Kaz (kazbaby) wrote,

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Fic: Image of Truth

Author's Notes: I wasn't going to post this. In fact, I actually didn't intend to write it. It just sort of came out when I was feeling bad yesterday, and it made me discover something: Don't write John when I'm sick. Thanks to Sarahjane for the beta, as well as Scorpy808 and Catherinebruce (she threatened me if I didn't post this) for the drive by approval. All other mistakes are mine, and all feedback is welcome.
Setting: Between Dog With Two Bones and Crichton Kicks.
Disclaimer: Not Mine. If it was, we'd have a Farscape channel.

Image of Truth

How pathetic is it that I look in the mirror and immediately turn away from the image because it isn’t me. The person standing there is a stranger, and it makes things just a bit harder to hold onto…myself, my goals and dreams. This beard doesn’t help a lick and it itches like a sonofabitch.

I run through the motions. Have been for longer than I can remember.

Everything I see or do is on autopilot and to be honest, I can’t remember how to fix the controls. I wake up, do my ‘chores’ around the place and fall - more like pass out - into a makeshift bed. In between I’m reminded to eat. So I try to choke down something that resembles dried up play-doh.

Drinking now, that’s – that’s another story; I don’t have to be reminded to drink. I do that quite well on my own, thank you very much. I should write the recipe down somewhere. I saw some old shoe polish in one of the old cells, maybe if I…

What was I saying? Oh, ya…

The only thing that keeps me here are promises I made to you, even if you never heard the words. It wouldn’t take much to take the car out for a final spin, let the gas run out and not pick up the phone.

But I know - I know it would destroy you. There are many sins in life that I’ve committed, but I refuse to be the person who grinds you under the wheel.

Finding things to keep my mind occupied in the quiet is near damn impossible, so I daydream. I know deep down inside they’ll never be a reality, but for the moment they’re all I have of you.

Eat, drink and be merry. Well, two outta three ain’t so bad. I’m probably poisoning myself here. Doing a slow suicide slide, but it’s kind of freeing in a way.

You’re gone. The others. Moya. Pilot. Grandma here is about to buy it when my gracious host finally goes to that big... Uh, wherever it is they go.

I always was a stubborn ass though. Gonna go in my own time, in my own way. Though I do still hold out some hope that somehow, some way you’ll change your mind, come back and find me. If not...

Well, I’d rather not think about that just yet.
Tags: fic
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