“….Who the fuck are you?”
You’re having a standoff. With yourself. Or you think that’s yourself anyways–smooth skin for miles, a full head of dirty blonde hair (golden you think miserably), an entire lower jaw and intact nose–wow!–as well as pretty commendable symmetry aren’t traits you’ve had in a long time. The only thing you got over this guy is that while you look like an Evanescence music video reject, this guy has on some of the dorkiest pajamas you’ve ever seen. Score one for team Bird Boy.
“Alright, stupid question. Why are you, how about that.”
“I’m the end of the line buddy. Break out some feathers and a set of scales old school style cause you’re getting your ass Reaped.”
“Everything you just said, that could have all been said a lot shorter. You’re the Time Police and I’m getting impounded.”
Even as it leaves your mouth you can feel pain ebbing out of you like poison seeping from a wound. It’s over. It’s over. There’s an end and you reached it, you’re over, you’re done. There’s an end to all of this, and it’s you, and you’ve never been so glad to see yourself in your whole life.
It’s over. There’s an over. You made it.
You’re standing in the field your boyfriend is buried in with his funeral flowers disintegrating around you, and you can’t think of a better place for this to have ended.
“You get a C+. Honestly it’s a little generous, but I factored in the Game since you had a pretty flowery narrative both before and after, but they were at least cohesive. But the Game has a way of fucking that up.”
You feel a spark of something foreign; rage. Just a little.
“…Are you rating my life?”
“Was the Ancient Egypt reference too esoteric for you or something? Duh.”
Your hand’s in his stupid collar before you catch yourself, and you’re snarling into that pathetic plastic wrap you call your lower lip.
“You don’t know shit about me, asshole.”
Wrong move. The guy doesn’t so much as flinch as he tugs the glasses down with his hand–his claw.
“Buddy, I know everything about you.”
You let go of him. He goes on.
“Do you know where you went wrong here? There was a bitchton of bad luck sure, but there’s a point you kind of nosedived. You know when that was?”
Now he’s asking for introspection. You should have known this was gonna be a pain in the ass. It’s you.
It’s the fact that’s haunted you for months–months? Years? Whatever time was supposed to be. You did this.
“I wasn’t ever supposed to leave. I fucking…end things. I spoil them. I rot them. I AM rot, and I just…brought it all to here. To him. I ruined. Everything.”
He’d understand. Laffi would never, even if he’d listen to you. It’d be whining anywhere else. But this guy, this guy would get it. He’d know you were just telling it like it was.
“Right so, try again but with your head out of your ass.”
“What the actual hell do you want from me? I’m not in the mood to be tested or, judged, or whatever else it is you came here to do. I’m done. I’m just done. You said it’s over, I just want it to be over. I get it alright? I failed as a Strider. I got mushy about a guy and he became my whole world. I did that stupid thing where when that person goes everything else goes too. But you know what, he WAS everything. So screw Strider point system, screw that and screw you, if my boyfriend dies and I want to cry then I’ll CRY. Like a fucking baby. What the hell are you gonna do about it?”
You have him, for a moment. He doesn’t say a word. Then he sighs.
“Half credit. Climbing the StriderClan Machoism tower and kicking it in the groin’s a plus. Ideally every one of us does that, it’s completely bogus.”
You didn’t rant all that way just to be told you were valid, but it’s a surprise bonus to feel the relief seep through you. So it WAS complete shit.
“But you know where you punked out too. That guy, that one guy–he became everything for you. Your whole everything. He became home, and future and hope and healing and meaning–your world. All those eggs in one basket, and when the handle ripped it all came crashing down around you. Now even if you pull your way out of this, you’ve got nothing left. You gotta start from scratch to keep going–but you don’t want to, do you? That’s why you’re done. Cause you won’t go any further, you can’t go any further. So you’re done.”
Like getting slapped in the face with it, over and over. Even as he talks you see it in your mind–the hill, the tall gold grass, the ocean and the sunset. The carnival, the lights, the funnel cake and the beads. The bed, the tv, the drainpipe, the golden warmth, the lips against your ear.
It’s him. It’s all him. You don’t remember much of anything else. You’ve been haunting this guy’s grave for months now. Whatever will you should have had to pick yourself up and do something with yourself disappeared with time.
He’s right. You gave too much of yourself too fast, and now it’s all gone.
“Well, you report card’s been delivered. I guess now that’s up to you.”
Up to you? Wait. WHAT is the end? Panic strikes hard and fast.
“What do you mean, up to me?”
“Your story’s pretty much over. The balance of risk, reward, pacing, sacrifice, arc, resolution, that’s all pretty much done with for you. Track’s done. If you want more, you’re gonna have to deal with that yourself.”
He holds up the floppy hood of his pajamas–heir you think. Not knight.
Don’t let your dreams be memes.
…Sometimes you can almost see it, just ahead. Warmth and light and something you utterly ruined just by being there. Sometimes you hear him again. Sometimes you feel his arms around your shoulders.
Sometimes wonder, if you could just reach it–
You’re hardly Time’s favorite now if this conversation said anything. You were a free agent. A bound loose end, tied only to one thing. You were Over, but that didn’t mean you were Done. Use all parts, as they say.
You don’t need to know the rules. There’s no respect for the limits left in you. There’s a piece of you that’s always belonged to it, that could have always returned if you were ready for it. Heroes in Stories mastered their bindings; you, consistent as you ever were, can give Everything to it.
You know he’s left. You don’t know when. It doesn’t matter. He’s left you to catch your train, and it’s already pulling away from the station. The Cold in you Ignites, and burns you away.
If you can just reach it–that impossible time–
You’ll give it Everything you’ve got.
