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This page last viewed: 2017-10-19 and has been viewed 1892 times
Rating: R because of the topic
(c) SnowFlake 2002
Summary: Murdock gets a little unnerved after the suicide of another inmate at the VA.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me no matter how much I wish they did; Stephen J. Cannell and Universal are the lucky owners. I only borrow them and have made no profit from writing this. If anyone is thinking about suing, please don't!
Warnings: This story deals with thoughts of suicide (not of anyone we know though). Please don't read it if this topic upsets you.
LOST, by SnowFlake
Wow. Just - wow. I mean the most majorly fucking bad wow there ever was. My guts feel all scrunched up, tight and sick. Make sure I have a clear way to the restroom 'cause I think I'm gonna throw up. Could be the new meds, but I don't think so, they sort of sneak up on you. This came real fast. One minute I was having a ball, the next I felt like this.
His chair is empty, blanket's on the floor. I should pick it up, it's gonna get dirty. Stan's been around almost as long as me, you know. His real name's Rawlings. Chris P. Rawlings. But I call him Stan, 'cause he looks like a Stan. Looked rather, past tense. He's not here any longer. He's nowhere any longer. Well, actually, he's napping in a nice refrigerated locker down at the coroner's office right about now. But that's not him, not really. That's just a shell.
Is it getting noisy in here, or is it my head again?
Nope, not my head this time. The activity room is filling up. Don't really wanna talk right now, but I'm too damned tired to get up and leave. I don't even know why I feel like this. Didn't know Stan that well. Guess I should've, he was only a couple of doors down from me. But he never was one to talk much. Mostly I was the one who did all the talking and he sat there and listened to my 'truths'.
He was a really likeable guy. Just plain nice. Didn't have any visitors lately. Don't know if it was by choice. Probably not. I know he had visitors in the beginning. That happens a lot, you know. They say it's too painful seeing loved ones like this and they stop coming. I wonder if they ever think about what it'd feel like if they were the ones lying here? Doped up and tied down.
And all alone.
I'm lucky to have you guys. You've seen it all. All the ugly, dirty sides. The blood, the tears, the rage. Delusions, manias, depressions deeper than the Marina Trench. Yet you come back. Every single time.
Thank you. I know I don't say it often enough. Hell I don't think I've said it even once. For someone who babbles as much as I do, I don't ever seem to say the really important stuff. I sure hope you know anyway.
Suicide. The word leaves this bad taste in my mouth. I know lots of people think suicide is for cowards, I don't know if I agree. Takes a lot of courage to engage in conversation with death. I mean, I don't really consider it an option for myself, not any longer, but at times, the thought of it was one of the few things that kept me alive.
One would think it'd be black when you're really bad off. But it's not. When it's so fucking bad you never dreamed it could be like that it's black. But when you hit rock bottom - and I'm talking solid bedrock here - there are no colors at all. Only emptiness. And the knowledge that there is at least one way out is all you got. It's the only comfort you know, and it keeps you going. It's been quite a while since I've visited that particular holiday resort; I didn't like the view, it was a little too... dreary for my taste.
Been going through all of my drawers today, sorting all the stuff I've collected over the years. Found that magazine
Don't have that many recent photos of you guys. Would be a dead give-away, wouldn't it? 'Who, me? The fourth member of the infamous A-Team? Nah, it's all in your head, Decker. Look around you, I'm here for a reason, you think they'd have any use for me? Huh? What photo? Oh, that. That's just... eeerrr... someone who looks a lot like Smith. But it's not. It's me and... Bob. That's it, Bob!'
Somehow, I don't think he'd buy it.
I have a few other photos, well hidden. Most are kept in a safety box, along with some of the money Face insists on stashing here and there. And then of course, there are the ones from '
Got one of me and Faceman, in front of a scarred slick. Think it was one I flew at the time. Yeah, recognize the pattern of bullet holes in the Plexiglas. There we stand. Wide eyes and cocky grins and a sun-scorched, godforsaken firebase. On top of the world.
Were we ever that young?
Then there's this one of
He still flashes that crazy grin every once in a while, but it's lost some of that hard-core fuck-you feel; nowadays it's just plain wild and wired. I like that too.
Found the yo-yo Face gave me. The green one. I really don't understand why the B.A. was so hostile about it. I mean, I only hit him once when I was trying to do that cool trick, and it wasn't like I meant to do it. I wonder if it hurt? Heard the nurse sound the alarm early yesterday morning. He seemed all right. It's not as if Stan ever was the most social person to reside here, but he was getting better. Even the doctors must have thought so 'cause he started getting day passes again.
Maybe he wasn't. Maybe life just felt a little easier because he'd made up his mind? Or maybe he really thought he was better? And then somehow tripped and went down again. Hard. And couldn't get up, 'cause he'd forgotten how to.
What about me? Am I really doing better? What if *I* trip? I don't even wanna think about it. I'd like to believe that I wouldn't go down that deep again. I'd like to think I'd be able to break the fall.
I know you guys worry about me. Don't, I'm not gonna do anything stupid, couldn't do that to the ones closest to me. Not when I'm in control. Did he think he was in control? I feel sick again.
You're on your way over. I called you earlier today. Guess you heard something wasn't quite right. I don't get it, no matter how hard I try, you always see through me when we talk over the phone. Not always when we're face to face, I can still fool you there, but you always call me on it over the phone. Guess I forget to pretend after a while when I don't have to put on the visual show.
But I'm glad you're coming. I just wish you'd get here quicker, I could sure use some distraction right about now, don't like the labyrinths my mind is leading me into. Don't wanna get lost again.
I'm gonna ask we go for a ride. I might be able to convince you to take me up towards
I'm not as good as you are, no way near as good, but it works every time. Sorry. Don't mean to play you like that (am I playing?) but I just really wanna go. I need to go. I'll make it up to you later. Scout's honor. It's raining really bad now, but I don't mind. I don't need clear skies and sunshine to appreciate it. I like it any which way; calm and blue, or rough and dark, it's still the same ocean. It's the same with you, I don't need you to be strong for me, it's all right to have bad days. And bad weeks. And bad months.
There you are. I spot you in the doorway before you see me. Steal a few seconds of your time to just look at you, trying to absorb some of you.
One... (some of your calm)
Two... (some of your control)
Three... (all of your love)
I'm done. "Hey good-lookin', you shopping for anything special?"
~ Fini ~
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