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rainbowfic2016-08-17 08:17 pm
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2016-08-17 08:17 pm
Meme Party 36, Olympic Gold 6
Name: starphotographs
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: NONE. (Not for want of trying. :P)
Characters: Corwin, Martin even though he isn’t actually, like, there.
Colors: Meme party 36 (Your argument is invalid), Olympic Gold 6 (games)
Word Count: 1,100ish
Rating: PG-13 (I guess?)
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Corwin can’t ignore it anymore. (But what is it, anyway?)
Note: GAAAAAAH. I wrote this for the first Second Stage (http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nekocase/southtacomaway.html), apparently, but I somehow thought the long one was the only one that needed to be in before three, and the two short ones were from today proper and could be cleaned up and posted in the evening. (I churned all three out in one sitting.) But, I got it backwards. Fuck. XD (I still like this enough to post it, though, so here it is anyway.)
Liar
I’m supposed to be writing a paper. It’s about the kind of thing that used to interest me. It’s supposed to be easy.
But my concentration is shot. The blank page is burning blue-green-red afterimages into my eyes, square and gleaming white as a new sidewalk on a summer day. Like the one I used to cross the street to avoid when I was a kid, because even seeing the thing in my peripheral vision was enough to short out my brain. I rub my eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Nothing that hasn’t been wrong right out of the gate. I came to this school knowing full well I’d given all I had to give in the twelve years I’d already spent. Then I wake up at this shitty desk, in this shitty apartment, and realize that I’ve somehow white-knuckled my way well into grad school. That I’m here only by the power of script-following and repetition, and I don’t actually know how to do anything I’m doing. I wind myself up and watch myself go. I feel like a house built without a foundation. Like foreign software cracked to run on the machine we all share, not written for this, stalling and glitchy. Like a European plug wired into an American socket with tape and paper clips, about to catch the entire carpet on fire, and oh god, it’s been a good run, but I don’t have all the right parts, and I can’t ignore that forever.
What I’m saying is, I’ve reached my logical conclusion.
I know that’s not all.
It is. I knew this would happen, and I skipped right down the path anyway. I’m stupid. They all exhaled in relief, me finally proving I was as smart as they thought. But I’ve only proved how stupid I was, and no one else can see it, because they never had to know this kind of stupid.
There’s something else I can’t ignore.
Yes, I can. I don’t even think about it anymore. It’s what he wants. He’s fine without me. Or, won’t be fine either way. Whatever. I’m not a part of this. He’s made that perfectly clear.
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him. It’s about what it means. What’s it matter if he’ll be okay? I still wasn’t there for him. I still fucked up.
I let go when I needed to let go. He was halfway out of existence and never got his shit together. There was nothing for either of us there.
Jesus, I’m really not one to talk about getting one’s shit together. If that was part of the contract, he’d have ditched me years ago. He’s always been the one who had his shit together. If anything, this leveled the playing field. Maybe we could finally understand each other.
I’ll never understand him. I didn’t before, and I sure as hell won’t now. Even before he crossed some weird invisible line, I couldn’t even imagine how his mind worked.
He was hardly breathing and strung up with tubes and wires and he barely knew where he was and I just left him, I left him because he wouldn’t talk to me. As if any of that was about me. As if I could keep him from dissolving into the rest of the world. As if I ever talked when he wanted to. I couldn’t even be a halfway decent friend when he was alive.
No, I was a great friend. I put up with his shit and went along with all that stupid crap he wanted to do. He doesn’t want to be friends anymore, so I won’t be.
Did he tell me that? How?
He didn’t need to tell me. It was obvious.
No, all that’s obvious is that he was in pain and losing himself, and I turned away.
He’d have done the same. Has done the same.
No, he wouldn’t. Remember when I was smoking on the fire escape that time, and I was so overwhelmed with everything that standing up and going back inside seemed complicated? Didn’t he coach me through that? Couldn’t I help him stand up and get back inside now?
He made fun of me through that whole thing.
He laughed, but he helped. He made me laugh. I didn’t laugh or help. I just left him lying there.
Goddammit, he’d have done the same!
What about when I forgot to eat for three days, or when I couldn’t manage my time well enough to fit food in with everything else I was doing? He started dragging me to have lunch with him. He didn’t leave me lying there.
He just thought I was fucked-up and weird and pathetic and wanted to fix me. Everyone does. Even when they’re supposed to like me.
He did not. That’s what made him different. When we’d go to the woods to study, he never said anything about how I never got any studying done. He just let me line up leaves and put interesting rocks in my pockets and peel bark off sticks the whole time. He knew that was just how I was and accepted it. I should accept him as he is now.
We both had a lot of time back then. I don’t have that kind of time now. I need to graduate and get out of here before this gets even worse and fucks me up for life. He’d understand. He wanted me to start sticking up for myself, and, wow, it looks like I finally learned.
Is this any way to thank him?
It doesn’t have to be. Not anymore. If he wants to be dead, then fine. We’re done with each other.
I’m horrible. I’m the worst friend in the world. I can’t believe I called him a sociopath that one time. God, he cried. I didn’t even know he could do that, but I guess I was what it took.
Then I might as well stay away from him. He’s knocked-down and powerless. Who knows what I’d be able to do to him now?
That makes sense, but it won’t fix this.
I don’t care. It is what it is. I have other shit to do.
Liar.
