ext_36385 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
perfect-oasis.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-02-01 08:50 pm
perfect-oasis.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-01 08:50 pm
Static
Title: Static
Author: The Phantom Writer![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silentnumbsmoke
Pairing: BB/DM implied
Rating: R, for suicide/angst
Feedback: Please!
Disclaimer: Other than five cats and a puppy, I don't own anyone.
Notes: I wrote this in about 35 minutes. Have you ever been so incredibly depressed that you just had to bring it onto someone else instead of bearing it all yourself? That's what happened. I'm sharing it with Dom. Poor guy. Writing is my emotional outlet. Most definitely. I hope you like it!
As always, lots of thanks to my beta reader,airlia_vega!
Where had Dominic gone? “We miss you, man,” Elijah whispered sadly before he turned and shuffled away.
Where had Dominic gone? His body remained, going through the motions. Sleep, drink, sleep, drink… He hadn’t bathed in days. Anything that the hobbits forced him to eat didn’t stay long. He made frequent trips to the porcelain bowl, retching his guts out into the toilet. He shook and shrugged in indifference when blood mixed in with the toilet water.
His hazy gray-blue eyes seemed permanently sore from all the tears that had fallen; the tears that continued to fall.
Orlando, Elijah and Sean had all tried to talk to him, but he didn’t hear a word. Everything sounded like static, as if he could only hear through a defective walkie-talkie that had been dropped a few too many times.
The world, once colorful and fresh, was suddenly black and white, blurred at the edges, like an old action photo. He was never up – only down. Down in what he considered to be hell, in the deepest, darkest dungeons of despair. He held no hope. The one thing he’d wanted in this world was gone; out of his reach.
Others called it depression. He called it dead.
He was not living. His life ended when Billy turned his back on him, turned his back on Dom’s confession, and returned to Glasgow.
Now all that remained was his mere existence. He existed, but there was nothing more than that. A fucking existence that he wished to put to an end. An end that could cause no pain. No suffering. Only the reassurance that this old man (god, he felt so old…) was out of his misery.
Misery that brought others down with him. Misery that caused others to reminisce about ‘when Dom was happy’ or ‘when Dom’s body actually had a soul occupying it.’ Misery that made him curse his old determination never to own a gun.
The static filled his brain. He didn’t hear the pleads from around him, or, thankfully, the unorganized thoughts infecting his mind. Thoughts of the past when he still held hope, thoughts of Billy, of ways to commit suicide that didn’t include a gun, a razor edge (Sean, watching him warily, had taken his only razor from the apartment), or moving. He supposed if he just kept doing as he was, that’d do it. Drink to forget, to escape and pass out, never eating, speaking or even thinking. But he couldn’t wait that long. He couldn’t wait as the static lost power and died out, leaving him defenseless against his thoughts.
He moved for the first time in two hours. His head turned to the left, his head turned to the right. Looking. For anything. The lamp – ah, electricity. The stove – fire. Finally, his eyes stopped searching. The same day that Sean had taken away his razor, Orlando brought him a present. A glass jar. Full of pennies. “Remember when we watched Stand By Me, Dom?” Dominic remembered. “Remember how Vern buried his jar of pennies and, not for lack of trying, never found it again?” Yes, he remembered. “Here is yours. It’s not buried like Vern’s. You buried it, but now it’s here in front of you,” he said, placing the jar on the table before Dom. “And, unless you move it, it’s not going anywhere.”
It was time for Dominic to move the jar. Time to drop it. Literally.
He didn’t hear the thousands of pennies falling to the ground. He didn’t feel as the glass shards sliced into his coarse feet. He didn’t wince as he made the first gash. He didn’t care as his life drained out of him.
Without warning, the static cut off abruptly, and a voice cut through. “Hiya, Dom! It’s me, Billy. Listen… I’m sorry for walking out on you like that… I just… I needed time to think. And, well… I love you too, Dom. I always have. I wish you’d picked up the phone so I could hear your reaction, but… you didn’t. Oh well, I’m at the airport now and I have to go – my flight to LA is boarding. Yup, I’m coming to see you, Dom! I’m so excited! Well… I’m sorry for the wait and I’ll see you soon. I love you, Dom.”
The voice ended, but the static wasn’t present. After days of hearing nothing but static, he wished for its return. The silence – the dead silence – scared him. He was suddenly aware. Aware of his shallow breathing, aware of the constriction in his chest, aware of the sticky blood that surrounded him, aware of the blinking red light on the answering machine… Aware the Billy loved him. Aware that, after days of feeling nothing, he felt everything slam into him with full force.
Aware that Death was staring him in the eyes, beckoning.
He mouthed wordlessly in a silent protest. I love you, Dom. The words repeated, over and over. “Billy…,” he choked out as a haze washed through his entire body, chilling him to the bone. “Bill…” As much as he tried to hold out, tried to fight, Death easily won out over his weakened state. Darkness consumed his body.
Author: The Phantom Writer
silentnumbsmokePairing: BB/DM implied
Rating: R, for suicide/angst
Feedback: Please!
Disclaimer: Other than five cats and a puppy, I don't own anyone.
