Superman
Title: Superman
Summary: Chester thinks he's immortal. He turns out to be wrong.
Superman
A/N: Inspired by this five lined master piece written by my lovely wifey, Roz: http://wilberforce.livejournal.com/29736.html#cutid1 Read it and leave her reviews pls. Lyrics by Five for Fighting.
Even heroes have
the right to bleed
Chester tells Brad he’s immortal.
“How do you figure?” the guitarist asks, not looking up from his bowl of cheerios.
“Well, I’ve survived spider bites, anxiety attacks, epileptic fits, a hiatal hernia and that funky infection that got into my intestines or my brain or whatever.” Chester ticks the aliments off his fingers, “Everywhere I turn, something is trying to kill me, but it never does.”
“Have you been watching ‘Heroes’ again?” Brad says.
“No!”
“You can’t be immortal.”
“Why not? I’m not dead.” Chester says.
“But, you’re always sick.” Brad says.
“’Yes, but I never die.”
“So that makes you immortal?” Brad asks, turning to the comic page at the back of the newspaper.
“How do you know that the viruses I always get aren’t deadly?”
“Because…you don’t die?” Brad says, finally glancing up at Chester.
“Exactly. It’s possible that a normal person would have died if they had gotten the same virus, but because it’s me, I survive. Because I’m immortal.”
Chester is only met with silence as Brad goes back to pretending to be absorbed in his comic’s and ignoring Chester.
“Brad?” he prompts.
“What?” he asks. “We aren’t seriously having this conversation, are we?”
Chester just blinks, “It would explain why I’m also so sick, and for so long. Remember that time before Meteora when I was sick for five weeks?”
“How could I forget?” Brad snorts.
“If my body is trying to fight off a deadly infection, the sort that would kill a mortal man, than no wonder it takes me weeks and weeks to get better. I’m immortal, but I’m not superhuman.”
“You’re mortal!” Brad shouts, the screech of his chair pushing back along the linoleum voicing the sound of his frustration.
“But - ”
“No buts, Chester! It takes you weeks to get better because you fucked up your immune system shooting heroin into your veins for years and years. And that’s why you’re always sick. You catch a common cold and in weeks you’re in the hospital with pneumonia because your immune system is shot to shit. You were nothing, if not thorough!”
Chester just stares opened mouthed at Brad’s angry face.
“You’re not immortal, Chester, but you’re sure as hell lucky to still be alive.” Brad fumes, slapping his newspaper down on the kitchen table and walking away.
+ + +
At Chester’s funeral, Rob blows his nose into a tissue and turns to a stony faced Brad.
“I can’t understand why he’d thrown himself off a bridge. I’d thought he’d gotten past that…I just…he didn’t even leave us a note.” Rob says his voice thick with sorrow.
“He managed to convince himself he was immortal.” Brad says without emotion, watching as the polished black casket is lowered into the dark Earth. The smell of dirt and death rises sharply into the air, tasting bitter on Brad’s tongue and he swallows down the urge to gag.
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Summary: Chester thinks he's immortal. He turns out to be wrong.
Superman
A/N: Inspired by this five lined master piece written by my lovely wifey, Roz: http://wilberforce.livejournal.com/29736.html#cutid1 Read it and leave her reviews pls. Lyrics by Five for Fighting.
Even heroes have
the right to bleed
Chester tells Brad he’s immortal.
“How do you figure?” the guitarist asks, not looking up from his bowl of cheerios.
“Well, I’ve survived spider bites, anxiety attacks, epileptic fits, a hiatal hernia and that funky infection that got into my intestines or my brain or whatever.” Chester ticks the aliments off his fingers, “Everywhere I turn, something is trying to kill me, but it never does.”
“Have you been watching ‘Heroes’ again?” Brad says.
“No!”
“You can’t be immortal.”
“Why not? I’m not dead.” Chester says.
“But, you’re always sick.” Brad says.
“’Yes, but I never die.”
“So that makes you immortal?” Brad asks, turning to the comic page at the back of the newspaper.
“How do you know that the viruses I always get aren’t deadly?”
“Because…you don’t die?” Brad says, finally glancing up at Chester.
“Exactly. It’s possible that a normal person would have died if they had gotten the same virus, but because it’s me, I survive. Because I’m immortal.”
Chester is only met with silence as Brad goes back to pretending to be absorbed in his comic’s and ignoring Chester.
“Brad?” he prompts.
“What?” he asks. “We aren’t seriously having this conversation, are we?”
Chester just blinks, “It would explain why I’m also so sick, and for so long. Remember that time before Meteora when I was sick for five weeks?”
“How could I forget?” Brad snorts.
“If my body is trying to fight off a deadly infection, the sort that would kill a mortal man, than no wonder it takes me weeks and weeks to get better. I’m immortal, but I’m not superhuman.”
“You’re mortal!” Brad shouts, the screech of his chair pushing back along the linoleum voicing the sound of his frustration.
“But - ”
“No buts, Chester! It takes you weeks to get better because you fucked up your immune system shooting heroin into your veins for years and years. And that’s why you’re always sick. You catch a common cold and in weeks you’re in the hospital with pneumonia because your immune system is shot to shit. You were nothing, if not thorough!”
Chester just stares opened mouthed at Brad’s angry face.
“You’re not immortal, Chester, but you’re sure as hell lucky to still be alive.” Brad fumes, slapping his newspaper down on the kitchen table and walking away.
+ + +
At Chester’s funeral, Rob blows his nose into a tissue and turns to a stony faced Brad.
“I can’t understand why he’d thrown himself off a bridge. I’d thought he’d gotten past that…I just…he didn’t even leave us a note.” Rob says his voice thick with sorrow.
“He managed to convince himself he was immortal.” Brad says without emotion, watching as the polished black casket is lowered into the dark Earth. The smell of dirt and death rises sharply into the air, tasting bitter on Brad’s tongue and he swallows down the urge to gag.
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