Second Short Story
Nov. 11th, 2004 08:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alexmegamiI have a name for this one, but it is dumb and so I will not share it.
Unlike the first, this is not canon Aberrant universe, though it does feature Tommy the Suicidal Telepath. I hate the ending, also.
In his mind's eye, Thomas has no scars on his wrists. That is the only thing he has changed: he still has his shaggy hair, stringy and in need of washing; he still looks as though he is three meals behind schedule. Usually, he wouldn't even bother changing. This, however, this time is different. After all, one always dresses nicely when visiting one's mother.
The home is as cheery as ever, the smell of disinfectant and piss distracting from the pink and green walls. He takes off his gloves to sign in. The nurse at the counter smiles at him nervously, and he politely does not notice when he hands back the pen. (Her image is distorted, a funhouse mirror image of a granite pear wearing a woman's skin.)
Four numbers on a keypad open the door and he's inside. He slides the gloves back on, the living room sterile and cold.
His mother is shuffling down the halls of the complex, visiting with men in beds and women with walkers. "Hello, love," she says to them, "Hello." She turns to Thomas when he touches her shoulder, telling him, "I've got to get, to get, to get." She motions with her hands, feeling for the location.
"Hello, Mum." He takes her hand, squeezing it gently. "How have you been?"
"It's no good."
"I know." They reenact this very scene every time he visits; it's a ritual that sacrifices a little hope every time they perform it.
He leads her back to her room, passing a white-haired man in a wheelchair and his daughter on the way. She is stubborn, resisting him, wanting to speak to everyone they pass. He lets her, unwilling to push her. He is still undecided, still unsure of trying. As his mother babbles at the elderly man, Thomas and the daughter exchange smiles born of the awkward knowledge that entropy has brought them together here. They do not speak, themselves; instead, they watch the mouths that once gave ultimatums and kisses dribble forth gibberish.
Thomas wonders, as he and his mother continue on, how others can stand it. To be unable to communicate with your parents is something best left to adolescence, he thinks.
His mother's room is blue with the winter light filtering through the window, giving a cool taint to the pink bedcovers and the flowers on the windowsill. He helps her climb onto the bed, offering her a chocolate from a box he brought last week. She's running low, and he makes a mental note to bring her some more.
He chats with her aimlessly for a while, telling her about Amy and the kids, how Jake had a solo in the Christmas concert and how Samantha's home from university. A nurse comes by to change his mother's diaper, and Thomas uses the opportunity to steel himself. Why can't I do this? He wonders. Why can I not speak openly with my mother?
When the nurse leaves again, he pulls off his jacket and gloves, settling back down in the bedside chair. He watches his mother for a moment, hunched forward as though he is about to impart a long-forgotten secret. She is breathing shallowly, starting to doze off in the mid-afternoon sun. He bites the inside of his cheek and reaches for her hand.
(He always knew his mother was melodramatic. Her hair is like autumn dandelions floating around the marble sculpture of her body; she is Cloud, chained to a mortal body of birch and clay; he is dwarfed by her presence, despite his six feet. She has been partially swallowed by a writhing gray morass, tendrils wrapped around her legs, left arm, and eyes. She is like Justice, but she has not received Justice's impartiality. Thomas has an uneasy sense of an Oedipal story gone wrong. He has violated his mother, and yet she is the one that has been blinded.
"Why are you here?" She demands in a voice like a megaphone. "Why have you come here, to see me thus?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Have you come to rectify this?"
He spreads his hands wide. "There is nothing I can do, not yet."
"I will scream like a banshee to the galing winds, engulf the world in my terror while the pits in my stomach hail down upon your head."
"There is nothing," he repeats.
Another tendril snakes around her throat, choking away a little bit more. The megaphone sounds more like a gramophone, hissing and crackling over her speech. "Then why have you ventured here, to torment me so?"
Thomas swallows, tries to force himself to salivate. "I just wanted to talk to you. Tell you about Jake and Amy and Sam, about how things have been going."
"I am locked away," she says. "These small things that you bring in kindness, these gifts you leave at my altar, they are well-meaning." She has shrunk, a little, and the entity behind her seems larger. "But they are only reminders, and if I must remain locked here, I think I would rather not have them at all."
"I'm looking for something," he says desperately. "I'm looking for a cure."
"You always excelled at science." He is surprised at how fond she sounds; it is alien to her voice. "Good luck in your endeavors, then." It is a definitive farewell, and the stone-clay-wood-flower thing that is his mother bows to kiss his forehead.)
He leaves quickly after that, shoving his hands in his pockets alongside his gloves. He tells the receptionist that she is beautiful, and she wonders why he sounds so angry as he says it.