Yeah, well. I have to be. Always did.
But for how much longer?
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: NONE. (Not for want of trying. :P)
Characters: Corwin, Martin even though he isn’t actually, like, there.
Colors: Meme party 36 (Your argument is invalid), Olympic Gold 6 (games)
Word Count: 1,100ish
Rating: PG-13 (I guess?)
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Corwin can’t ignore it anymore. (But what is it, anyway?)
Note: GAAAAAAH. I wrote this for the first Second Stage (http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nekocase/southtacomaway.html), apparently, but I somehow thought the long one was the only one that needed to be in before three, and the two short ones were from today proper and could be cleaned up and posted in the evening. (I churned all three out in one sitting.) But, I got it backwards. Fuck. XD (I still like this enough to post it, though, so here it is anyway.)
I’m supposed to be writing a paper. It’s about the kind of thing that used to interest me. It’s supposed to be easy.
But my concentration is shot. The blank page is burning blue-green-red afterimages into my eyes, square and gleaming white as a new sidewalk on a summer day. Like the one I used to cross the street to avoid when I was a kid, because even seeing the thing in my peripheral vision was enough to short out my brain. I rub my eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Nothing that hasn’t been wrong right out of the gate. I came to this school knowing full well I’d given all I had to give in the twelve years I’d already spent. Then I wake up at this shitty desk, in this shitty apartment, and realize that I’ve somehow white-knuckled my way well into grad school. That I’m here only by the power of script-following and repetition, and I don’t actually know how to do anything I’m doing. I wind myself up and watch myself go. I feel like a house built without a foundation. Like foreign software cracked to run on the machine we all share, not written for this, stalling and glitchy. Like a European plug wired into an American socket with tape and paper clips, about to catch the entire carpet on fire, and oh god, it’s been a good run, but I don’t have all the right parts, and I can’t ignore that forever.
What I’m saying is, I’ve reached my logical conclusion.
I know that’s not all.
It is. I knew this would happen, and I skipped right down the path anyway. I’m stupid. They all exhaled in relief, me finally proving I was as smart as they thought. But I’ve only proved how stupid I was, and no one else can see it, because they never had to know this kind of stupid.
There’s something else I can’t ignore.
Yes, I can. I don’t even think about it anymore. It’s what he wants. He’s fine without me. Or, won’t be fine either way. Whatever. I’m not a part of this. He’s made that perfectly clear.
It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him. It’s about what it means. What’s it matter if he’ll be okay? I still wasn’t there for him. I still fucked up.
I let go when I needed to let go. He was halfway out of existence and never got his shit together. There was nothing for either of us there.
Jesus, I’m really not one to talk about getting one’s shit together. If that was part of the contract, he’d have ditched me years ago. He’s always been the one who had his shit together. If anything, this leveled the playing field. Maybe we could finally understand each other.
I’ll never understand him. I didn’t before, and I sure as hell won’t now. Even before he crossed some weird invisible line, I couldn’t even imagine how his mind worked.
He was hardly breathing and strung up with tubes and wires and he barely knew where he was and I just left him, I left him because he wouldn’t talk to me. As if any of that was about me. As if I could keep him from dissolving into the rest of the world. As if I ever talked when he wanted to. I couldn’t even be a halfway decent friend when he was alive.
No, I was a great friend. I put up with his shit and went along with all that stupid crap he wanted to do. He doesn’t want to be friends anymore, so I won’t be.
Did he tell me that? How?
He didn’t need to tell me. It was obvious.
No, all that’s obvious is that he was in pain and losing himself, and I turned away.
He’d have done the same. Has done the same.
No, he wouldn’t. Remember when I was smoking on the fire escape that time, and I was so overwhelmed with everything that standing up and going back inside seemed complicated? Didn’t he coach me through that? Couldn’t I help him stand up and get back inside now?
He made fun of me through that whole thing.
He laughed, but he helped. He made me laugh. I didn’t laugh or help. I just left him lying there.
Goddammit, he’d have done the same!
What about when I forgot to eat for three days, or when I couldn’t manage my time well enough to fit food in with everything else I was doing? He started dragging me to have lunch with him. He didn’t leave me lying there.
He just thought I was fucked-up and weird and pathetic and wanted to fix me. Everyone does. Even when they’re supposed to like me.
He did not. That’s what made him different. When we’d go to the woods to study, he never said anything about how I never got any studying done. He just let me line up leaves and put interesting rocks in my pockets and peel bark off sticks the whole time. He knew that was just how I was and accepted it. I should accept him as he is now.
We both had a lot of time back then. I don’t have that kind of time now. I need to graduate and get out of here before this gets even worse and fucks me up for life. He’d understand. He wanted me to start sticking up for myself, and, wow, it looks like I finally learned.
Is this any way to thank him?
It doesn’t have to be. Not anymore. If he wants to be dead, then fine. We’re done with each other.
I’m horrible. I’m the worst friend in the world. I can’t believe I called him a sociopath that one time. God, he cried. I didn’t even know he could do that, but I guess I was what it took.
Then I might as well stay away from him. He’s knocked-down and powerless. Who knows what I’d be able to do to him now?
That makes sense, but it won’t fix this.
I don’t care. It is what it is. I have other shit to do.
Liar.
Yeah, well. I have to be. Always did.
But for how much longer?
no subject
That said, the structure of this is really cool!