hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-05-29 12:50 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-05-29 12:50 pm
All my time is yours; my faithless shit is yours...
Oh god, it felt fucking good to write this.
Haunted (All the Stories That You Tell)
Newborn
He is a corpse in her bathtub, water-logged with clammy skin and blue lips. He’s terribly bloated and she wouldn’t recognize him if it weren’t for the hairlessness and the eyes. It’s always the eyes. They follow her as she unpacks her toiletries, and when he coughs, water dribbles out his nose. It causes Helen to drops her Crème La Mer in the sink. It’s a very expensive bottle to break, and little flicks of glass and moisturizer embed themselves in her hands.
She wakes up with clammy palms and sun outside the cabin window. They’ll land in thirty minutes.
Scattered Black and Whites
She has the papers delivered by the same young man, Degei, every morning. US papers only, which in Suva are not particularly hard to come by. She scours the articles as they saturate the smallest sections: Metro and Sports, front page from Times (LA) to Times (NY). As the days pass the coverage changes: the minimalism of their wedding becomes attempted rescues, memorials. Their legacies.
‘A perfectly, charming society bride’ she made, apparently.
Still, she's moderately surprised at the gaping newspaper hole where biologically impossible Kansas boys should be.
At night she dreams of Clark Kent saving her from Lex.
Asleep in the Back
He comes to her during the day when she’s flipping through Harper’s & Queen. He sits down beside her and talks about china patterns and colors for the guest bathroom on the third floor. Water streams from every orifice and his shoes squish when he saunters away.
She knows it’s PTSD. She’ll get over it. She uses a personal stash of Ambien to help her sleep, which is okay. Lots of her fellow doctors self-medicate because they make such horrible patients.
There’s nothing wrong with Helen that sleep won’t help.
She self-medicates during the day and stays up all night.
Any Day Now
She reads voraciously. Coverage in the papers has died down, and there’s next to nothing about the lost Luthor Heir. She’s talked to Degei about the possibility of getting hold of a Metropolis paper, but he says he’ll try.
She supposes it’s the best he can do.
She’s been officially dead for thirty-two days when Degei finally delivers, and Helen’s copy of the Daily Planet is two days old. The headline is three inches high: ‘CEO of LuthorCorp missing.’
She takes more Ambien and dreams of Lex chasing her through the Pathology lab while Paul tries desperately to save her.
Red
Helen graduated third in her class at Stanford Med. She shouldn’t have taken that Geology course, but she’s made mistakes before. That’s life. She’s enjoyed hers: she’ll miss it when she’s gone.
She does not regret killing Lex.
She regrets not being there when her grandmother died. She’s angry that Lex Luthor was there when Cassandra Bryce Carver died and her granddaughter, Helen Marie, was not.
However, as the razor does its job the first time around and her blood swirls in the bathwater, Helen takes satisfaction in knowing that she won’t be the only person who’s been too late.
-finis-
Notes: Inspired by, and subheaders taken from, the Elbow LP ‘Asleep in the Back’
Haunted (All the Stories That You Tell)
Newborn
He is a corpse in her bathtub, water-logged with clammy skin and blue lips. He’s terribly bloated and she wouldn’t recognize him if it weren’t for the hairlessness and the eyes. It’s always the eyes. They follow her as she unpacks her toiletries, and when he coughs, water dribbles out his nose. It causes Helen to drops her Crème La Mer in the sink. It’s a very expensive bottle to break, and little flicks of glass and moisturizer embed themselves in her hands.
She wakes up with clammy palms and sun outside the cabin window. They’ll land in thirty minutes.
Scattered Black and Whites
She has the papers delivered by the same young man, Degei, every morning. US papers only, which in Suva are not particularly hard to come by. She scours the articles as they saturate the smallest sections: Metro and Sports, front page from Times (LA) to Times (NY). As the days pass the coverage changes: the minimalism of their wedding becomes attempted rescues, memorials. Their legacies.
‘A perfectly, charming society bride’ she made, apparently.
Still, she's moderately surprised at the gaping newspaper hole where biologically impossible Kansas boys should be.
At night she dreams of Clark Kent saving her from Lex.
Asleep in the Back
He comes to her during the day when she’s flipping through Harper’s & Queen. He sits down beside her and talks about china patterns and colors for the guest bathroom on the third floor. Water streams from every orifice and his shoes squish when he saunters away.
She knows it’s PTSD. She’ll get over it. She uses a personal stash of Ambien to help her sleep, which is okay. Lots of her fellow doctors self-medicate because they make such horrible patients.
There’s nothing wrong with Helen that sleep won’t help.
She self-medicates during the day and stays up all night.
Any Day Now
She reads voraciously. Coverage in the papers has died down, and there’s next to nothing about the lost Luthor Heir. She’s talked to Degei about the possibility of getting hold of a Metropolis paper, but he says he’ll try.
