even grow up, possibly. Die. Didn't I deserve at least that much? Didn't I deserve a better fate than this?
- - -
Oh, you get my ready in your '56 Chevy
Why don't we go sit down in the shade?
Take shelter on my front porch
The dandy lion sun scorchin',
Like a glass of cold lemonade?
I will do the laundry... if pay all the bills...
- - -
It had been two years since I'd left my friends, one of them closer than I'd ever expected. God, I'd give anything to be with them now. Them, and that strange little organoid. Once, an old man told me to never take the things in life I had for granted.
Of course, being the person I am, I laughed. And ignored. What had I ever had? A Gustav... reminded a little voice in the back of my head. Friends... chimed in another. I knew what the
next little voice would say, and mentally shut myself up.
- - -
Where is my John Wayne?
Where is my prairie song?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
- - -
Footsteps. I heard them, echoing dully in the distance. The familiar click of his steel-tipped boots, on the sand, on the sidewalk, in my head. I could almost see him, standing in front of me, that clear gray eye radiating a sort of cold wariness. "It's you..." I practically choked on the words, and all that came out was a little whimper. And that icy, untrusting eye continued to bore into both of mine.
I shot up like a bolt, nearly rolling off the little prison bench. If Ban had been there, he probably would have already been sprawled on the floor, snoring his spiky head off. Trying my hardest not to break into a fit of sobbing, I curled up on the wooden plank, trembling like a little puppy afraid of a thunderstorm.
- - -
Why don't you stay the evening,
Kick back and watch the TV,
And I'll fix a little something to eat?
Oh I know your back hurts, from workin' on the tractor,
How do you take your coffee, my sweet?
I will raise the children... if you pay all the bills...
- - -
'I hate you... why didn't you come back? You're dead now, aren't you? Got yourself killed by the Empire... now look where I am... and you won't ever be coming back...' I thought to myself, brown eyes momentarily misted with tears. Oh, God, that was the last thing I needed; to start crying myself to sleep.
In the morning, things weren't much better. I might as well have been invisible to the naked eye, except for the occasional grunts I received from an officer as they passed my cell. Heck, I practically knew them all by name, not to mention their ranking in the Empire's hierarchy. That's how long I had been here. Long enough to know my captors personally.
- - -
Where is my John Wayne?
Where is my prairie song?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
- - -
Probably around noon or so, I was served a cold pile of... well, better not describe it. Let's just say I would've given my right arm for some camp food. But, of course, beggars can't be choosers. Neither can criminals.
- - -
I am wearing my new dress tonight,
But you don't, but you don't even notice me...
Say our good-byes...
Say our good-byes...
Say our good-byes...
- - -
It's times like these that I really miss him. I can even see him know. He'd be sitting there in the corner, just staring at the opposite wall, eye narrowed. That beautiful, clear, wary eye. I hope he can see me, wherever he is. And I hope he feels guilty.
The day progressed, as it always does. I swear, sometimes the time in this place doesn't go in a straight line. It always seems to slow down the closer it gets towards evening. If he were here, it wouldn't be like this. Not for me, anyway. Maybe this is the way he always felt.
- - -
We finally sell the Chevy,
When we had another baby,
And you took the job in Tennessee
You made friends, at the farm
And you joined them at the bar
Almost every single day, of the week
I will wash the dishes... while you go have a beer...
- - -
Oh no. Not again. He's coming. Wait... he's there. Staring at me. Smiling. And suddenly, I don't want to wipe that quirky little smirk off his scarred face. If only he were here. Then I could tell him exactly how I feel.
Wham. I sit up again, and this time, I do fall off the bunk. Huddled on the cold floor, I stare off into the impenetrable darkness, eyes brimming with tears. He won't come back. And I'll be here forever. Until I get old and die. Maybe.
- - -
Where is my John Wayne?
Where is my prairie song?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
- - -
It's cold down here, but I don't want to get up. If I move, I'm certain the hot tears I'm holding back will flow out, and I don't want that to happen. I'm not that weak.
He never cried. I don't see why I should either.
- - -
Where is my Marlboro man?
Where is his shiny gun?
Where is my lonely ranger?
Where have all the cowboys gone?...
- - -
I can't help it. Head in my hands, I sob quietly, biting my lower lip so forcefully I'm sure blood will flow. But it doesn't really matter to me. Enough of it has been shed already.
"God, I miss you, Irvine... can you hear me? I miss you..." I whisper to the darkness. Maybe I'd feel better if I could see the moonlight, but my cell doesn't even have a grate to look through to the outside. So even that familiar sight is denied me.
"Irvine..."
"Oh, and everything in bold is dreaming. Yeah." --;;
Disclaimer: "I don't own any of this, really. Chaotic Century belongs to... people..." Shifty eyes. "And the song is titled 'Where Have All the Cowboys Gone', by Paula Cole."
