Afterlife

Pain. His mind registers little through the red haze that clouds his thoughts, but he can still feel, and the feeling gives rise to hope. Maybe this isn't really happening. Maybe the whole thing's a dream, and he'll wake up beside her and hug her all the more closely to him to make up for the terror of this nightmare.

But aren't you not supposed to feel things in dreams? Or is it only in dreams that you truly feel, isn't it the real world that saps you of emotion and feeling? He tries to remember, but the recall of this simple fact is beyond him. Another club hits him, lightning fast and hard as steel, and he doubles over, nearly slipping in a puddle of—what? Surely not his own blood? Red and thick, pooling all around him. Surely, he does not have that much blood in his body, they have not been beating him for that long.

Who are they? For that matter, who is he? He struggles against the haziness of his thoughts, knowing that there is something important about him, about where he is or what he was doing. A pictured face—the flash of lustrous black hair, dark eyes, sharp features that inexplicably soften when she smiles at him—

With a sudden surge of energy he stands, prepares to battle these people who have invaded and destroyed their last safe haven, the closest thing to normal that he ever shared with her. Or was it she who shared with him, she who let him enter her life despite her better judgment?

Wasn't it her who told him not to follow? Who asked him to stay away, told him that there were some things she did that he shouldn't be part of? So help him, he did not listen to her—is this the price?

His strength gone, he falls to the floor, but still he fights. Oh, Elphaba, his mind screams, Elphaba-Fabala-Ephie-Fae, lover, mystery, friend. What will you say to this? When you come home to your sanctuary to find it defiled, painted with my own blood and tears and grief, what then will you do? Where will you go? Is there anyone left for you to run to, anywhere else where you will feel safe?

Is there anything I can do to make you forgive me?

Her forgiveness is more important to him than the pain, the sorrow. He needs to know—needs to be sure that she loves him, that she will remember him despite what happens, wherever he might go—wherever they both might go. He isn't sure if he believes in a life after death. He doesn't worry about that too much—he'll know the right answer soon enough.

But in his final moments, he finds that he wishes death will not be the end. In a last desperate attempt, he cries out to whatever deity might be listening: Send me to heaven, hell, I don't care—but send her there, too, when it is her time, and wherever it may be, together we'll make it paradise.


"In heaven all the interesting people are missing." —Friedrich Nietzsche


A/N: Wow, I just seem to be in the mood for writing Wicked fics. Two in four days...and to anyone who's interested, I'm in the midst of planning a third that will hopefully be multi-chaptered, Elphaba/Fiyero, and set during the time while they're both still at Shiz. Unfortunately, due to the demands of school, that particular fic will most likely not be written until the summer, or at least closer to June and further from AP tests...

But back to this story. It was really just an errant thought, prompted by the Nietzsche quote above, which mirrors my thoughts on the subject at times. I like the last line, but I think the piece ends kind of abruptly, and is altogether more than a bit confusing. Feedback on any aspect of this would be greatly appreciated! If you've read this far, you might as well review...