deloreandriver (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deloreandriver) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-12-04 10:25 pm
deloreandriver) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-04 10:25 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Marty and open (if you don't mind the freezing snowy outside)
Where: Floor 35
When: Evening
What: Fallout isn't just physical.
Warnings: Uh, this is depressing. Serious downer under the cut.
Today, Marty was standing at the edge of the fishing lake, staring at the water with his hands in his pockets. He sort of had to because it was getting colder every day and the last thing he wanted was frost bite. Just hiding them under the cowboy poncho he wore over the 2015 self drying jacket wasn't quite enough right now.
Today, staring at the water was the only way he could even remotely feel calm. After everything that had happened, he wanted to rampage. To break something, anything. To have enough power to break into the restricted levels and demand those people bring back everything he had known.
What kinda life was this? He had seen the future. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to grow up, get a job, marry Jennifer and have two kids. Maybe even a dog. Doc was supposed to marry Clara and have Jules and Verne (so Doc said but Marty hadn't quite gotten to that point when he'd been ripped out of the universe.)
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
Watching the water, snow falling slowly, was the only thing that could keep him steady.
When monsters roamed freely.
When they lived in what could only be one of H. P. Lovecraft's Eldritch abominations.
When people died and came back.
When oatmeal was the meal of choice.
He was starting to feel like a rag doll someone had constructed and given memories just so they'd have a more interesting play thing. Like he didn't have a life of his own, just living someone else's.
Had any of it even been real? His life, his childhood. Setting the carpet on fire... Jennifer. It'd been real, right? Love had been real? Family, and pets?
Doc Brown was here. That was the one constant since this whole thing began. It was a small comfort.
No, he wouldn't cry. Not after everything he had gone through. There was still... just so much work to be done. He couldn't stop now.
"Fucking hell." It came out as a shivery, gasping sob. He still wasn't crying. At least that's one thing he could hang on to.
Even if he stared at it all night and froze to death, he would just wake up again.
Where: Floor 35
When: Evening
What: Fallout isn't just physical.
Warnings: Uh, this is depressing. Serious downer under the cut.
Today, Marty was standing at the edge of the fishing lake, staring at the water with his hands in his pockets. He sort of had to because it was getting colder every day and the last thing he wanted was frost bite. Just hiding them under the cowboy poncho he wore over the 2015 self drying jacket wasn't quite enough right now.
Today, staring at the water was the only way he could even remotely feel calm. After everything that had happened, he wanted to rampage. To break something, anything. To have enough power to break into the restricted levels and demand those people bring back everything he had known.
What kinda life was this? He had seen the future. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to grow up, get a job, marry Jennifer and have two kids. Maybe even a dog. Doc was supposed to marry Clara and have Jules and Verne (so Doc said but Marty hadn't quite gotten to that point when he'd been ripped out of the universe.)
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
Watching the water, snow falling slowly, was the only thing that could keep him steady.
When monsters roamed freely.
When they lived in what could only be one of H. P. Lovecraft's Eldritch abominations.
When people died and came back.
When oatmeal was the meal of choice.
He was starting to feel like a rag doll someone had constructed and given memories just so they'd have a more interesting play thing. Like he didn't have a life of his own, just living someone else's.
Had any of it even been real? His life, his childhood. Setting the carpet on fire... Jennifer. It'd been real, right? Love had been real? Family, and pets?
Doc Brown was here. That was the one constant since this whole thing began. It was a small comfort.
No, he wouldn't cry. Not after everything he had gone through. There was still... just so much work to be done. He couldn't stop now.
"Fucking hell." It came out as a shivery, gasping sob. He still wasn't crying. At least that's one thing he could hang on to.
Even if he stared at it all night and froze to death, he would just wake up again.