***
...This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
At the end of a long journey, you get to lie down. You get to grow old, maybe even grow up, possibly. Die. Didn't I deserve at least that much? Didn't I deserve a better fate than this?
- - -
Oh, you get my ready in your '56 Chevy
Why don't we go sit down in the shade?
Take shelter on my front porch
The dandy lion sun scorchin',
Like a glass of cold lemonade?
I will do the laundry... if pay all the bills...
- - -
It had been two years since I'd left my friends, one of them closer than I'd ever expected. God, I'd give anything to be with them now. Them, and that strange little organoid. Once, an old man told me to never take the things in life I had for granted.
Of course, being the person I am, I laughed. And ignored. What had I ever had? A Gustav... reminded a little voice in the back of my head. Friends... chimed in another. I knew what the
next little voice would say, and mentally shut myself up.
- - -
Where is my John Wayne?
Where is my prairie song?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
- - -
Footsteps. I heard them, echoing dully in the distance. The familiar click of his steel-tipped boots, on the sand, on the sidewalk, in my head. I could almost see him, standing in front of me, that clear gray eye radiating a sort of cold wariness. "It's you..." I practically choked on the words, and all that came out was a little whimper. And that icy, untrusting eye continued to bore into both of mine.
I shot up like a bolt, nearly rolling off the little prison bench. If Ban had been there, he probably would have already been sprawled on the floor, snoring his spiky head off. Trying my hardest not to break into a fit of sobbing, I curled up on the wooden plank, trembling like a little puppy afraid of a thunderstorm.
- - -
Why don't you stay the evening,
Kick back and watch the TV,
And I'll fix a little something to eat?
Oh I know your back hurts, from workin' on the tractor,
How do you take your coffee, my sweet?
I will raise the children... if you pay all the bills...
- - -
'I hate you... why didn't you come back? You're dead now, aren't you? Got yourself killed by the Empire... now look where I am... and you won't ever be coming back...' I thought to myself, brown eyes momentarily misted with tears. Oh, God, that was the last thing I needed; to start crying myself to sleep.
In the morning, things weren't much better. I might as well have been invisible to the naked eye, except for the occasional grunts I received from an officer as they passed my cell. Heck, I practically knew them all by name, not to mention their ranking in the Empire's hierarchy. That's how long I had been here. Long enough to know my captors personally.
- - -
Where is my John Wayne?
Where is my prairie song?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
- - -
Probably around noon or so, I was served a cold pile of... well, better not describe it. Let's just say I would've given my right arm for some camp food. But, of course, beggars can't be choosers. Neither can criminals.
- - -
I am wearing my new dress tonight,
But you don't, but you don't even notice me...
Say our good-byes...
Say our good-byes...
Say our good-byes...
- - -
It's times like these that I really miss him. I can even see him know. He'd be sitting there in the corner, just staring at the opposite wall, eye narrowed. That beautiful, clear, wary eye. I hope he can see me, wherever he is. And I hope he feels guilty.
The day progressed, as it always does. I swear, sometimes the time in this place doesn't go in a straight line. It always seems to slow down the closer it gets towards evening. If he were here, it wouldn't be like this. Not for me, anyway. Maybe this is the way he always felt.
- - -
We finally sell the Chevy,
When we had another baby,
And you took the job in Tennessee
You made friends, at the farm
And you joined them at the bar
Almost every single day, of the week
I will wash the dishes... while you go have a beer...
- - -
Oh no. Not again. He's coming. Wait... he's there. Staring at me. Smiling. And suddenly, I don't want to wipe that quirky little smirk off his scarred face. If only he were here. Then I could tell him exactly how I feel.
Wham. I sit up again, and this time, I do fall off the bunk. Huddled on the cold floor, I stare off into the impenetrable darkness, eyes brimming with tears. He won't come back. And I'll be here forever. Until I get old and die. Maybe.
- - -
Where is my John Wayne?
Where is my prairie song?
Where is my happy ending?
Where have all the cowboys gone?
- - -
It's cold down here, but I don't want to get up. If I move, I'm certain the hot tears I'm holding back will flow out, and I don't want that to happen. I'm not that weak.
He never cried. I don't see why I should either.
- - -
Where is my Marlboro man?
Where is his shiny gun?
Where is my lonely ranger?
Where have all the cowboys gone?...
- - -
I can't help it. Head in my hands, I sob quietly, biting my lower lip so forcefully I'm sure blood will flow. But it doesn't really matter to me. Enough of it has been shed already.
"God, I miss you, Irvine... can you hear me? I miss you..." I whisper to the darkness. Maybe I'd feel better if I could see the moonlight, but my cell doesn't even have a grate to look through to the outside. So even that familiar sight is denied me.
"Irvine..."