Post by lovebenry on Oct 7, 2007 12:53:19 GMT -4
Title: Step Right Up
Author: Me!
Rating: PG
Summary: Ben fades away silently. hints of Ben/Juliet. Spoilers through end of season 3
Disclaimer: If I owned them, we would have new episodes every day, twice on Sundays.
~o~
So this was it.
Bruised.
Broken.
On display.
Does anyone truly imagine how it will all end? Not the false I-hope-to-die-quietly-in-my-sleep pleas, but truly comprehend how it will all end. How the decisions you have made in your life, the rights and wrongs and in betweens somehow all add up in a complex formula to give you the end of your life?
And I know they are happy. I know that even if they are not looking at me they are laughing, mocking, content in their self-satisfied world.
I can almost hear the Carny’s voice.
Step right up. Step right up. Come one come all! Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. Come see The Unwanted Man. See the pathetic scars of the Broken Beast. Hear the cries of the Fallen God, the Shattered Angel. Come now. Only five cents a person.
Only five cents.
And they would come. The ladies, the gentleman, the boys, the girls. They would trail in lines, their five cents clutched in grimy, sticky hands, all excited to see the broken, the fallen, the shattered, the unwanted. And they would enter the tent and be disappointed.
Always disappointed.
Because before them would be a man, just a man, bloody, bruised, and broken.
Step right up. Step right up.
The voice would continue, promising a spectacle of defeat. The man who can’t escape, cannot leave, cannot be anymore.
Step right up. Step right up. See the impotent, the powerless, the weak. See the enemy.
And then they would file through again, their five cents seeming more now, and they would laugh and mock and tease and point. And they would be glad they saw the end of the man, the end of their wrong, and they would leave with smiles and happy hearts and they would move on, instantly forgetting the moment they left the tent. And at the end of the day all the Carny would be able to do is pack everything up and move on, dragging the Unwanted behind him.
Dragging, dragging.
I wonder what Juliet would do if she were here right now. Would she point, mock. Would she feel sorry, sad? Would she spare even a single tear for me, for her former friend, her former lover? Would she clasp my hand and sob, would she stand straight and smile? Would she comfort, would she fall down on my and cry?
It is probably best, then, that she is not here.
What about Alex? Would she look my way? Would she forget the end and remember the beginning, the days of cuddling and adventures and reading together and laughing together and dancing together? I love her. I love her more than I can bear.
So much of what I did was all for her. I wish I could tell her that and she could understand. A part of me wants to scream, shout yell. Beg her, beg all of them, beg everyone. I did this for a reason. I was thinking of you. I promise.
I promise.
But my screams are always silent, or maybe they are all just deaf to my voice. No one will turn their head. No one will blink an eye.
Does anyone truly imagine how it will all end? Not the false I-hope-to-die-quietly-in-my-sleep crap, but truly comprehend how it will all end. How the decisions you have made in your life, the rights and wrongs and in betweens somehow all add up in a complex formula to give you the end of your life?
But Jack looks my way. How inevitable. Saint Jack, Saviour Jack. He looks scared now. Perhaps he thought the weight of leadership would be light. Not the false, miniscule leadership he had done so far, but tending for an island, a living, breathing beast of earth so demanding in its commands, so harsh in its judgement.
He failed. He will fail. He has failed. He will always fail.
Saint Jack. Where are your angels now? Where are those that said they were devoted to you, loved you? Where are your friends, your family?
Nobody cares, Saint Jack.
Just look at me.
Nobody cares.
I always told you, though, didn’t I Jack? I told you that listening to Naomi would bring the end, would ruin everything. But you didn’t listen. You never listen.
And here we are now.
I in a box, you in a beard. Each broken, each bruised, each forgotten. At least I am dead, Jack.
What’s your excuse?
Step right up. Step right up. Come see the Unwanted Man.
~o~
FIN
Author: Me!
Rating: PG
Summary: Ben fades away silently. hints of Ben/Juliet. Spoilers through end of season 3
Disclaimer: If I owned them, we would have new episodes every day, twice on Sundays.
~o~
So this was it.
Bruised.
Broken.
On display.
Does anyone truly imagine how it will all end? Not the false I-hope-to-die-quietly-in-my-sleep pleas, but truly comprehend how it will all end. How the decisions you have made in your life, the rights and wrongs and in betweens somehow all add up in a complex formula to give you the end of your life?
And I know they are happy. I know that even if they are not looking at me they are laughing, mocking, content in their self-satisfied world.
I can almost hear the Carny’s voice.
Step right up. Step right up. Come one come all! Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. Come see The Unwanted Man. See the pathetic scars of the Broken Beast. Hear the cries of the Fallen God, the Shattered Angel. Come now. Only five cents a person.
Only five cents.
And they would come. The ladies, the gentleman, the boys, the girls. They would trail in lines, their five cents clutched in grimy, sticky hands, all excited to see the broken, the fallen, the shattered, the unwanted. And they would enter the tent and be disappointed.
Always disappointed.
Because before them would be a man, just a man, bloody, bruised, and broken.
Step right up. Step right up.
The voice would continue, promising a spectacle of defeat. The man who can’t escape, cannot leave, cannot be anymore.
Step right up. Step right up. See the impotent, the powerless, the weak. See the enemy.
And then they would file through again, their five cents seeming more now, and they would laugh and mock and tease and point. And they would be glad they saw the end of the man, the end of their wrong, and they would leave with smiles and happy hearts and they would move on, instantly forgetting the moment they left the tent. And at the end of the day all the Carny would be able to do is pack everything up and move on, dragging the Unwanted behind him.
Dragging, dragging.
I wonder what Juliet would do if she were here right now. Would she point, mock. Would she feel sorry, sad? Would she spare even a single tear for me, for her former friend, her former lover? Would she clasp my hand and sob, would she stand straight and smile? Would she comfort, would she fall down on my and cry?
It is probably best, then, that she is not here.
What about Alex? Would she look my way? Would she forget the end and remember the beginning, the days of cuddling and adventures and reading together and laughing together and dancing together? I love her. I love her more than I can bear.
So much of what I did was all for her. I wish I could tell her that and she could understand. A part of me wants to scream, shout yell. Beg her, beg all of them, beg everyone. I did this for a reason. I was thinking of you. I promise.
I promise.
But my screams are always silent, or maybe they are all just deaf to my voice. No one will turn their head. No one will blink an eye.
Does anyone truly imagine how it will all end? Not the false I-hope-to-die-quietly-in-my-sleep crap, but truly comprehend how it will all end. How the decisions you have made in your life, the rights and wrongs and in betweens somehow all add up in a complex formula to give you the end of your life?
But Jack looks my way. How inevitable. Saint Jack, Saviour Jack. He looks scared now. Perhaps he thought the weight of leadership would be light. Not the false, miniscule leadership he had done so far, but tending for an island, a living, breathing beast of earth so demanding in its commands, so harsh in its judgement.
He failed. He will fail. He has failed. He will always fail.
Saint Jack. Where are your angels now? Where are those that said they were devoted to you, loved you? Where are your friends, your family?
Nobody cares, Saint Jack.
Just look at me.
Nobody cares.
I always told you, though, didn’t I Jack? I told you that listening to Naomi would bring the end, would ruin everything. But you didn’t listen. You never listen.
And here we are now.
I in a box, you in a beard. Each broken, each bruised, each forgotten. At least I am dead, Jack.
What’s your excuse?
Step right up. Step right up. Come see the Unwanted Man.
~o~
FIN