Julian wanted to laugh. He had predicted this; that Rob,
that Will, that everyone would one day hate him just as much as he hated
himself. But now – now that it was here, the long defunct tear ducts slowly
wormed open. It was only for a few seconds but the blades which had been thrust
with vigour into his abdomen, chest...they hurt more than he had expected.
He knew apologies meant nothing now, even though he had thought they had long-since established or known there had been nothing to apologize for. "It wasn't what you did, you fucking moron," Julian hissed – for once the voice his, not the Paranoia's. "It was your masquerading charade of a poor-man's play, pulled away – revealed you."
The air was still, and it was screaming. He turned up the loudest music he could find because he couldn't bear the thought of himself thinking. He wanted to scream but couldn't, so he put the next best thing on.
"A drink – to your final stage – the final evolution. You thought you'd grow wings but you became the lowest of worms."
This was said to no one in particular, because there was no one around. That was, after all, the whole point of Julian's pathetic monologue.
Evolution was never an effort – a conscious action. People just became what they were meant to be, he mused, and the long, sharp friends hiding in his drawers and under his pillow and in his locked box of secrets were calling him, saying MARK YOURSELF WITH YOUR TREACHERY AND MAYBE THEN YOUR DEATH TOLL WILL NOT ADVANCE.
But Julian knew that this was only a cheap way to make himself feel better.
He knew apologies meant nothing now, even though he had thought they had long-since established or known there had been nothing to apologize for. "It wasn't what you did, you fucking moron," Julian hissed – for once the voice his, not the Paranoia's. "It was your masquerading charade of a poor-man's play, pulled away – revealed you."
The air was still, and it was screaming. He turned up the loudest music he could find because he couldn't bear the thought of himself thinking. He wanted to scream but couldn't, so he put the next best thing on.
"A drink – to your final stage – the final evolution. You thought you'd grow wings but you became the lowest of worms."
This was said to no one in particular, because there was no one around. That was, after all, the whole point of Julian's pathetic monologue.
Evolution was never an effort – a conscious action. People just became what they were meant to be, he mused, and the long, sharp friends hiding in his drawers and under his pillow and in his locked box of secrets were calling him, saying MARK YOURSELF WITH YOUR TREACHERY AND MAYBE THEN YOUR DEATH TOLL WILL NOT ADVANCE.
But Julian knew that this was only a cheap way to make himself feel better.
-M
