Hell, that's no surprise: I've been shot and sliced and had the shit beat out of me and left for dead more times than I can begin to even count. They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but I think that's a load of bullshit. I've never gotten the whole sad story: just bits and pieces, like snapshots.
Maybe I should have known from the moment I met him that someone named Vicious wasn't going to be real good for my health. But still, I'm kind of an opportunistic guy: he was all right. We were friends, me and Vicious, for a long time. Even though we both loved the same woman.
I don't think that's why he threw me out that church window. Well, wait. To be honest, that's probably part of it, but I don't think it's the only reason. I think he did it because he wanted to be the one: he wanted to be chosen. He wanted to be first. Can we always get what we want?
Fuck, no.
Julia chose him first. But he wanted to head the Syndicate and he was never going to get chosen for that. Too damn inflexible. I don't think I would have been any good at it, but I wasn't going to try even though they wanted me for it. So I said goodbye to everything and everyone. Goodbye, Vicious, goodbye Julia, goodbye Lin and Shin. Goodbye Annie, goodbye Mao. I'm gone, dead, fallen from grace for the last time.
And three years later, after he killed Mao, Vicious pushed me through that stained glass rose window up high in a church and I fell. I watched the remnants of that window rain down on me as I fell and I watched the grenade that fell out of my pocket destroy that church and all the while, I fell. And as I fell I had a curious dream: I dreamed of Julia, of what it was like when I first fell in love with her. But I knew it wasn't a dream when images started racing by in fits and starts like photographs: Julia. Vicious. Roses. Gunfire. Train tickets. The hot white edge of a sharp katana. Stumbling. Falling.
Falling.
It was all too familiar: I closed my eyes and hoped I'd never wake up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop / Spike
Date: 2005-09-21 08:41 pm (UTC)Spike is good here: he's precise at 400 words.
I know what it feels like to almost die.
Hell, that's no surprise: I've been shot and sliced and had the shit beat out of me and left for dead more times than I can begin to even count. They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but I think that's a load of bullshit. I've never gotten the whole sad story: just bits and pieces, like snapshots.
Maybe I should have known from the moment I met him that someone named Vicious wasn't going to be real good for my health. But still, I'm kind of an opportunistic guy: he was all right. We were friends, me and Vicious, for a long time. Even though we both loved the same woman.
I don't think that's why he threw me out that church window. Well, wait. To be honest, that's probably part of it, but I don't think it's the only reason. I think he did it because he wanted to be the one: he wanted to be chosen. He wanted to be first. Can we always get what we want?
Fuck, no.
Julia chose him first. But he wanted to head the Syndicate and he was never going to get chosen for that. Too damn inflexible. I don't think I would have been any good at it, but I wasn't going to try even though they wanted me for it. So I said goodbye to everything and everyone. Goodbye, Vicious, goodbye Julia, goodbye Lin and Shin. Goodbye Annie, goodbye Mao. I'm gone, dead, fallen from grace for the last time.
And three years later, after he killed Mao, Vicious pushed me through that stained glass rose window up high in a church and I fell. I watched the remnants of that window rain down on me as I fell and I watched the grenade that fell out of my pocket destroy that church and all the while, I fell. And as I fell I had a curious dream: I dreamed of Julia, of what it was like when I first fell in love with her. But I knew it wasn't a dream when images started racing by in fits and starts like photographs: Julia. Vicious. Roses. Gunfire. Train tickets. The hot white edge of a sharp katana. Stumbling. Falling.
Falling.
It was all too familiar: I closed my eyes and hoped I'd never wake up.