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24 August 2007 @ 02:36 am
Drabble: Shatter  
Author: Allete / yeuxverts47 
Title: Shatter
Rating: G
Word Count: 752, drabble
Genre: angstyness
Dedication: my pillow
AN: Well, this is completely different to what I normally write. But yesterday I was in that angry, black-cloud state and wanted to write something moody. So of course I don't actually write it until tonight... however it was all planned out yesterday. It might suck because I am beamstalks below the Alias angst godesses out there (damn, some of them can make you cry!). Anywho, I also wanted to get this out because I haven't even started working on new chapters for any other fics yet so I felt that if I at least pop some drabbles out every now and then then you all won't hate me too much, ;) Enjoy.

**** *******
You stumble, your knee colliding hard against the tile floor. You grasp in vain for the pedestal sink that you know is somewhere to your right but all you mange to grab is air. Fingers brush against the ceramic for a split second before the rest of your body fall victim to gravity. You don’t yet know the apartment’s layout well enough to maneuver around in the dark. You refuse to learn – refuse to buy things that would make the space seem more lived in since you have no boxes to unpack, refuse to accept that the generic beach side loft is the home you live in. Refusal of living.
So you stagger around in the dark because it’s easier than facing the light and seeing what you’ve become. Even still, you don’t own mirrors. They are fickle things that spit reality back at you with too much clarity. Plus do you really something more to trigger your daily nightmare of a smashed mirror? Gagging, you crawl toward the enemy. Without thought your arms move into position – fingers of one hand curled tightly around the top of the raised lid, the other falling flat onto the ground with an audible smack. The small sound seems to echo in your ears.
One, twice your body lurches before dinner digests in reverse. Pieces of chicken, bread, noodles, and potato drop into the abyss. You tried to make it healthy covering all the food groups, forcing yourself to down at least a few spoonfuls of each. You tried, you tried, you tried… You’re melting away. You know this. You showed up in Hong Kong skinner than you’ve been since graduating high school and that was before your stomach decided reject everything put into it. That’s a lie. It’s mental, about control. You know that too. Yet you lack the willpower enough to care.
Food stops coming but you keep heaving. You don’t stop until the putrid sting of stomach acid flies up your throat and out. The sound of flushing fills the tiny bathroom seconds before water. Your toothbrush is blue. It’s the third one you’ve been through since you’ve gotten back. You brush until your gums bleed, never feeling clean enough. Then you spit blood, gargle Listerine, and spit again. Afterwards you breathe a sigh of relive. Out. Done. Finished, until a few hours from now when you attempt to eat again.
Staggered steps carry you into the living room where you fall onto the couch. No lights, no sounds. You listen to silence without really listening. That’s all you do here. Sit. Stare. Wallow in what’s not there anymore, what never got a chance to be there. As much as you hate this new place, you find an eerie comfort in it. You don’t allow anyone in. It’s your time to let everything down and just be. Not like work – all masks and fake smiles, work. Constructing your words where it doesn’t sound like you want to snap the pretty, unblemished blonde in two.
Your gaze drops down at you bony arms, skinny fingers. Would you even have the strength do that now? You smile, one that feels actually real. Yes, for her you would.
The echo of the doorbell makes you flinch. You don’t answer. They knock, pound. You ignore. Pretend to hear silence. Finally he speaks. Somewhere deep inside you lets out a mirthless, bitter laugh. It’s him. It’s always him, always been him messing up the walls that you’ve constructed around yourself. You wonder how much time and distance you would need to take away his power to make them crumble. Nevertheless you still don’t answer, don’t move. There is the fumbling of keys, a curse and something smacking against the door… you hope it’s his head.
It opens. He fills the doorway. The look on his face is the reason you don’t have mirrors. He stares, hard. Silence stretches endlessly until it breaks.
“God, you can’t keep doing this, Sydney.”
“Why?” You ask, seriously. “I’ve heard the story a hundred times already. You fell apart, drank your way across Europe, found my ghost at the bottom of a bottle. How is this any different? You filled your body with poison, I’m expelling mine out. We’re the perfect for each other, don’t you think?”
His face changes, expression and muscles shifting. Eyes flying through emotions to fast that you can’t keep up. He opens his mouth and you swear that if he answers with a three letter word you’ll shatter. 


point_blank47 on August 24th, 2007 12:05 pm (UTC)
This sucks???!!!
" It might suck because I am beamstalks below the Alias angst godesses out there (damn, some of them can make you cry!)."

No you aren't Allete, not on the evidence of *this* fic!
Alleteyeuxverts47 on August 24th, 2007 08:29 pm (UTC)
Re: This sucks???!!!
*blushes* Thank you! I had a good time writing it. I think it's cathartic in a way to be able to write something profoundly more effed up than your own life to put things in perspective. And I think 2nd pov and angst is a clincher.
m0nical on August 24th, 2007 09:09 pm (UTC)
Loved it!!!

My two favourite passages (the caps are the "wow" parts LOL - we can't format in italic here, can we?):

"It’s always him, always been him messing up the walls that you’ve constructed around yourself. YOU WONDER HOW MUCH TIME AND DISTANCE YOU WOULD NEED TO TAKE AWAY HIS POWER TO MAKE THEM CRUMBLE. Nevertheless you still don’t answer, don’t move. There is the fumbling of keys, a curse and something smacking against the door… YOU HOPE IT'S HIS HEAD." This last bit, boy, you managed to trigger a smile in the middle of Angst-land!!!


Oh boy, now I wish we all started to work a bit on Season 3... You could continue this, I could start working on my "Triangle" (I already have the title, see? LOL) idea, and as for the others... I'm sure we could drag them in, season 3 has awesome potential! And if they've covered it already and I'm not aware of it, I hope they'll forgive me. You all know I have huge catch up to do!

Excellent short Allete! :) Keep them coming!
Allete: sexyweissanatoryeuxverts47 on August 25th, 2007 05:06 am (UTC)
Re: Ohhh....
Hee, I'm glad you guys are enjoying this! I should continue this? No, horrible idea, haha. But your Triangle sound very intruging - go for it! I had something simular to this going for a while, where Syd confronts Vaughn right at the start of s3. It was gonna be a songfic from "How to Save a Life" but never really went anywhere with it because (a) songfics seem good at the time then you look back and are like errr? what was I thinking. and (b) How to Save a Life I think has been played/done to death. But... everytime I head the song now:

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

Scream S/V season 3 angst to me.

(and as you can tell, you can to italics)

(Anonymous) on August 25th, 2007 02:44 pm (UTC)
Re: Ohhh....
Alison decides to throw her S3 sketch out the window ...