Original -- Salvation
Title: Salvation
Rating: PG
Word Count: 426
Warnings: tone, Apocalyptic predictions, etc.
Prompt: End of the World at pulped_fictions
Summary: Maion provides an instructive vision of the Apocalypse. Vincent is not impressed.
Author's Note: CHEERFUL, RIGHT? It's okay; the shippiness has clearly won out, and that's much more important than the prospect of the world ending soon. XD Also, eff my new obsession with plastering song lyrics all over my writing; I am a n00basaurus.
Forgive me, my love
I stand here all alone
And I can see
The bottom
- “You” - Breaking Benjamin -
SALVATION
Vincent is standing on the curving roof of an elegant building, looking down. He identifies the features automatically-rounded black taxicabs topped with glowing orange signs clog the street below; a splash of greenery off to the left is broken by bronze statuary that looks slightly pretentious even from here; a line of pubs with coffee shops tucked between-and is so pleased to have identified Victoria from above that it takes him a long moment to realize that it’s daylight. That the colors are all so bright it looks like an over-saturated photograph. That he can feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulder-blades.
He wants to say something profound, but all that emerges is “…oh.”
“I’m sorry,” Maion says, curled up nearby, one leg bent beneath him and the other dangling past the gutter pipe. “I can’t give that back to you. Not for real.”
Vincent doesn’t want to dwell on that. Fortunately, his mind is unusually buoyant, and a gentle push sends it drifting on.
Some of the details below him aren’t quite right-the clothes, the other sluggish cars, the tiny things the people clutch that might be mobile phones.
“This isn’t now,” he says.
“It’s someone’s now,” Maion says softly.
Then Vincent knows.
“What’s wrong?” he asks anyway, maybe just to spite the weight of certainty sinking in.
Maion sighs.
Vincent sits beside him, and Maion takes his hand and gently pats the back.
“This won’t take long,” he says.
The screaming precedes anything else-it’s startling but not sudden; as the sound moves closer and the suffering sharpens, Vincent realizes that it’s not the source of the noise that’s moving. The screaming rolls like a tsunami wave, emanating from different throats as the more distant ones disappear. He starts to see the rooftops vanishing, and the trees-a line of obliteration tearing through the fabric of London. The approach of Oblivion.
“This is the worst date ever,” Vincent says.
“I want to save you,” Maion says, fingertips rubbing at the knuckles of his captured hand. “But you have to want to be saved.”
The emptiness draws closer, and the terror below intensifies. The world folds in, crumbles, and is… gone.
“Emotional blackmail is not very angelic,” Vincent says.
The street melts into silence, and Maion wraps both arms around him tightly as everything goes white.
Vincent wakes up to find Maion drooling on his shoulder, clinging like a limpet to his arm.
A more pertinent question, then: Who the hell is going to save him from this?
Rating: PG
Word Count: 426
Warnings: tone, Apocalyptic predictions, etc.
Prompt: End of the World at pulped_fictions
Summary: Maion provides an instructive vision of the Apocalypse. Vincent is not impressed.
Author's Note: CHEERFUL, RIGHT? It's okay; the shippiness has clearly won out, and that's much more important than the prospect of the world ending soon. XD Also, eff my new obsession with plastering song lyrics all over my writing; I am a n00basaurus.
Forgive me, my love
I stand here all alone
And I can see
The bottom
- “You” - Breaking Benjamin -
SALVATION
Vincent is standing on the curving roof of an elegant building, looking down. He identifies the features automatically-rounded black taxicabs topped with glowing orange signs clog the street below; a splash of greenery off to the left is broken by bronze statuary that looks slightly pretentious even from here; a line of pubs with coffee shops tucked between-and is so pleased to have identified Victoria from above that it takes him a long moment to realize that it’s daylight. That the colors are all so bright it looks like an over-saturated photograph. That he can feel the warmth of the sun on his shoulder-blades.
He wants to say something profound, but all that emerges is “…oh.”
“I’m sorry,” Maion says, curled up nearby, one leg bent beneath him and the other dangling past the gutter pipe. “I can’t give that back to you. Not for real.”
Vincent doesn’t want to dwell on that. Fortunately, his mind is unusually buoyant, and a gentle push sends it drifting on.
Some of the details below him aren’t quite right-the clothes, the other sluggish cars, the tiny things the people clutch that might be mobile phones.
“This isn’t now,” he says.
“It’s someone’s now,” Maion says softly.
Then Vincent knows.
“What’s wrong?” he asks anyway, maybe just to spite the weight of certainty sinking in.
Maion sighs.
Vincent sits beside him, and Maion takes his hand and gently pats the back.
“This won’t take long,” he says.
The screaming precedes anything else-it’s startling but not sudden; as the sound moves closer and the suffering sharpens, Vincent realizes that it’s not the source of the noise that’s moving. The screaming rolls like a tsunami wave, emanating from different throats as the more distant ones disappear. He starts to see the rooftops vanishing, and the trees-a line of obliteration tearing through the fabric of London. The approach of Oblivion.
“This is the worst date ever,” Vincent says.
“I want to save you,” Maion says, fingertips rubbing at the knuckles of his captured hand. “But you have to want to be saved.”
The emptiness draws closer, and the terror below intensifies. The world folds in, crumbles, and is… gone.
“Emotional blackmail is not very angelic,” Vincent says.
The street melts into silence, and Maion wraps both arms around him tightly as everything goes white.
Vincent wakes up to find Maion drooling on his shoulder, clinging like a limpet to his arm.
A more pertinent question, then: Who the hell is going to save him from this?