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Old November 3 2008, 12:00 AM   #10
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Arc of the Wolf: Distant Horizons - Now

Title: Now
Rating: PG
Words: 483
Timeline: 2235
Disclaimer: He belongs to Paramount.
Notes: Yes, it's gritty. No, it doesn't explain itself; it's not supposed to. It just is. Absolutely best read in it's original post here.


I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

-D. H. Lawrence

It was beautiful. Battered, but full of potential; complex and tangible and understandable, and he could take it apart in his mind after a glance, put it back together, make it better, fix the damage, make it work. It was beautiful now. Right here. Right now. Partly disassembled.

Test the links. His hand wasn't big enough to do it as fast as his mind could, not yet. Used the left side; the right didn't work, had never worked, existed as something distant that hurt with the rise and fall of his breath, but not badly enough to override the part of him wholly focused on what he was doing.

Sometimes he moved wrong and then he existed right here, right now, in tortured breaths that just made it hurt even worse, and in those moments he was eternally suffocating, fighting to breathe, fighting not to breathe, until the blackness wasn't just something that existed, it was everything.

But it faded, every time; in the moments it hurt, eternal moments, it was all there was to the universe, and when it stopped he forgot about it. Right here. Right now. Something beautiful; take it apart, fix it. Made sense. Understandable.

His left hand wasn't dominant, but he was good with it anyway. Follow the links, test each one, meticulously. One at a time. Right here. Find what was broken. Fix it. Right now.

Existed in something he built, all scavenged parts and bits and bobs; not enough to keep the cool, damp air out, but enough to keep the rain off and enough to create a dry workspace, and it was safe here, right here, right now.

There was no time; sometimes the universe was black, sometimes all white hot pain, sometimes hazy gray work and distance, and he lived in every single one of those moments a whole lifetime. There was only this, what he was doing. Fix it. Fix what was broken. Sometimes a sound made him jump that didn't fit in the trees and dead leaves, then he held still and those moments were absolute silence, holding his breath. No prayers. No mercy. Just silence and waiting, eternally waiting.

Then he forgot again and it was back to it. One at a time, systemically, methodically, carefully. Always gentle. Test each link in the system. Light fades, but he has his own weak light and has to keep it in his teeth to work, left-sided, awkward but well enough. Find the fault. No anger. No frustration. Just singular focus.

Fix it. Right here.

Complex and tangible, and understandable. Beautiful.

Fix it.

No self-pity. No grief. No trying to understand anything before this, no believing in anything after this, there was only this.

Right here. Right now.
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