~ Not really a fanifc, but I figured it should go here anyways ~It is a cold, dark night, in a cold, dark city. Right off of main street, and a left down the road, there's a bright neon sign, “Willen Hope's”. A bar, filled with an air, an oppressing, heavy air, filled with the tension and feeling of a man, sitting at the bar. 5'7”, a broad brown overcoat enshrouds his thin frame, his stark white face is shadowed by 5 o' clock, and the dimness of the bar. His crystal blue eyes stare into the table, unmoving for minutes, delving thoughts he'd rather leave behind. With a blink, he tears his eyes away from their invisible catch, yet still they see only the dry, smudged grains of the bar. The man takes a breath, and slides an empty shot forward with the back of his hand,
~ Sometimes I write sadfics ~
~ Sometimes I write sadfics ~
“Hit me again.”, He mumbles, his voice strained and aching.
The tender looks at the man, who's eyes haven't been met all night, and stares for a moment; but the enigma of the man's thoughts persist to elude him, so he fills the man's cup, and walks to another patron. Again. The man grasps the glass, his ever-steady gaze assessing the contents. He throws his head back, and the alcohol sears his throat; but he doesn't care.
“Anything rational,”, he had said to himself, “is better than what I run from.”
He had been here for hours. Days. Weeks running. The glass clinks as it greets the counter once more, and the man lowers his head again, his eyes screwed shut, then slowly opening. They once again find their catch, sometime in the past, a memory. The man hulks over the bar as a woman walks in; she is new. No one in the bar recognized her. No one but the man. But the man was once again awash in his remorse, lost to this world. The woman sits at the bar, a few seats down, and asks for a drink as she rests her head in her hands. A fairly attractive woman, 5'5”, short, brown hair, and a sparkle in her eyes; a spark quiet now, and has been for a while. The tender asks what she wants.
“What've you got?”
“I got a little Number 13, if you're willing to pay a bit.”
“Is it good?”
“It's the most popular drink of the night.”
“I'll take it.”
The tender pours the golden liquid, and the woman presses the shot to her lips, feeling the alcohol sear her throat; but she was used to that. The woman rests her head in her hands again, as the tender fills the man's glass once more, and gold splashes into it. A woman sidles up to the man, a local prostitute.
“Hey there. You look like you got the bad end of the shit-stick. Is there anything I can do?”
“Leave me be.”
“Oh C'mon... just let me -”
“I said leave me be.”
The man was not unattractive, but he wanted nothing with this woman. As the man and the slut trade words, the tender once again fills the woman's glass, beginning a friendly question; but he is cut short. The slut is one of the regulars, the tender and she are... acquaintances. The tender says, from his position near the woman,
“The man wants his peace, Clymene. Give 'em that.”
Disappointed, the slut removes herself from her position between the man and the woman, the latter's eyes find the man, hulking over the bar, eyes dead and burning holes into the glossed brown counter. She is stunned. The man pushes his glass out.
“Hit me again.”
The tender ambles over to fill his glass, then gets called further down the bar. The woman continues to stare, astonished at what is before her; she recognizes the man. She had known him. She had cared about him; and he, her. Her words catch in her throat as the man knocks back his drink, and stands up to leave. The tender knew he'd be back, he didn't hassle him. The tender is a good man. And, with as few words as they've traded, maybe the man's only friend in this dark, cold city. The man strides out the door into the cool starry night, his eyes greeting only the ground. The woman, flustered at her own inhibition, flags the tender down and pays kindly. She rushes through the door, chasing him. She looks left, then right; but there is but one man roaming this night. She walks after him, her shoes preventing her from moving as quickly as she'd like. The man comes to a lone streetlight, and it's bright, highlighting berth engulfs him. He stands there, motionless, as the woman draws closer. As she begins to summon her voice, the man throws his back to the pole, eyes screwed tight and lowered. Once again, she is quiet. He slides down its length, the greatest weight that man has ever burdened pulling him down. He sits on the ground, gritting his teeth and staining his face to shut his eyes. He sits for a moment, his chest convulsing as his breath quickens. The woman watches. The man puts his head back against the lightpost, its cool embrace calming the floodgates he has fought for an emotional eternity; he opens his eyes, they are reddened and full, and he looks up at the crystal clear sky, the stars bleary in his crisis. The woman wants to go to him, but then he speaks,
“Michelle, I know you can't hear me... but I want you – I want you to know that I hope you're happy. I always loved to see you happy... And I hope that all of mine – every drop – I hope it went to you. Truth know's I don't have it anymore... I want you to have it because...”