When Amy lies against him that night, he tells her (the lithe and muscular strong-woman he loves) about his visit. She is comforting yet pragmatic about it all; she never liked his mother much, anyway. He does not tell her, as she rolls over to sleep, that when he finds the cure, it will be his swan song. And if he doesn't, then he will find the next impossible disease to cure.
Unlike the first, this is not canon Aberrant universe, though it does feature Tommy the Suicidal Telepath. I hate the ending, also.
In his mind's eye, Thomas has no scars on his wrists. That is the only thing he has changed: he still has his shaggy hair, stringy and in need of washing; he still looks as though he is three meals behind schedule. Usually, he wouldn't even bother changing. This, however, this time is different. After all, one always dresses nicely when visiting one's mother.
The home is as cheery as ever, the smell of disinfectant and piss distracting from the pink and green walls. He takes off his gloves to sign in. The nurse at the counter smiles at him nervously, and he politely does not notice when he hands back the pen. (Her image is distorted, a funhouse mirror image of a granite pear wearing a woman's skin.)
Four numbers on a keypad open the door and he's inside. He slides the gloves back on, the living room sterile and cold.
His mother is shuffling down the halls of the complex, visiting with men in beds and women with walkers. "Hello, love," she says to them, "Hello." She turns to Thomas when he touches her shoulder, telling him, "I've got to get, to get, to get." She motions with her hands, feeling for the location.
"Hello, Mum." He takes her hand, squeezing it gently. "How have you been?"
"It's no good."
"I know." They reenact this very scene every time he visits; it's a ritual that sacrifices a little hope every time they perform it.
He leads her back to her room, passing a white-haired man in a wheelchair and his daughter on the way. She is stubborn, resisting him, wanting to speak to everyone they pass. He lets her, unwilling to push her. He is still undecided, still unsure of trying. As his mother babbles at the elderly man, Thomas and the daughter exchange smiles born of the awkward knowledge that entropy has brought them together here. They do not speak, themselves; instead, they watch the mouths that once gave ultimatums and kisses dribble forth gibberish.
Thomas wonders, as he and his mother continue on, how others can stand it. To be unable to communicate with your parents is something best left to adolescence, he thinks.
His mother's room is blue with the winter light filtering through the window, giving a cool taint to the pink bedcovers and the flowers on the windowsill. He helps her climb onto the bed, offering her a chocolate from a box he brought last week. She's running low, and he makes a mental note to bring her some more.
He chats with her aimlessly for a while, telling her about Amy and the kids, how Jake had a solo in the Christmas concert and how Samantha's home from university. A nurse comes by to change his mother's diaper, and Thomas uses the opportunity to steel himself. Why can't I do this? He wonders. Why can I not speak openly with my mother?
When the nurse leaves again, he pulls off his jacket and gloves, settling back down in the bedside chair. He watches his mother for a moment, hunched forward as though he is about to impart a long-forgotten secret. She is breathing shallowly, starting to doze off in the mid-afternoon sun. He bites the inside of his cheek and reaches for her hand.
(He always knew his mother was melodramatic. Her hair is like autumn dandelions floating around the marble sculpture of her body; she is Cloud, chained to a mortal body of birch and clay; he is dwarfed by her presence, despite his six feet. She has been partially swallowed by a writhing gray morass, tendrils wrapped around her legs, left arm, and eyes. She is like Justice, but she has not received Justice's impartiality. Thomas has an uneasy sense of an Oedipal story gone wrong. He has violated his mother, and yet she is the one that has been blinded.
"Why are you here?" She demands in a voice like a megaphone. "Why have you come here, to see me thus?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Have you come to rectify this?"
He spreads his hands wide. "There is nothing I can do, not yet."
"I will scream like a banshee to the galing winds, engulf the world in my terror while the pits in my stomach hail down upon your head."
"There is nothing," he repeats.
Another tendril snakes around her throat, choking away a little bit more. The megaphone sounds more like a gramophone, hissing and crackling over her speech. "Then why have you ventured here, to torment me so?"
Thomas swallows, tries to force himself to salivate. "I just wanted to talk to you. Tell you about Jake and Amy and Sam, about how things have been going."
"I am locked away," she says. "These small things that you bring in kindness, these gifts you leave at my altar, they are well-meaning." She has shrunk, a little, and the entity behind her seems larger. "But they are only reminders, and if I must remain locked here, I think I would rather not have them at all."
"I'm looking for something," he says desperately. "I'm looking for a cure."
"You always excelled at science." He is surprised at how fond she sounds; it is alien to her voice. "Good luck in your endeavors, then." It is a definitive farewell, and the stone-clay-wood-flower thing that is his mother bows to kiss his forehead.)
