Jesus fucking Christ, what was that noise? I slam on the breaks and carefully reverse, which let me tell you is ridiculously difficult when you're as intoxicated as I am tonight. I run over the guy's foot in the process. I curse again and eventually am able to maneuver the car to the side of the road next to the form. I get out of the car; admittedly, I'm a bit wobbly.

As I pick myself up off of the ground I think perhaps this is too much work and I should just get back in my car and drive away. But just because I'm drunk don't mean I doesn't have no morals, so I stumble over to the shape on the ground. I have no idea what it is. None at all. It is a mystery, the object on the ground is completely and utterly foreign to me. I push away the guy's hood and look into his face. To my shock and horror he's still alive. Panic starts to well up in me. All thought of morals is gone and all I can comprehend is I'm going to jail. I can't go to jail I've got work in the morning and who will feed my dog? They never say what happens to the dog.

Somehow I'm sitting on the ground. I wonder for a moment how I got there when I realize that the guy is talking. I wonder for a moment how long he's been doing this, then I start to listen. He's not making much sense, either that or my ears aren't. All I can make out is, "Help me, help me, oh, God, help me," but there's nothing I can do and I tell him so, I tell him I can't help him that I'm not a doctor I'm not God I'm sorry but I have to go to work and now I'm cradling his head in my lap and tears (mine? his?) are mixing with the blood and torn flesh on his face and I would except that I have to feed my dog and I'm so sorry but I have to go and why is he screaming the sound is almost enough to make me fall over again but finally I make it to my car. Why can't my hands stop shaking, at least long enough to turn the key, but the car's already on and why is he screaming, why, why, why can't he just leave me be, I have to work in the morning.

I'm handling the car far better than I thought I would and I have to go back and forth at least a million times it seems before he stops screaming.

( Even when preoccupied with a legion of killer mannequins the Doctor doesn't fail to notice how beautiful the girl is. )

( Fear and Loathing in Cardiff )


prompt: ( Teacher's Pet )


prompt: ( Some Assembly Required )

Clark often wondered if he was insane. Well, who could blame him? His parents told him he was an alien, and he had all these weird powers -- for all he knew he could have had some horrible experience and was now suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Living in a fantasy world. Most likely he got whammed in the head during the meteor shower.

Chapter One, in which the story begins.

Chapter Two, in which Clark gets a phone call from someone he almost didn't not expect, and comes out to almost but not everybody.

Chapter Three, in which there are Threats, Threads, and Automobiles.

Chapter Four, in which Clark is a Superhero. He should be rewarded. But not by Janice Marchfield.

Chapter Five, in which Lex knows everything. But that's to be expected -- Lex probably knows people who shoot heroin into their eyeballs.

Chapter Six, in which Clark writes lists, but it's completely pointless so he decides to bring the story to an end.

Clark often wondered if he was insane. Well, who could blame him? His parents told him he was an alien, and he had all these weird powers -- for all he knew he could have had some horrible experience and was now suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Living in a fantasy world. Most likely he got whammed in the head during the meteor shower.


( Read more... )

All Chapters

Chapter Two, in which Clark gets a phone call from someone he almost didn't not expect, and comes out to almost but not everybody.

( Read more... )

Previous Chapters

Chapter Three, in which there are Threats, Threads, and Automobiles.

( Read more... )

Previous Chapters

Chapter Four, in which Clark is a Superhero. He should be rewarded. But not by Janice Marchfield.

( Read more... )

Previous Chapters

Chapter Five, in which Lex knows everything. But that's to be expected -- Lex probably knows people who shoot heroin into their eyeballs.

( Read more... )

Previous Chapters

Chapter Six, in which Clark writes lists, but it's completely pointless so he decides to bring the story to an end.

( Read more... )

Previous Chapters

When Lightning Strikes
When you're young, anything is possible. Or at least, the young always think it is.

Ready... ready... wait for it...

Flash.

Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating everything; bright as day. He admires the lightning's brute force, it's strength, it's undeniable power. Stone crumbles before it. Water, too, flounders in the face of Zeus, turned from it's normal state to one of liquid fire. People run inside their homes, perhaps watching the storm unfold from the safety of their parlors or cowering fearfully in their beds. Not him. He stands under the rain: chin up, arms out, daring the lightning to make a move. Stupid, he knew - dangerous even, for he could not win against such a force. But every storm outside he goes. Tempting fate. Offering his mind, body, and soul to the brilliant bolts. He loves them. He lives for them. The heart-stopping exhilaration, the mind-numbing awe.

He never goes out to watch the storms anymore, and every time he hears the crack of thunder he remembers a time when he was not confined to these four walls. He drinks scotch to numb the pain. He drinks until he can laugh bitterly as he recounts those years. A time when he didn't see, didn't understand the true way of nature. Cause and effect. Throw a stone into water and the water ripples. No matter how strong the lighting bolt, thunder always has the last laugh. He drinks scotch and laughs at the man he was, and the man he has become.

Snape doesn't hate Harry for his father. He hates him because every time he sees that bolt of lightning, he remembers.

Of Peaches and Poe
Sirius watches Remus read. Epiphanies ensue.

I always wondered why Moony loved books so much, or why anyone did for that matter. To me books were things you skimmed through when you didn't know the answer to number fifteen on the history assignment. Things that were just sort of there, part of the decor or propping open a window. How Remus could just sit there and read them for hours was anybody's guess.