The man pushes himself up, stepping forward the infinitesimal bit closer to his astral audience,
“... because it was always your's anyway. I just wish I could've – that I could've given it to you.”
He thumbs a tear off his cheek, and looks down to it, as if in astonishment that he had the capacity to produce this wondrous droplet; then he brings his thumb to his lips, in a tender lover's kiss,
“... I love you. I always will.”
The woman's head is swimming as the man's eyes stream silent tears, finding the ground once more appealing. She doesn't know what she is feeling. The man begins to walk away. She wonders how long had she felt... this? Whatever it is? The man neared the next corner. She remembers now; she had always felt it before. The man turns. She had just never needed it. The woman takes a step forward, trying to call out, if only he could hear her. She trips on her heels. She kicks them off. The woman tears down the street, trying to call out the man's name through a cracking voice. She rounds the corner. He is gone; but the woman hears the slow step of his feet above her – the apartments. She lopes up the stairs, desperation quickening her feet. The woman sees the man stopped in front of a door, his head pressing against it, stifling torrents of emotion that all but ignore his efforts to contain them. She walks up behind him, and stands for a moment; not sure what to say. She hadn't thought this far yet. The silence makes her afraid of her own voice, but she says,
“We – We could always make more. If you'll let me give some back.”
The man draws a quick breath, lifting his head from the door, spinning to meet the voice he recognized. His bleary eyes meet hers, and he is paralyzed for a moment.
With a jerk, he tears his eyes from her, composing himself and forcing his astonished face to smile, like he used to; so she wouldn't feel sad for him; so he could see her smile; so that little sparkle would show in her eyes.
“Wha~Uhm, What -What are you doing here? Out so late?”
Her eyes said her words for her. He knew she had seen him. She threw her arms around his neck, and nuzzled into his shoulder.
“Oh, William, why did I leave?!”
A short hesitation of surprise passed, then the man looped his arms around the small of her back, hugging her close, and resting his cheek on her soft, brown hair.
“...Michelle? … I love you. And I never want to let you go.”
“I love you t-”
The man hugs her tighter, her embrace giving feelings to her words that no words could ever convey; then he gasped in surprise. As he tightened his hold on his beloved, their embrace reaching the point of emotional ecstasy, she disappears in his arms. She turns to smoke, a black, settling smoke, that drifts slowly threw his horrified, confused fingers. He looks around for help, as the sun rises, faster than it ever should. The light shoots from the horizon, rushing into his eyes like an overwhelming beast.
The man jerks in reaction; his vision returning as he glances worriedly around him. A few bar patrons take notice, but none acknowledge him. His eyes drift back the counter, the realization settling once again upon his shoulders, a weight greater than anyone could bear His mouth opens slightly, as his he had words left to say; then he closes it. There'd be no one to hear them.
“Hit me again.”
A solitary tear slips through the mans pained resistance, and he draws a shaky breath.
“Damnit tender,”, he rests his head on one hand, eyes once again lost in the counter,
“Hit me again.”
Last edited by acidbomb113 on Fri Mar 02, 2012 7:12 am; edited 5 times in total
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There's a non-pony fanfics section exactly for this stuff.
The humble terror lurking beneath the threads...
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