ubuntu
Objectively speaking, the choice should be simple. He has the chance to save millions of lives, and the only price he had to pay was his own freedom. It's a choice he's mulled over countless times sleepless nights, and yet...
An old high school lesson comes to mind, something about a runaway trolley and five unsuspecting workers caught directly in its path, and the only way to save them was to hit a switch. The catch was that by hitting said switch, you would, with certainty, doom the single person standing on the other track. At the time, he'd answered "Hit the switch" without a shadow of a doubt, five lives finding more value in his heart than one. But when faced with the question in the flesh, when he is suddenly the single person, he finds his confidence draining away, and it leaves him with a roiling stomach.
Morality is all very subjective, of course, but if you were faced with such a question, would you be able to make a guiltless decision?
"Are you even listening? I'm having an emotional crisis here."
"I have two reports and an essay due by the end of the week. I can't be bothered by your in real life noontime soap opera drama."
"Hey, hey loser, pay attention to me. You're supposed to be my wingman."
"How hard is it to just tell him you find his incredibly stuck-up face incredibly attractive?"
"Not as hard it is for you to write a solid essay, apparently - ow, ow, what the fuck, get off of me - that's my face!"
"My man...my dude...my one and only baefriend...I hereby pledge my support to you and your pursuit of a perfect love life."
"I'm touched beyond words, really."
"You could be in love with a goddamn Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and I would still support your poorly misguided efforts to pursue a relationship. For clarity's purpose, though, I draw the line at Zootopia."
"What the fuck, get off my bed, I don't know you anymore."
"I thought you wanted my help as wingman?"
"That was like, a whole minute ago."
"And now?"
"And now I trust you about as far as I can throw you."
"Please, you can barely throw back a shot."
"That's the entire point."
"...stone cold, dude."
The war is over and he is seeing sunlight for the first time in what must be months, and someone is staring down at him tearfully where he lays on the ground. He frowns. Familiar it may be, but he can not for the life of him give a name to the face above his, or recall what they once meant to him. All he knows is that his name is Jackson, he is twenty three, and he would rob the stars for- who?
sing me to the mountain
There you are, standing strong and beautiful even as the sandpaper wind tears through your hair, grains of cheap gold settling deep and painful against your scalp. The mountain stands large and looming ahead of you, the same distance away as it has been since the very first time you saw it. The pickup besides you sputters in protest as you fill it with oil, baby blue paint long since blown away.
"Hey," he says, leaning so far out of the truck bed that you fear he will lose his balance and fall. "How much longer do you think it'll take?"
You shove him back to safety before your heart can beat itself out of your chest, and only when he laughs in delight and settles in do you make a show of peering at that enormous shadow in the distance, hand rising to shield your eyes from the wind.
"Soon," you tell him. "We'll be there soon."
The sun sets in blood, sky stained a red so bright it hurts your eyes to look at it directly. He's barely awake, head lolling limply as the two of you bump on towards the mountain.
It's late, you think. It's probably not safe to keep driving. So you pull into a roadside hotel and carry him into a room, locking it safely behind you both. You let him have the first shower, and as the drumming of the water builds, your thoughts wander back to the city you passed some time back. You have nightmares, still, of the bodies that piled high into the air, but you are more terrified of the ones that had turned towards you in hunger as you passed.
You thank whatever greater being may be out there for the small blessing that had come in the form of his frequent naps, grateful that he, at least, had not seen the same horror that you had.
He emerges, then, shaking his head to fling off excess water, and you take your turn, heart thumping painfully as you strain your ears for any sign of movement in the hallway outside. You turn off the shower before the water runs cold, too fearful to stay any longer.
"Don't worry," he whispers when he sees you, breaking into a small smile. "They said San Fran's still safe."
You smile back and toss him an armful of the hotel's finest courtesy snacks, and try not think about the bodies in the town you passed by days ago. You do not tell him that you are no longer headed to San Francisco.
"Hey," he says later when the stars shine through the window, eyes swollen and voice soft and low from exhaustion. "How much longer do you think it'll take?"
You smooth his hair back and tuck the blankets close, hands closing tightly around the gun that he can not see, that you will not let him see. You are all that stands between him and death.
"Soon," you tell him. "We'll be there soon."
freefall
Truthfully, I don’t have very much left of you
Just the handful of memories that I still carry in my heart
(My greatest fear used to be the darkness, but now…)
What if I forget them?
No matter what, I don’t want to lose sight of you
I’m holding on with everything I have, but even so
Gradually, slowly
I can feel them fading away
It’s like stepping off of a cliff with my eyes wide open
One moment, I’m standing by your side
And the next, I’m not
And without being able to do anything
Without being able to stop myself or even cry out
I’m falling further and further away
I already have so little left of you
If I lose any more I won’t have anything left to remember at all