Post by Shock on Jan 12, 2008 11:42:34 GMT -8
This is a oneshot. It's somewhat a comedy and a tragedy. I'm not telling the shipping in this. You should be able to guess. Anyways, read on my minions! Sweeney's POV.
Summary: Sweeney remembers back to everything that had happened, and how he found redemption in one that had stuck with him through everything, up to the very end.
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I remember when I returned from that hellhole they name Australia. It was like I had stepped back in time. But everything was wrong. It was too dark, the sun didn't seem to shine, I felt like there was something dangerous lurking out of sight, something I feared, yet I did not know what it was. London had became naught but a great black pit in the world in which the lowest vermin scurried. I didn't know how in but fifteen years the bright, happy place I had once called home had decended into such filth. Or maybe it was just to my eyes. I had no beauty or happiness there now. If anyone recognised me, it was likely I would be a dead man.
But in all this filth, there was beauty. In the darkness, still a shimmer. When I thought I could not love, I found I could love one. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in fifteen years. Nothing and no one could compare to it. They looked especially beautifull in the dull light London had to offer. They had gentle curves, yet sharp should you get them angry. They had beautifull and expensive tastes, and hungered for naught but the most beautiful of rubies. No one could compare. Not at all. In all the vermin, there was still something worth returning for. I couldn't believe it myself, but it was true.
When I was down, and I couldn't find anyone else to turn to, I could always talk to them, and they would always listen and always understand in ways others could not. For they had been locked away too, locked away where no one could see their magnificence or beauty, the beauty one I seemed to understand about them. When I was angry, they were angry too, and would always help me the best they could. No one could escape their fury. Do not worry, they whispered in the dark when I couldn't see sense or reason. We are still here for you. And that they were. They were always there, with me through things the filth of London would never understand. They couldn't understand how horribly I had lived the past fifteen years. They couldn't understand the torture I went through, wondering how my familly was, knowing my little girl was growing up without a father to take care of her. When I was trapped in the darkness, staring at the light that was the life I would never forget, my friends were there with me. They would never leave me.
But now, as I kneel beside the body of the one I had loved all that time ago, Lucy, my Lucy, they were naught to be found. Perhaps they were...angry with me. Angry that this woman that was naught but a piteous beggar now meant more to me then they. They were not there for me as they had always been. They were gone, they had abandoned me. I was used to this by now, abandonment. I had never gotten to stay with anyone I was close to or loved. They either left or I was taken away, somewhere where they were not. But this was different. Without them, I felt...exposed. Defeated. Even more broken than I had been that fatefull day I had returned from my hell.
And I did not flinch at the feel of their cold fury against my throat. I could not, I would not. I did not deserve to live. They had every right to be angry with me. They had given me everything, and all I had ever given them were bodies, and maybe the thrill of the kill. I did not flinch, not in the slightest, as sharp pain ripped across my throat and let me shed my life's work all over my beautiful Lucy. I stared down at her, broken beyond all repair, beyond all hope of redemption.
And yet, as I was dying, I could think only of silver.
Summary: Sweeney remembers back to everything that had happened, and how he found redemption in one that had stuck with him through everything, up to the very end.
____________________________________________________
I remember when I returned from that hellhole they name Australia. It was like I had stepped back in time. But everything was wrong. It was too dark, the sun didn't seem to shine, I felt like there was something dangerous lurking out of sight, something I feared, yet I did not know what it was. London had became naught but a great black pit in the world in which the lowest vermin scurried. I didn't know how in but fifteen years the bright, happy place I had once called home had decended into such filth. Or maybe it was just to my eyes. I had no beauty or happiness there now. If anyone recognised me, it was likely I would be a dead man.
But in all this filth, there was beauty. In the darkness, still a shimmer. When I thought I could not love, I found I could love one. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in fifteen years. Nothing and no one could compare to it. They looked especially beautifull in the dull light London had to offer. They had gentle curves, yet sharp should you get them angry. They had beautifull and expensive tastes, and hungered for naught but the most beautiful of rubies. No one could compare. Not at all. In all the vermin, there was still something worth returning for. I couldn't believe it myself, but it was true.
When I was down, and I couldn't find anyone else to turn to, I could always talk to them, and they would always listen and always understand in ways others could not. For they had been locked away too, locked away where no one could see their magnificence or beauty, the beauty one I seemed to understand about them. When I was angry, they were angry too, and would always help me the best they could. No one could escape their fury. Do not worry, they whispered in the dark when I couldn't see sense or reason. We are still here for you. And that they were. They were always there, with me through things the filth of London would never understand. They couldn't understand how horribly I had lived the past fifteen years. They couldn't understand the torture I went through, wondering how my familly was, knowing my little girl was growing up without a father to take care of her. When I was trapped in the darkness, staring at the light that was the life I would never forget, my friends were there with me. They would never leave me.
But now, as I kneel beside the body of the one I had loved all that time ago, Lucy, my Lucy, they were naught to be found. Perhaps they were...angry with me. Angry that this woman that was naught but a piteous beggar now meant more to me then they. They were not there for me as they had always been. They were gone, they had abandoned me. I was used to this by now, abandonment. I had never gotten to stay with anyone I was close to or loved. They either left or I was taken away, somewhere where they were not. But this was different. Without them, I felt...exposed. Defeated. Even more broken than I had been that fatefull day I had returned from my hell.
And I did not flinch at the feel of their cold fury against my throat. I could not, I would not. I did not deserve to live. They had every right to be angry with me. They had given me everything, and all I had ever given them were bodies, and maybe the thrill of the kill. I did not flinch, not in the slightest, as sharp pain ripped across my throat and let me shed my life's work all over my beautiful Lucy. I stared down at her, broken beyond all repair, beyond all hope of redemption.
And yet, as I was dying, I could think only of silver.