ad00absurdum: (i write)
Ad Absurdum ([personal profile] ad00absurdum) wrote2011-07-14 11:41 am
Entry tags:

Fic: original

Title: That's Why I Hold You (That's Why I Hold You Dear)
Author: Ad Absurdum
Rating: PG
Word count: 902
A/N: A piece of original/meta fiction I finally managed to finish, after leaving it for a year or so sitting among other papers.
First person narration and present tense (first time I tried it); engages in fandomspotting.
The title is taken from Lights - a song by Interpol.



That's Why I Hold You (That's Why I Hold You Dear)


I leave the flat, checking if I've got everything with me. There's a job to be done and discovering in the crucial moment that you forgot something, just wouldn't do.

I lock the door. One lock, second lock. I was tempted to install the third one, but I finally decided it would be taking my paranoia one step too far and out for a stroll. I'm not quite there yet.

I walk down the corridor, preparing myself for what I'll see when I'll leave the building. The first time (and the second and the third...) was quite a surprise. I really did think my sanity waved me goodbye that day. Hell, maybe it wasn't waving but drowning - only to be never seen again.

I still think that sometimes, but other times I think I see those things because I've got a stressful job, and yet other times I think seeing them is not that uncommon.

I mean there's no reason I should be the only one who sees ghosts, spooks, shadows, whatever they are.

Yeah, not ghosts probably. I don't see "dead people". I see... fictional people. The real people's minds are full of images - characters from books, movies, you name it. I've never realised how many people indulge in creating lives for those characters - taking alternative paths or missed opportunities - but when they do, I can see it. The two realities overlapping neatly to drive me insane.

I'm finally outside. The goal is not to get distracted now.

I pass a bus stop: three girls talking animatedly, an old man sitting on a bench and a young woman with a spectre of a man with dark curly hair and a jacket that went out of fashion probably somewhere in the early 80's, standing where she is - his half-transparent image occupying the same space. He looks at his wristwatch, impatient, and I see the woman frowning. I move on.

I pass a couple of teenagers, the guy's got his arm around the girl who's laughing hysterically at something he's just said. Thankfully, I see nothing more from them. Role-playing partners are the worst. The intensity of their (and their shadows') multi-level interaction gives me headaches.

There's another girl heading my way. I see a faint outline of a figure. The girl is distracted by a mobile chirping in her purse, and the image winks out of existence.

For the next couple of blocks, I see no more fiction spilling over from people's brains. I almost start to relax when I spot a thirteen-year-old boy standing before a shop window. I don't look into his eyes, but given the fact that his imagined shadow is a scantily clad warrior princess, I'm pretty sure they're glazed right over.

I sigh and at the same exact moment I hear a chuckle in my head. I still have that very reflective shop window to my right so I glance up and see my own fiction-wraith giving me a sly wink.

Oh, haven't I mentioned I've got one too?

For the thousandth time I wonder why I didn't choose cooking instead of writing as a hobby. Would be more useful too, and maybe (surely) I wouldn't see. Oh well, water under the bridge or maybe spilt milk. Whatever.

I need to cross the street. I wait patiently for the lights to turn green; I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself. Fortunately, I don't see anything supernatural in the people waiting with me. Despite the frequency with which it happens and the fact that it's been quite some time since the first... sighting, I still can't help staring sometimes.

Like now. Safely on the other side of the street, so at least there's no danger I'll get run over, I stop and gawk at one car in particular. I try to make it as if I'm looking somewhere in the direction I came from, but from the corner of my eye I can see a woman in the driver's seat and her four imaginary friends. That looks crowded. It also looks like they should light up the inside of the car with all those glowing lines on their clothes. Yellow, red, white and blue and they all look like they're arguing. I'm thankful the windows are closed and I can't hear a thing. The guy with the yellow lines looks ready to kill someone.

We resume my walk. Since I glanced into that window and acknowledged my personal shadow, he's still here. Considering where I'm going and what for, it's not at all surprising. He knows this job.

We're nearing our destination. I check the address once again and go inside the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first pair is solid wood, but the secong, leading from a carpeted hall to the stairs, is all brass and glass panels.

I see his/my reflection. He's a couple of inches taller than me, green eyes glittering with anticipation and Devil's smile. Maybe it should be disturbing, but it's only nice to see at least one of us still enjoys how we earn our daily bread.

We reach into my jacket, he gives me another blinding smile, I push the door and we take the stairs up to the second floor. Before I ring the bell to No. 13, I attach the silencer to the gun. We're ready.


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