Fanon:The Good Ones-Chapter 25
| No Respect | |
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| Name: | No Respect |
| Series: | The Good Ones |
| Written by: | Pidgeoraptor7 |
| Release date: | April 19, 2013 |
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| Chronology | |
| Previous chapter: | No Respect |
| Next chapter: | Old and New |
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Dreams[edit | edit source]
I knew that the doctors would put something in my orange juice, because at hospitals that's just the way they role.
Back when I was a kid, I thought that the orange juice was an extended hand of comfort, to compensate for the time that I could have spent playing on my GameBoy. I had swallowed a quarter, because for some reason I had lived with the misconception that my mouth would have the same cleansing properties as a dishwasher. But who can blame me? I was only six.
My father had made my mom take me. It was late at night, and I was fretting over how they would have to slit open my throat, gently remove it without rupturing something inside of me, and then give it back to my mother.
But no. Instead, I got to lay down on a comfy cot, drink some drugged juice, and hold my mom's hand as the world slowly floated away. And then I realized that they just needed me passed out so that they could stick a pair of tweezers down my throat and take it out.
I knew the dreams would soon come.
Would they be nightmares? Would they be like the nightmare that had rendered me into a heart attack? Would I relive my life, only living it ten times worse than it was? Would I be chased by wolves, the one creature that I loved most, and hunted down by my own father, only to be impaled at the hand of the one who had brought me into the world, not mercifully sifting to ash but living long enough to suffer, to look down and see my own beating heart as I slowly faded away? Or would I have good dreams? Would I be back with my mother, back in the days when we lived as humans, sitting in front of the TV, watching the fireplace crackle and burn beneath it, eating microwave meals as we used to do?
Would I be there with Brigit? Her stormy grey eyes, that raged as freely as did the sea, calmed only when they looked into the icy blue eyes of her husband? Would her laugh warm me? Would her embrace make me feel homey and cozy? Would I be able to lean on her shoulder and hold her hands in mine, her thumb constantly fighting to be on top of mine?
With Brigit by my side, I felt whole. I didn't need my friends, my sister, my brother. I didn't need The Good Ones beside me. What I needed, what I truly lived for, was my Brigit.
That night, the dreams were good.