Now, I have to put blame where blame is deserved ;-). Some day, some day soon, I will write a fic that
wasn’t inspired by a song, but as soon as I heard this beautiful little ditty by Daniel Bedingfield, I knew that the chain would as of yet be unbroken, and this is what resulted from some sparking brain activity that these lyrics inspired ;-).
No, I don’t have this finished. In fact, I don’t really have much of a buffer on what’s here now. And what’s even
more astonishing, is that I basically have no idea on how long it’s going to be, or on how many times a week I’m going to post <g>. The only thing – and I mean the *only* thing – that I have as a means of defence is the fact that Wendy made me do it ;-) So any complaints, any screams of rage, any threats of disembowelment should by rights go to her, as if it wasn’t for her going for me with the shears a number of times, I would not be posting this until it’s finished
However, I must admit that the odd scream of rage doesn’t go astray, so I have to thank Wendy too – both for volunteering to beta this and for adding her voice to the general chorus of wails, nooooooooooooooooos and general threats that emitted themselves from a group of FoLCs who read this first <g>. Thanks so much, guys – you’re gems! <g>
This fic does have a WHAM – some themes of it may be upsetting for younger readers. I have some semblance of an idea as to how this is going to end up – but no clue as of yet about how many parts I’m going to have, or how long it’s going to be. I’m not committing myself to a posting schedule – college is pretty hectic at the moment and I have to do some work on other fics, both of my own and for other authors. This part is pretty short, for reasons which will become apparent
And if you’re in any way worried by the time you get to that fun cliffhanger – rest assured, there
will be a happy ending
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
All for Me
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
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Do you see a brighter day for me
Another day
A day?
Do you wonder what’s in store for me
The cure for me
The way?
Can you see
Oh look down and see the tears I’ve cried
The lives I’ve lived
The deaths I’ve died
You died them too
And all for me.
~~Honest Questions, written and performed by Daniel Bedingfield~~
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Why?
That word has been echoing hollowly through my head for days, for weeks now.
He was my partner.
He was my best friend.
The only man I’ve ever loved, and they took him away from me.
They took him away.
I want to die.
That’s why I’m here. Here, on this ledge, overlooking the city.
On the tallest building in Metropolis.
About to jump.
I close my eyes, disgusted at the melodrama of that last thought. I never knew that I could be reduced to this.
I’ve always had such a low tolerance level for potential jumpers. Attention-seekers, I always thought – out for the five minutes of fame that their sick, twisted stupidity would bring them. Never putting myself in their position. Never understanding the sheer desperation that pushes people closer to this oblivion, this utter void that pushes people closer and closer to the brink of destruction, until finally they float over.
When there is nothing left for them.
When their spirit, their soul has been sucked straight out of them.
When they’re not people any more – just wraiths, shadows – drifting aimlessly through time, living but not alive.
When they’re me.
There is nothing left for me. My past, my present, my future – all of that withered and died as soon as Clyde Barrow put his finger on the trigger.
A woman who once thought that she had everything has been picked up and whirled around in the dance of life, only to be dumped down again when the music ended, to discover that she no longer has a partner.
A writing partner.
A dancing partner.
A life partner.
She no longer has one.
*I* no longer have one.
The dance ended with the concave reverberation that resonated through Georgie Hairdo’s club, through my heart, as the bullets raced out of Clyde Barrow’s gun and buried themselves in Clark’s chest in the same heartbeat.
Heartbeat.
His heartbeat.
*My* heart beats.
No. No. My heart ceased beating along with Clark’s. My soul died with his. I’m right there in the cold, yawning abyss of death with him.
So why not take the last step and make it final?
I shiver, and look down at the cold stone pavement below. All it takes is one step – just one.
So why don’t I do it?
Coward.
I’m a coward.
Yellow…
Red…
Blue…
Superman.
Superman.
I hate Superman.
Why?
Why couldn’t he save him?
Brown eyes.
Clark’s brown eyes.
Laughing, mischievous, teasing brown eyes.
Full of light.
Eyes the same brown as the deepest, darkest, richest mocha coffee.
Full of light.
No.
Full of darkness, darting towards me before rolling back in his head, the eyelid closing abruptly over them.
Pain. No, no pain. Clark hadn’t felt any pain. All that had been in his eyes was worry – worry for me, and horror at experiencing his own death through me.
Even in his last moments, he was worried for me.
I killed my best friend.
The man whom I once dubbed ‘a hack from Nowheresville’ the man who bore with my snide remarks, one-liners and put-downs for months before I finally accepted him, the man who bore still more sarcasm and malice on my part even after that, the man who brought me coffee in the morning, and held me when I cried, and edited my copy over my shoulder, and bought me pizza and movie tickets and caramel apples, and teased me when I started to get ahead of myself, the man who was kind and compassionate and caring and loving and…
Loving. I loved him, and he never knew.
I killed the man I loved.
I close my eyes, and jump.
Rushing down, down, the air rushing past me, all I can think about is him. How I’ll soon be reunited with him. With Clark. My Clark.
Clark.
Blackness.
* * * * * * * *
tbc... * * * * * * * *
