Recurrence.
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evolutionaryoriginally posted: 2011-12-12
Title: Recurrence
Warnings: Ambiguity. Mentions of gore. Insanity.
Word Count: 761
Characters: Nigel and Alan.
Notes: You won't find happy gay here, nope.
Summary: Four dreams in five days. A movement in circles.
References: The Gay Science by Friedrich Nietzsche
This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence--even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself.
-----
He dreams the perfect dream: a concept in the guise of treatises and a god in the guise of a demon. It lasts little; it falters and dwindles away.
-----
The first day in that apartment is swathed in indifference, bathed in apathy. Nigel could count the fractures. They speak but do not touch, and with exacting finesse, they flit about each other's air, moving not to breathe. Water drips from the kitchen faucet; the floorboards beneath him crack with each step. The landlord's high praise does not match their reality.
Alan rips cardboard and tape, placing the remnants at his feet for another time. The noise is bothersome to Nigel; it is coarse and shrill and reminds him too much of fragility in another's hands. Tearing into flesh. Pulling apart the cartilage from the bone.
He hums a note to drown it out. He sings softly to forget the cages he'd forced apart, rib by rib. By rib. Nigel could count the fractures. He could dream.
The other says nothing and continues his work. He hears an imperfect song and finds little that is correct.
-----
He dreams again the perfect dream, and the inky black would say it is a repeat. Only once is required for rote memorization; already, he is bored of the clarity. It lasts little; it falters and dwindles away.
-----
The second day comes, and Alan must leave in the morning. Errands only he could do as Nigel had work of his own. The circumstances are distinct, but it is enough to remind one of weeping. They are separate, but Nigel finds loss. He swallows down the urge and wishes blandly for a safe return. He doesn't know if this is a repeat.
When Alan comes back, Nigel is strangely quiet. He stays in their room and does not allow the other a glimpse of the red in his eyes.
-----
He dreams again the perfect dream in his loneliest loneliness, no different than before. Only sameness, only echoes. It lasts little; it falters and dwindles away.
-----
The third day brings nothing important; it is, in truth, a parallel of the first. They stand in the kitchen to unpack, but today, Alan takes care to be cautious with his work. He cuts and folds. He does not rip or tear. The noise is minimal, and Nigel does not sing.
They speak of inconsequential matters--of weather, of people. Of flowers and plants. Nigel proves miles ahead of Alan in its language as the other is strangely content in being left behind. Their conversation is pleasant, near amicable. They discuss tulips, daisies, rosemary, and thyme. Red geraniums.
Not corn poppies, however. And it is in avoidance that Nigel remembers.
Red and precious. A symbol of life, of death. Of oblivion. He was seven when he formed that love, and he has never seen one.
Silence falls. A question hangs in the air, innocuous and expectant, but Nigel only excuses himself from the table. This causes concern, and Alan moves to follow. He steals into the other's boundaries and questions. He receives only a faltering look and a vacant gaze.
Then Nigel passes in a dead faint, and conversation--amicable or otherwise--draws to an end.
-----
He dreams the perfect dream. He dreams for a very long time, although the moment is the same. It is a world offered, a life given. It is an eternal play on repetition, events lived out again and again. A question hangs in the air, innocuous and expectant, but the moment lasts little. It falters and dwindles away.
-----
The fifth day is when he awakes. He recalls red and white, but it is the latter who watches him as he shifts. Who likely watched as he slept. Alan is either a demon or a god, Nigel thinks, to have waited for hours on a chair at his bedside. It is strange. It is nostalgic, and the younger is reminded of nights spent in another's bed, children leading each other through the passage of sleep.
Alan hesitates. He asks on health and presses concern.
A question hangs in the air, and it is not Alan's. Nigel tips his head and wonders: to throw himself down and gnash his teeth? To curse him who spoke thus? It is a tremendous moment, and he has his answer--to say to a demon in his loneliest loneliness:
"You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine."
And Nigel laughs, a broken sound. It is the heaviest weight, and it stretches to fill the room, to cause the walls to tremble.