I glanced over at the brown-haired boy.

Poe. One of Remus' favorites. I tried reading that bloke once, just to see what all the fuss was about. Some mindless drivel about a peach and a grandfather clock or something like that.

I gave in and let myself stare. No one was around to see me do it, and Remus himself was immersed in the book.

I felt an inexplicable burst of jealousy. Damn book, I thought angrily. What's it got that I haven't? I'm here, and I, if I may say so myself, am much more alluring than a load of musty old paper.

After gazing at Remus absentmindedly for a good amount of time, I actually began to watch him. Not just watch him, I did that all the time, but in the crackling light of the fire I studied him; the contours of his face that I knew so well. Looking at him, I realized that I couldn't quite place his expression. Almost like sadness, but not quite. Almost like awe, but not quite. Simply put, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. In that moment I sat quietly on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room, listened to the crackle of the fire, soaked in the dancing of the warm light and the presence of Remus. I couldn't explain it to you now, but in that moment I knew, in some skewed, secondhand sort of way, why people loved books.

"My Hero" (Or - The Last Will and Testament of the Late Draco Malfoy)

Harry gets a lecture on How This Saving-The-World Thing Is Supposed To Go. Rule #1, Heroes never give in to temptation. You're a hero, Harry. Deal with it.
( Read more... )

Greener Than the Scenery

( Harry is in love with Malfoy, and Ron feels betrayed. But Ron's problems run deeper than jealousy and all is not as it seems. )

Worthless (or - So You Say You Love Me, Well, Here's What I Have To Say About That)

( Be careful what you wish for, because wishes don't come true and all that you have left is an empty lamp and a hand sore from rubbing it. )

He comes home. He's stoned again.

They make love.

Or, at least, that's what she calls it. In truth, as she slides down the wet wall tiles in her steamy bathroom, she feels more lost than loved. The scalding water hits her with such force it's almost too painful to stand. She feels like she's on fire, inside and out. As the heat runs smoothly down her body, her skin tingles and goes numb. She feels both pain and relief and does not know which is stronger. She tilts her head back against the tiles and closes her eyes.

When she open the door to the bathroom, the cold air comes rushing in. Though her skin is tender, she feels renewed and refreshed by the chill. Like a cool morning in spring, when everything is covered with dew and shivering, waiting until the time is right to burst from their buds and spread their petals.

Except that it's a small, messy apartment stale with smoke and sweat.

He comes home so drunk he passes out on her couch without speaking a word. He has vomit on his shirt and rips in his jeans.

She loves him so much. Sometimes she's sure she'll explode with the force of her feelings. When he's laying on her couch it's so hard not to look away, because love is not always blind. Love is not always loving your partner's faults. Sometimes love throws every crack into huge relief. How much more could she love him if he wasn't damaged? She'd tried to fix him and his stop up his cracks, but she is no miracle-worker. As he lays there, out cold, she has to force herself to look at him else be consumed by anger and disappointment. Because who is he, nothing but a drunkard and a thief. He steals her heart every morning, breaks it every night. She feels as shattered as the bottle on the floor. As dirty and as useless.

She would be lost without him. He is hers to take care of. Her duty -- he gives her purpose. She knows this just as surely as she knows she will find a new purpose, and hopefully a new heart. As she folds her clothing and sets it carefully into the suitcase, she sends up a prayer for him.

He'll need it.

( In Which Draco Malfoy Is Not Gay. )

( In Which Draco Malfoy Is Not Gay. )

( In Which Draco Malfoy Is Not Gay. )

( In Which Draco Malfoy Is Not Gay. )

Kate often wishes she could go crazy, if only to escape the mundanity. The utter mediocrity of every day life. Get up, go to work, perhaps go with a friend to a cafe or the local Walmart, watch a bit of telly, go to bed. Get up, go to work, perhaps read a book, talk on the phone, listen to some music, go to bed. Get up, kill time, go to bed. Could extreme boredness actually cause one's mind to crack? she wonders. In the dark of night, she hopes.

Sometimes she dreams that she meets by chance an interstellar traveller who invites her to join him in his spaceship. She fights aliens, defends galaxies, and ultimately falls in love with her savior. Everything is more real in those dreams: her fear, her courage, her love. When she wakes, everything she feels is like a shadow.

Sometimes she dreams that through some freak accident she's transported back in time. She races the clock, using her knowledge of the past (much better than it actually was in any history class) to save her present and preserve the future. She has a purpose in those dreams: she is needed, she is important, she is indispensable. When she wakes, she's just plain old Kate once more.

Sometimes she dreams she is targeted by a serial killer. She manages to escape, but the murderer won't rest until she is dead. She and the police work together to try and crack the case before it's too late, much in the vein of every serial killer movie Kate's ever seen. Keeping with tradition there's car chases, gun fights, and playful banter during those long stake-outs with the handsome head detective. Everything is exciting in those dreams: narrowly dodging a bullet, a rocky romance with a ruff-and-tumble cop who doesn't play by the rules, volunteering as bait in their last-ditch plan to trap the psychopath. When she wakes, her biggest responsibility is filing her boss's invoices.

And so Kate spends her days, getting up, going to bed, and killing time between dreams, hoping that the stress of disappointment will snap her mind and one day she just won't wake.

Humors:: discontent