Work Text:
Nothing is without beginning.
And nothing is without end.
All cycles have a beginning, and all cycles have an end.
Sure, God was in control, ultimately. Sure, someday, everything would be decided, and there would be no more feeling like everything was going right and life was great, only for everything to collapse and despair to sink deep like an arrow aimed for his center mass. No more running at twenty percent. No more cycles of sanctification and backsliding, no more struggling against pride, feeling alive only to die, feeling powerful only to be stabbed in the chest by his own decisions.
No more cycles.
No more screaming to an empty sky for salvation.
No more unanswered questions.
No more doubt.
Can you find me? Save me? Save my soul?
Are you the closest star?
But the in between stretched onwards like the yellow dashes in the road, forever, driving everyone mad.
Or maybe not forever.
He was still losing his mind.
It was late.
Very late.
Or maybe early.
He hadn’t looked at the time before he’d left, and the clock in his car was broken, so he wasn’t sure what time it was.
Just that it was dark outside.
The radio was on, blasting music, but it did nothing to silence his thoughts, racing on and on and on.
He probably should’ve stayed inside his house, if he was being honest.
But he couldn’t sleep.
And so on, he drove.
This time, there was no heart buckled in the backseat.
He’d be home before he was missed. No need to take anyone’s heart with him.
He took a turn, maybe a little fast.
He should be more careful. He slowed down.
After all, he had to keep living.
He couldn’t shut down, or give up.
He had to get up in the morning, and keep going.
No matter how hard it was to keep his head up.
No matter how the reporters blamed what had happened on the times.
He would even sing again, he was sure.
Eventually.
Because doubtful and perplexed as he was, he was still only an addict with a pen, and he would wind up scribbling in his notebook again, words he might confide in others, words he might not.
But for now, he let the distraction of the music, music he had nothing to do with creating, mask what was real, and drove, watching the yellow dashes on the road.
He glanced in the rearview, then back at the road. There was a light ahead, dim in the distance.
Oncoming traffic, he thought.
It was not dim in the distance, it was dim because it was small.
And he was approaching it fast.
In the center of the road stood a familiar silhouette, torch in hand.
He knew that man.
He’d gone to their funeral.
He swerved, trying to avoid the torchbearer, and heard his tires skid out and the world flipped and he was weightless, then nothing.
+++
Torchbearer wasn't real.
And yet, here he stood, in the middle of the trees, torch fizzling as raindrops hit it, blinking rain out of his eyes.
He was looking for… someone.
There was something vastly important, tickling the back of his mind.
“What does it matter?” the voice that'd been his constant companion since he’d woken in the woods whispered in his mind. “You’ve been forgotten. You’ve forgotten.”
He remembered only fragmented pieces, prior to the woods.
A red robe.
Bright, flashing lights.
People screaming his name.
Exhaustion.
Of course, there was a logical explanation for each of these.
The man in the red robe, dramatic, but not a threat.
No, not at all.
Just a fan.
He was used to red robed people, anyway.
Torchbearer had said something by way of greeting as he'd passed, on his way to prepare for the show.
The bright, flashing lights?
A concert.
People screaming his name?.
He was playing in the concert. One half of a two man band.
Exhaustion? Yeah, it'd been a long day.
“You know that's not what happened.”
Okay, then, what did?
The voice fell silent.
Still, something was wrong.
He needed to warn…
Someone.
Of something.
Yeah, that was very specific and helpful.
Bright lights boring into his skull.
The smell of chemicals.
Antiseptic.
Tear stained faces.
Torchbearer shook his head to dispel the images… After all, they weren't his memories, were they?
Right?
Torchbearer broke into a jog, through the woods.
He burst out of the trees and into a road.
There, in the distance, was a pair of headlights.
Hm.
They were approaching fast.
Somehow, Torchbearer knew this was who he was supposed to find.
How did one stop a moving car?
Torchbearer decided standing his ground would be adequate.
The car, however, did not slow, continuing to barrel down the road towards Torchbearer.
He should probably get out of the way.
He took a step, then the car was upon him. He caught a glimpse of the driver, who looked shocked.
Not there's-a-guy-with-a-torch-in-the-middle-of-the-road shocked, but more of a just-saw-a-ghost shocked. The car swerved wildly, the direction torchbearer was going!
And they both went off the road, and Torchbearer knew no more.