Title: Recurrence
Warnings: Ambiguity. Mentions of gore. Insanity.
Word Count: 761
Characters: Nigel and Alan.
Notes: You won't find happy gay here, nope.
Summary: Four dreams in five days. A movement in circles.
References: The Gay Science by Friedrich Nietzsche
This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence--even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself.
-----
He dreams the perfect dream: a concept in the guise of treatises and a god in the guise of a demon. It lasts little; it falters and dwindles away.
-----
The first day in that apartment is swathed in indifference, bathed in apathy. Nigel could count the fractures. They speak but do not touch, and with exacting finesse, they flit about each other's air, moving not to breathe. Water drips from the kitchen faucet; the floorboards beneath him crack with each step. The landlord's high praise does not match their reality.
Alan rips cardboard and tape, placing the remnants at his feet for another time. The noise is bothersome to Nigel; it is coarse and shrill and reminds him too much of fragility in another's hands. Tearing into flesh. Pulling apart the cartilage from the bone.
He hums a note to drown it out. He sings softly to forget the cages he'd forced apart, rib by rib. By rib. Nigel could count the fractures. He could dream.
The other says nothing and continues his work. He hears an imperfect song and finds little that is correct.
-----
He dreams again the perfect dream, and the inky black would say it is a repeat. Only once is required for rote memorization; already, he is bored of the clarity. It lasts little; it falters and dwindles away.
-----
The second day comes, and Alan must leave in the morning. Errands only he could do as Nigel had work of his own. The circumstances are distinct, but it is enough to remind one of weeping. They are separate, but Nigel finds loss. He swallows down the urge and wishes blandly for a safe return. He doesn't know if this is a repeat.
When Alan comes back, Nigel is strangely quiet. He stays in their room and does not allow the other a glimpse of the red in his eyes.
-----
He dreams again the perfect dream in his loneliest loneliness, no different than before. Only sameness, only echoes. It lasts little; it falters and dwindles away.
-----
The third day brings nothing important; it is, in truth, a parallel of the first. They stand in the kitchen to unpack, but today, Alan takes care to be cautious with his work. He cuts and folds. He does not rip or tear. The noise is minimal, and Nigel does not sing.
They speak of inconsequential matters--of weather, of people. Of flowers and plants. Nigel proves miles ahead of Alan in its language as the other is strangely content in being left behind. Their conversation is pleasant, near amicable. They discuss tulips, daisies, rosemary, and thyme. Red geraniums.
Not corn poppies, however. And it is in avoidance that Nigel remembers.
Red and precious. A symbol of life, of death. Of oblivion. He was seven when he formed that love, and he has never seen one.
Silence falls. A question hangs in the air, innocuous and expectant, but Nigel only excuses himself from the table. This causes concern, and Alan moves to follow. He steals into the other's boundaries and questions. He receives only a faltering look and a vacant gaze.
Then Nigel passes in a dead faint, and conversation--amicable or otherwise--draws to an end.
-----
He dreams the perfect dream. He dreams for a very long time, although the moment is the same. It is a world offered, a life given. It is an eternal play on repetition, events lived out again and again. A question hangs in the air, innocuous and expectant, but the moment lasts little. It falters and dwindles away.
-----
The fifth day is when he awakes. He recalls red and white, but it is the latter who watches him as he shifts. Who likely watched as he slept. Alan is either a demon or a god, Nigel thinks, to have waited for hours on a chair at his bedside. It is strange. It is nostalgic, and the younger is reminded of nights spent in another's bed, children leading each other through the passage of sleep.
Alan hesitates. He asks on health and presses concern.
A question hangs in the air, and it is not Alan's. Nigel tips his head and wonders: to throw himself down and gnash his teeth? To curse him who spoke thus? It is a tremendous moment, and he has his answer--to say to a demon in his loneliest loneliness:
"You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine."
And Nigel laughs, a broken sound. It is the heaviest weight, and it stretches to fill the room, to cause the walls to tremble.
