Work Text:
How cruel is the golden rule
When the lives we lived are only golden plated?
And I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me
And though I carry karats for everyone to see
When you make your life about just one thing, it’s hard to know who you truly are. All his life, Jerome had had one goal: swim. Get a gold medal. Make mom and dad proud. Prove you matter. Prove you can do what you were made to do. Now that he couldn't, well, what was he good for?
The system was fucked. Failure was unyielding. Eugenics could could make you fundamentally perfect, but they would never protect you from the inevitable. You could try your hardest and you would still wind up in second place.
And I saw God cry in the reflection of my enemies
And all the lovers with no time for me
And all of the mothers raise their babies
To stay away from me
In a way, he wasn't surprised at his failure. Maybe scientists had been able to play with his genes and try to make him a perfect athlete, but the cosmos seldom cooperated with the wishes of humans. That was fine with him. Jerome had been cautiously intrigued in the prospect of selling his genes. He knew it meant selling so many other things. He wouldn't be himself anymore, but he had wanted to die anyways, hadn't he? This was, in a way, a step up. No one ever remembered the person who came in second place, anyways.
Tongues on the sockets of electric dreams
Where the sewage of youth drowned the spark of my teens
And I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me
And though I carry karats for everyone to see
At the end of the day, it had always been the right choice. Maybe he would never mean anything, but now his name would, and that was almost just as good. In Vincent’s eyes, he had never been second best. He had been a necessity; a stepping stone of sorts, but more than that, too. Vincent had never expected much of him; it made him feel human for the first time in his life. Maybe "friends" was stretching it, but he was sure he was more than just a loaned body.
And I saw God cry in the reflection of my enemies
And all the lovers with no time for me
And all of the mothers raise their babies
To stay away from me
And pray they don't grow up to be... “Jerome Marrow the astronaut” had never been the plan, but it had worked out fine in the end, he supposed. It was better than drinking himself to death. This way, he would still mean something, a different something. A million different somethings to a million different people, half of which had never even met him.
People have this idea that you commit suicide when you’re at a low, when you find yourself unable to live another second. Jerome did not feel this. He had found a good stopping place, he thought. As the flames engulfed him, he didn’t feel pain. He felt, for the first time ever, truly fulfilled.
It was nice to go home.