Sonambulism

Checklist for Eternity

Thu, 04 Sep 2008 16:44:22 GMT

If you could live forever how would you spend your time?

'Could' live forever is very vague. But lets just say 'live forever' in the vampire sense (or Jack Harkness, if you will) as in never age, never die. I'd try and write the greatest book ever written. Impossible, obviously, but if I had forever, I'd go ahead and try. And I'd spend loads of time over the little things, things that people do in a rush. I'd spend days getting ready to go out somewhere special, because what are days in the face of forever? A handful of heartbeats. I'd spend a decade planning the perfect party, with everyone I'd want to be there, family, friends, celebrities, lost loves, millionaires, street musicians, the poor people who've been kind to me in the past. I'd look for true love and not settle for anything less. If nothing could kill me, I'd go out and make love to all the people I've wanted to before, and not spend days worrying about catching anything, and I'd jump off every cliff into the sea that has always frightened me away before. And even if I could die, I'd still jump, because death in the face of forever is just true freedom. Perhaps I'd spend a decade, or a century, or a millenia helping out people in need.

For a while, I'd be a superstar, because even if it took me six years to make it, that's just a few thousand turns of the earth. Then I'd be a fireman, then a private detective. If the fancy took me I'd train to be a doctor, and then move out to texas to drive cattle. I could get every masters degree I'd ever need. I'd make all the waking moments of my families lives perfect in anyway I could.

And then I'd take to learning. I'd learn every little bit of history we've ever uncovered, then uncover my own. Then I'd read every religious prophecy and idea and plan for the future. I'd learn about the stars, and I'd travel into space and the great beyond and back again. I'd replant the rainforests and watch them grow. I'd learn every instrument, and compose one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever. I'd play it in the ruins of the colosseum, I'd play it to my idols, I'd play it to kings and presidents and queens and to every third world country. And then I'd study things we don't know about, like magic, and the afterlife, and the supernatural.

I could dedicate the span of a hundred lives to learning to fly, and to learning to make other people immortal, so I could start a family. I could train evolution, and create new animals. I could think up new letters of the alphabet.

Since the prompt is called 'checklist for eternity', I think I'll make a checklist. But not one of what I'd do with my time if I had forever, because the possibilities are endless. Here's a list of important things I've wanted to do, knowing the time I have:

- Deep sea dive
- Climb Mount Kilamanjaro
- Write a novel
- Make a movie, write the script, act in it, choose the cast, produce it, direct it, all myself
- Own a Plymouth GTX
- Meet Jeremy Clarkson
- Take a road trip across America
- Ride through the rockys
- Get a tattoo
- Visit thailand, canada, oz and scotland
- Play music live on stage
- See Queen live
- Act in a west end show
- Visit the Mauldives before they sink
- Sail the English channel
- Skydive/paraglide/bungee jump
- Learn to dance
- Have someone break up with me. I know it's a really strange thing to want, but I've never been dumped and it's actually quite distressing. Makes me feel like I'm never going to find anyone I want to be with. It'd be nice to have my heart broken a little, just so I could feel like I wasn't always going to be better off alone.
- Fly a helicopter.
- Fly a plane.
- Own a motorbike.
- See a Shakespeare at the Globe
- Swim with sharks
- Visit a polar country (hell, even Iceland will do)
- Take a train across russia
- Be truly loved and love in return
- Leave my mark on this world when I go

God Deciding

Wed, 03 Sep 2008 23:30:53 GMT

Prologue to something, maybe. Spike/Lindsey. Rated R.

--

Cradling the pale body in his arms, running a shaking hand through once lustrous brown hair, rocking the motionless man back and forth in a way that was once the only comfort he’d ever known; his tears ran down his already stained cheeks, fresh blood crept up the fabric of his previously fresh shirt, dripped down his arms, stained his fingernails, plagued his entire being because it wasn’t his own and it should have been. This time, he wanted to take the fall. He wanted to turn back time, and slap his fear out of him, because this was scarier than anything he could possibly have comprehended when he was curled up in the back of the jeep, trembling in the wake of his living nightmare. He wanted to be strong enough.