Notes: I wrote this in about 35 minutes. Have you ever been so incredibly depressed that you just had to bring it onto someone else instead of bearing it all yourself? That's what happened. I'm sharing it with Dom. Poor guy. Writing is my emotional outlet. Most definitely. I hope you like it!
As always, lots of thanks to my beta reader,
airlia_vega!Where had Dominic gone? “We miss you, man,” Elijah whispered sadly before he turned and shuffled away.
Where had Dominic gone? His body remained, going through the motions. Sleep, drink, sleep, drink… He hadn’t bathed in days. Anything that the hobbits forced him to eat didn’t stay long. He made frequent trips to the porcelain bowl, retching his guts out into the toilet. He shook and shrugged in indifference when blood mixed in with the toilet water.
His hazy gray-blue eyes seemed permanently sore from all the tears that had fallen; the tears that continued to fall.
Orlando, Elijah and Sean had all tried to talk to him, but he didn’t hear a word. Everything sounded like static, as if he could only hear through a defective walkie-talkie that had been dropped a few too many times.
The world, once colorful and fresh, was suddenly black and white, blurred at the edges, like an old action photo. He was never up – only down. Down in what he considered to be hell, in the deepest, darkest dungeons of despair. He held no hope. The one thing he’d wanted in this world was gone; out of his reach.
Others called it depression. He called it dead.
He was not living. His life ended when Billy turned his back on him, turned his back on Dom’s confession, and returned to Glasgow.
Now all that remained was his mere existence. He existed, but there was nothing more than that. A fucking existence that he wished to put to an end. An end that could cause no pain. No suffering. Only the reassurance that this old man (god, he felt so old…) was out of his misery.
Misery that brought others down with him. Misery that caused others to reminisce about ‘when Dom was happy’ or ‘when Dom’s body actually had a soul occupying it.’ Misery that made him curse his old determination never to own a gun.
The static filled his brain. He didn’t hear the pleads from around him, or, thankfully, the unorganized thoughts infecting his mind. Thoughts of the past when he still held hope, thoughts of Billy, of ways to commit suicide that didn’t include a gun, a razor edge (Sean, watching him warily, had taken his only razor from the apartment), or moving. He supposed if he just kept doing as he was, that’d do it. Drink to forget, to escape and pass out, never eating, speaking or even thinking. But he couldn’t wait that long. He couldn’t wait as the static lost power and died out, leaving him defenseless against his thoughts.
He moved for the first time in two hours. His head turned to the left, his head turned to the right. Looking. For anything. The lamp – ah, electricity. The stove – fire. Finally, his eyes stopped searching. The same day that Sean had taken away his razor, Orlando brought him a present. A glass jar. Full of pennies. “Remember when we watched Stand By Me, Dom?” Dominic remembered. “Remember how Vern buried his jar of pennies and, not for lack of trying, never found it again?” Yes, he remembered. “Here is yours. It’s not buried like Vern’s. You buried it, but now it’s here in front of you,” he said, placing the jar on the table before Dom. “And, unless you move it, it’s not going anywhere.”
It was time for Dominic to move the jar. Time to drop it. Literally.
He didn’t hear the thousands of pennies falling to the ground. He didn’t feel as the glass shards sliced into his coarse feet. He didn’t wince as he made the first gash. He didn’t care as his life drained out of him.
Without warning, the static cut off abruptly, and a voice cut through. “Hiya, Dom! It’s me, Billy. Listen… I’m sorry for walking out on you like that… I just… I needed time to think. And, well… I love you too, Dom. I always have. I wish you’d picked up the phone so I could hear your reaction, but… you didn’t. Oh well, I’m at the airport now and I have to go – my flight to LA is boarding. Yup, I’m coming to see you, Dom! I’m so excited! Well… I’m sorry for the wait and I’ll see you soon. I love you, Dom.”
The voice ended, but the static wasn’t present. After days of hearing nothing but static, he wished for its return. The silence – the dead silence – scared him. He was suddenly aware. Aware of his shallow breathing, aware of the constriction in his chest, aware of the sticky blood that surrounded him, aware of the blinking red light on the answering machine… Aware the Billy loved him. Aware that, after days of feeling nothing, he felt everything slam into him with full force.
Aware that Death was staring him in the eyes, beckoning.
He mouthed wordlessly in a silent protest. I love you, Dom. The words repeated, over and over. “Billy…,” he choked out as a haze washed through his entire body, chilling him to the bone. “Bill…” As much as he tried to hold out, tried to fight, Death easily won out over his weakened state. Darkness consumed his body.
no subject
I'm speechless.
Wow!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Re:
You handled it well and it was nicely written... but oh my god it's too sad. My heart hurts.
no subject
Oh, and... I really want to talk to you, but... you never get online! (I got your AIM s/n from your profile, I hope you don't mind!) *poke*
So... yesh. Happiness is soon! I'm sorry for making your head hurt! *offers Aleve*
Re:
And I'm sorry about not being online. Cause actually, I am, but I have my privacy settings high so you couldn't see me till I added you. But I've added you now, so we can talk soon.
no subject
V. good, but so sad!!
Re: