sunshine_173 | Something

title: Something

author:

rating: U

pairing: BellDom? More like one-sided Bell with a brief mention of Dom

summary: Stream-of-conscious drabble of a schizoaffective nature.

feedback: I wants it, my precious.

disclaimer: I think if I owned Muse, you would know about it. They're a bit famous so I doubt it'd be something easily hidden.

warning: All allusions and metaphors, my dears. Nothing here to scare you off.

note: If you can't tell I've sorta fallen out of my writing mode. Perfect timing, eh? This is my attempt to crawl back into it cos I would quite love to finish FMF in the next few days but, once again, my brain is a silly little organ. Thanks to

flavoroftea for reading over this and helping me decide what disorder fit what was written at the time. PS. Format is being a stupid cunt so it looks shit. My apologies.

I can hear the angels. I can hear them whispering, screaming. Sighing. They murmur and they growl and they're everywhere and in everything and I can never escape them. They tell me wicked things and beautiful things and they describe the exact shape of every universe in perfect and blinding detail. They tell me the secrets of life and death and that someday, one day, even God will die. They tell me the teachings of Lucifer and how to calculate the length of a person's thread of Life. They won't tell me how long mine is but I know that I'll be infinite, my angels and I, swimming and swinging and flying through time.

In my dreams, I can feel the world move beneath my fingers. I can feel the breaths of millions and billions of people and there are thousands of voices stretching and filling my mind, all yearning for a way out and for their own body but they are so restrained by the physical walls of bone and muscle and flesh and I can just feel them. It's so unbearable but it fills the emptiness.

I saw something beautiful the other day. I saw an elderly couple holding hands while standing next to a pond outside my flat's window. They just stood there, throwing bread at the ducks. I don't know how long I watched them. The sun went down and I kept twitching, leaning there against the wall, my breath fogging the window and my legs numb. I stood there long after they'd left and I stood there until the sun spread red fingers licking and touching the sky. I stood there until I woke up in the hospital. I still don't know how I got there. I still don’t know if the couple was real.

Sometimes I wake up and I’m walking down the street and it’s nighttime and the endless, galactic sky is stretched miles above me bleeding into the horizon and fading, stars burning and stirring. I remember that their light is the past and I feel connected to something greater than myself. Each one, a whirling fiery mass of ancient knowledge and a history so deeply entwined with the building blocks of the universe. I remember that those stars pulsating trillions of years away were once nothing more than dust and particles and when I breathe in my heart will stutter because their atoms flow in me. The very thought of that astounds me and brings me comfort and keeps me from thinking and itching to look around every corner, constantly and continuously searching for my angels, the devilish things. Possessive and selfish things.

One morning I was surrounded by shredded papers, pages from a bible I didn’t know I owned. Verses littered the floor and after a few hours of watching for them, waiting for them to tell me why what did you want I’m sorry I slept, I saw that I had passages describing the seven sins cardinal virtues arranged in alphabetical order. By nightfall, I had found my library card. I still haven’t paid for the fee.

I guess I should be thankful that I have a wealthy family. I tried to write again and I tossed the typewriter out of my window. I probably fell asleep because I woke up in the town’s jail. Cheers to siblings who bail you out to save their name.

They say I’m insane but the angels soothe me, hiss to me. I walked through a cemetery once and they were everywhere, in every corner and open space. I met a man there. His name was Dominic. His son had died two years previous to the day. No family, no wife, no partner, no other child, no anything. I asked him how he coped and he told me, “It’s hard but you learn to live.” He said I was quirky and I said I was diseased and he stared at me for a long while. He asked me for tea. Human beings are the funniest things, always walking into the face of danger with oblivion and ignorance. The angels weren’t happy. Dominic once tried to take me to the hospital and he fell down a flight of stairs.

Time is subjective. I don’t keep track of it; just the stars. I like to watch them and their orbits and track them and Rigel is always the most beautiful of all the thousands thousands.

In the end it’s just me and the angels.