Fic: "Why Elijah Hates Freud" - (TIME: Seconds)
Title: “Why Elijah Hates Freud”
Author:
illuins_lair
Fandom: Lotrips/rpf
Character: Elijah
Rating: PG (or PG-13 just in case - if dangerous F-words should have their way)
Summary: He´s nineteen and slightly hobbit-traumatized and has good old Freudie-fellow co-starring in his head..
Disclaimer: Of course I don´t own anybody, Of course any similarity of events, people and places mentioned herein is purely coincidental, Of course I’m not getting paid. This is fiction. More so; it is fanfiction. It means stories written by lovingly obsessed fans. It means fictional parallels. With fictional storylines. With fictional characters. Whatever you read into it is your own fault.. No harm intended - I might as well play with Barbie-dolls. Which means that generally I´m just fantasizing!
A/N: Written for Prompt Table #4: TIME #01. Seconds at 12_stories
A/N 2: Suddenly I got all obsessed by time and such (humanly ridiculous) events. And since I officially embarked on a vicious and stormy Prompt!Quest I thought I might as well explore it properly.. - I couldn´t say no to that!
I don´t know what to make of this yet; it might be a series, it might not. I just sail along, singing with the mermaids.. =)
A/N 3: OMG!!! I actually wrote something!! I couldn´t wait. The muses have awoken. Thus: Unbeta´d = All mistakes are mine. Please sue my muses! (Or don´t. That would be such a shame.)
Why Elijah Hates Freud
1-2-3..
..56, 57, 58.. breathe you fucker
It´s speeding up and slowing down at the same time
He can´t really handle it.
In fact; he´s here and nineteen and angry with life. And Freud.
¤
Because.. yeah.
It´s seconds-turning-into-weeks all of a sudden and he isn´t sure if he approves of that, if he wants it. He wants the moment back in his hand; he wants control and he doesn´t want to runrun while he stands still.
Time is liquid around him and perhaps, one day in the future - when everything will seem sober and clear-cut and faraway; he would be able to handle this. The time-gap. He suddenly feels very old. And very young at the same time.
And it really disturbs him when thinking about it; because it´s not fair; how everyone else is in synch and he has a universe circling on its own.
He fears for a moment that he´ll end up Viggoish and distant and generally fucking Zen about everything - not that that´s necessarily a bad thing, but he doesn´t really feel to become a Viggo-type of person. And besides, he thinks he wouldn´t know how to handle a Viggo-side of himself, that´s all.
Once he thought he knew, once he thought he had seen it all, once he thought he was grown up; he thought he knew and understood Time and Freud and Politics.. and how could he even think that he knew things because now it suddenly doesn´t make any fucking sense and it´s fucking itchy, - not even annoying, but itchy and clammy and all sorts of sticky descriptions and he feels old and younger than anybody and this goddamn costume is itching too.
And fuck it, fuck. And fuck this movie too because honestly he doesn´t understand the depth of it anyway! He´s fucking trying ok, and all the expectations weights heavily on him and he´s fucking 19 ok, he´s supposed to.. whatever 19-years old guys do.. he´s not even sure, and he cringes even at the thought because how fucking normal is his life anyway and he needs to play all grown-up And hobbit And he´s nineteen..
¤
And then he composes himself because there´s a script-change at page 126 and he has a meeting with Fran 2 hours from now.
And he´s a fucking Professional, right?
Of course he is.
And he doesn´t let go, he doesn´t let go at all, of course he doesn´t let go! - in fact he smiles all the fucking time and he doesn´t even know to who anymore, he smiles all the way to and from just-generally-anywhere, he just smiles and plays around because yeah that ´s what hobbits do, that´s what Elijahs do and he tries really; to be hobbity and things and he´s nineteen and this is his life and he needs to count his breaths.
Tic-tac-tictac
(without any spirit to it.. come on, Elijah!)
Tic-tac tic-tac..
¤
It´s all a déjà vu from some place he´s never been to, something he´s sure he has never lived. He´s never been nineteen before. Never been to New Zeeland. Never played hobbit-games. Never played the-hobbit-of-all-hobbits-of-all-times. Never counted his fucking breaths.
He has never had these thoughts of time and universe and Fucking Freud, ok. Ever.
There must be something seriously wrong with him. Which nineteen-year-old-guy even thinks to think about Freud?!
¤
He walks out from the trailer, mid-costumed and half-hobbited and just.. breathes.. - counting seconds 1-2-3-4-56-..
¤
-“Coffee?”
He really doesn´t need this now. He abso-lu-tely don´t need coffee. He needs to scream to the hiding stars on an afternooned sky; scream and ask them what-the-fuck-do-they-want-exactly?
He might need to become a pale copy of Viggo to do that, being so even for just a short moment, a few seconds, a minute maybe. Getting all philosophic and distant-looking too.. That would be something. Maybe.
Or he might just want to go-the-fuck home to wherever home is and close the door and fucking lock it really well (or else some other hobbit-looking-people would just invade his house for whatever reason they will have today, or just generally for what it´s worth - just because that´s exactly the same thing he would do too - if anybody else separated himself from the group, the pack) but honestly: he wants so badly to close every door, draw the curtains down, dive into bed and count seconds.
Yeah, that´s what he wants. Melt them on his tongue. Tic-tac tic-tac..
-“Yeah, thanks man!” he hears himself say. And he´s totally not surprised at that speaking-part of him. He´s not even surprised when his arm reaches out against a styrofoam-cup. There is still some sanity left on this earth.
¤
Yeah, because..
This is his life. He´s young and old and wears only one pointy ear at the moment.
He lights a cigarette, he drinks his coffee, he´s quiet. He doesn´t scream to the stars.
He´s a professional. Even seconds can´t touch him.
Because the coffee is warm, almost scalding. And he can´t yet see the stars anyway.
¤
That´s the thing. The survival of the fittest.
That´s why he got stuck on Freud. And he already hates the guy anyway.
¤
¤
¤
(tbc. or not. perhaps. and maybe)