He leaves quickly after that, shoving his hands in his pockets alongside his gloves. He tells the receptionist that she is beautiful, and she wonders why he sounds so angry as he says it.
When Amy lies against him that night, he tells her (the lithe and muscular strong-woman he loves) about his visit. She is comforting yet pragmatic about it all; she never liked his mother much, anyway. He does not tell her, as she rolls over to sleep, that when he finds the cure, it will be his swan song. And if he doesn't, then he will find the next impossible disease to cure.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 06:55 am (UTC)Q: Thomas' mother here... I was... surprised (to say the least!) at her sudden very theatrical spiel. Was she like a Stratford actress or something, or did she just always speak this way? (I found it disturbing for no particular reason. *L*)
I loved the description of the mother as well, though, that may just be the environmentalist in me....
Amber's thought: ^_^ . o O (More!)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 07:12 am (UTC)*l* I'm glad you liked the description. ^.^
Sadly, there is no more unless I edit it for class.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 07:18 am (UTC)I meant "more stories" overall... ;)
Eheheheh. Ah, I should be studying for my midterm this afternoon, but this is much more fun...
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 07:22 am (UTC)You should come on MSN ;)
Also, poll! Favorite Aberrant PC, favorite Aberrant NPC. :D And, if the answer is different, favorite Aberrant NPC based on looks alone ;)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 07:29 am (UTC)I should, but I am at school. *L* Perhaps tonight when all the midterm insanity is over and I have time to breathe (you know, because I'm skipping that part for studying and Aberrant stories for now...! ;) )
Favourite NPC-based-on-looks-alone: Imago!!!
Favourite Aberrant PC: Egads... toughie... I don't know much about Angel, but she had an awesome ending, and everytime I think of Vicki, the glowing green thing makes me think "Ms. Lucky Charms!", but, I think I would have to go with Thomas for now, just because I am fangirling over the updates from the last game/the new fanfic. (And, I would have to admit, kind of amused, because I do believe it was Pete that drilled it into my head that "dominate is bad"... *L*)
Favourite Aberrant NPC: The lawyer-whose-name-I-can't-remember, hands down. Pure genius.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 08:05 am (UTC)Alternatively, let us develop age-regression machines. For Oded Fehr. *drool*
Is Ms. Lucky Charms a GOOD thing? *g* (Though she is ;) Angel's ending was pretty awesome - I don't think Rebecca liked it much, sadly :/ - Thomas is also cool. And Dominate IS bad! *L* I will have to remind Pete of that.
Lawyer? Rindquist (the old one)? Or... *thinks* ...nope, I got nothing unless you mean Rindquist... any other descriptors?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 08:08 am (UTC)Yes, Ms. Lucky Charms is a good thing, I think? It makes me smile, at least. And think of four leaf clovers. ^_^ I am sad to hear Rebecca didn't like her ending! She seems to have a thing about characters dying in awesome acts of self sacrifice...
I think the lawyer is Rindquist. It's a guy who can see the future, so he only takes cases he will win. *L* (Best use of a nova power evar!)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 08:17 am (UTC)*grins* I forgot your love/knack for finding four-leaf clovers! Rebecca doesn't not seem to like the fatalistic bent that the game has taken (i.e. human/mutant relations are never going to be fixed). I also don't think she likes the self-sacrifice aspect much ^^;; which is too bad, because it makes for really awesome story endings.
Yes! OK, it was Rindquist then. XD Yeah, that was pretty cool. My one beef with him (in character) is that he knew that his group of... er... allies... was going to die, and didn't do anything about it XO If he turns out not to be dead before game ends, Vicki may well try and throttle him.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 08:46 am (UTC)Is that supposed to be "doesn't seem to like", or as it is written, meaning does like? (Seemed a bit inconsistent with the following lines!)
Oooh, that's not too good of Rindquist... though maybe he saw what would have happened if he'd tried to stop them and it was worse? Which group of allies was this, out of curiosity?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 08:56 am (UTC)His allies were the people working for him - Gap Kid, Coma, Radiant, and Kovax. None of them were really major players, outside of Vicki flirting with Gap a bit. They all got horribly ripped to shreds by Totentanz. ;_; I liked Gap. And Coma. I miss them. *sniff*
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 09:18 am (UTC)22 hours!
What you still doing talkin', girl!
Get some sleep!
*HUGS*
Coma is a cool superhero name, tho. *L*
no subject
Date: 2004-11-11 09:48 am (UTC)Coma's superpower is that of lazy. He stayed up a week straight watching TV. He had Mega Stamina 1, Mega-Perception and something else that let him watch 20 TVS at once.