Spike wanted to stand up, too. He wanted to get off the soiled concrete, ignore the puddle of blood he was kneeling in, and break something. No, break everything. First, he’d break the windows on the jeep, and the mirrors, and the dashboard. Then, he’d break the rotting crates that sat abandoned in the long-forgotten car park which in it’s time had probably served as a tomb for more people than just the body in his arms. If anyone tried to stop him, he’d break their hands, their ribs, their leg if he had to. Then finally, he’d drive the jeep straight through the shitty concrete barrier without his bloody seatbelt on and plunge down five storeys and break his neck. But he couldn’t. He doubted he’d ever be able to let go. He’d rather curl up on the concrete and hang on forever, starve to death.

He couldn’t do that either. Not while the bastards who did this were still running loose… his head dropped, burying his face in a head full of dark hair and Spike screamed. He let out all of his agony in one piercing cry; he screamed in fear of the silence, he screamed for all the long years they’d never get to spend together, for everything he’d ever lost and never had, for fear of being alone.

He wondered how the hell things had gotten this bad; his fault, of course it was, but last moment of happiness wasn’t so distant a memory. Three weeks ago, the two of them had been messing around on the living room sofa, eating pizza, not-really-watching some sappy movie, one of the best days of his life. Six months ago, the two of them had gone out for their first ever date, to see a movie, and then for the first time in his twenty two years of life, Spike had been kissed on his own doorstep. He felt like the bloody prom queen that night; the cat that got the cream. And to think, it was only eight months ago that they’d first met, when he’d walked into the massive office block with no other intention than to do the job he was employed to do – fix the boiler – and the handsome brunette stranger had brought him a cup of instant coffee and admitted he was having a rough day and needed someone to talk to. Spike hadn’t really been that keen, but he’d listened anyway. It had almost fallen apart, just a fortnight ago, when he’d found out Spike’s secrets. Spike figured he never should have hidden them, but he was so ashamed, and too weak to get help on his own… they got through it, but then everything spiralled downwards faster than a crashing rocket ship and all because he couldn’t fend for himself.

Spike screamed, louder and louder, because he was scared he’d never be strong enough to avenge his lover properly.

But then he stopped, and rubbed his teary face. Still shaking, Spike ran a blood-stained hand through his own messy blonde hair and lay the broken body down gently on the concrete. He wiped his fingertips on his shirt, before he ran them softly over open, empty eyes that had once been so dark and passionate and determined. Closed, he almost looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. Completely at ease, if you squinted. Spike squinted.

Kneeling by the bloody body, Spike hesitantly pulled off the suede jacket he was wearing – covering the body would be the final goodbye. He couldn’t call the cops because with everything they had against him already, they would probably lock him up without trial. He couldn’t have a funeral… As he draped the long brown coat over the man he’d loved for so long, he leant over and kissed his dead lips, still tingling with the warmth of life.

“I don’t think I ever told you enough,” He stuttered as he folded the jacket around the corpse, teeth chattering and body still shaking from crying. “I love you. I…”

Somehow, suddenly, that was enough. He didn’t want to spoil the last thing he was ever going to say to the dead man by getting angry or upset again. If there was an afterlife, he wanted his lover to pass on with those words hanging in the air. With a slight nod and a sad smile, he stood. Spike wiped his eyes and turned away from the body, his own tensing as he held back more tears. Strong men didn’t cry, that’s what his father had always told him, and now it was his turn to be strong.

“Goodbye, Lindsey,” he whispered, taking his first tentative step away. “Be free, pet.”

Lindsey McDonald was only 24. It wasn’t his time to die. He had a good job, a good life; he’d found happiness, and he was loved, and it was all taken away in a few brutal knife wounds that Spike knew were meant for him. The only happiness that Spike had ever found was gone and now all he was was empty, save the violent thirst for revenge, the sheer determination that the bastards who’d killed his lover would pay with their lives.

First post

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 12:34:28 GMT

Because everyone has to have a first post.

I suck at this.