She supposes it’s the best he can do.
She’s been officially dead for thirty-two days when Degei finally delivers, and Helen’s copy of the Daily Planet is two days old. The headline is three inches high: ‘CEO of LuthorCorp missing.’
She takes more Ambien and dreams of Lex chasing her through the Pathology lab while Paul tries desperately to save her.
Red
Helen graduated third in her class at Stanford Med. She shouldn’t have taken that Geology course, but she’s made mistakes before. That’s life. She’s enjoyed hers: she’ll miss it when she’s gone.
She does not regret killing Lex.
She regrets not being there when her grandmother died. She’s angry that Lex Luthor was there when Cassandra Bryce Carver died and her granddaughter, Helen Marie, was not.
However, as the razor does its job the first time around and her blood swirls in the bathwater, Helen takes satisfaction in knowing that she won’t be the only person who’s been too late.
-finis-
Notes: Inspired by, and subheaders taken from, the Elbow LP ‘Asleep in the Back’
no subject
*glares at Helen* Take that, you bitch.
no subject
*glares at Helen* Take that, you bitch.
I like being evil, the pay is better.
Ooooh...
How perfect is that? I've been thinking about the possibilities that Helen is enacting revenge instead of just being paid of by Lionel and I never even thought about Cassandra.
Very nice, thank.
Re: Ooooh...
How perfect is that? I've been thinking about the possibilities that Helen is enacting revenge instead of just being paid of by Lionel and I never even thought about Cassandra.
Very nice, thank.
Thank you for enjoying it. I had intended to write something completely different, I don't even like Helen, but I just couldn't help myself.
no subject
This is fucking amazing, you are a fucking genius - please don't kick me out of the Z Fan Club (I really must work on my stalking skillz). While I haven't had time to fb, love what you're doing with Bobby/St. John (b/c There Goes the Fear? The Doves? *swoon* love you)
no subject
*looks around furtively* I get paid peanuts to do nothing, ergo, I have lots of time to kill in between doing illegal things with my mates after work.
This is fucking amazing, you are a fucking genius - please don't kick me out of the Z Fan Club (I really must work on my stalking skillz). While I haven't had time to fb, love what you're doing with Bobby/St. John (b/c There Goes the Fear? The Doves? *swoon* love you)
And no worries about the business, I'm just glad to hear from you when I can. *hugs* Also, you know about Doves? You are so down in my book right now.
no subject
*looks at your latest post*
*gasps in awe at prodigious output*
*whimpers because there's so much still to read*
First off, I have to say thanks for the birthday wishes - considering I've been on LJ only about 2 months, it made me do a little happy dance (make that happy chair butt wiggle) that people took the time. *g*
Yeah, so I'm overwhelmed, and I've only got about a week to catch up before I'm off to NYC for 2 weeks (for work). You know I have a X2 cover for you on my hard drive? I just need time to finish it - help!
Also, you know about Doves?
Love the Doves (was a big Ride fan back in the day). Adore the Lost Souls album. Meant to go see them at the Mayan when they were last in town but busy. You have such fabulous taste in music (and this of course has nothing to do with the fact that I like some of the same bands *hee*). Did you get to see Sondre the other night?
Re:
*wibbles* You made me my first X2 cover? Awwwwww. And I've been having the crappiest day, this just makes it like fifty times ever. {{{hugs}}}
Am I ever going to get to see the aborted 'On Something Like Being Single' cover? I just wanna seeeeeeeeee.
I adore Doves, you need 'The Last Broadcast' (their most recent one) It's just. It's them. *sighs* And yes, I saw Sondre this week! And Ed! I heart Ed, he played some of the Muppets theme, but you know, Sondre. He makes me want to act domestic, and nobody makes me want that. He's just so cute
[/girlie moment]
no subject
no subject
Thank you!
no subject
She regrets not being there when her grandmother died. She’s angry that Lex Luthor was there when Cassandra Bryce Carver died and her granddaughter, Helen Marie, was not.
Holy fuck. *shivers*
no subject
She regrets not being there when her grandmother died. She’s angry that Lex Luthor was there when Cassandra Bryce Carver died and her granddaughter, Helen Marie, was not.
Holy fuck. *shivers*
I'm trying to cleanse my system, that generally involves lots of dead people. I'm very excited, I must tell you.
no subject
Very cool!
no subject
Very cool!
Why thank you very much, I'm glad you enjoyed it.
no subject
no subject
For the record, I pretty much loathe and detest this character, which begs the question 'why did I write her?' I have no idea, darling. None. Feh. Look, hot icon!
no subject
One of the things I admire about your writing is how well you layer anguish and complexity under brief declarative sentences like There's nothing wrong with Helen that sleep won;t help. It's really effective, and helps me to get lost in your stories, following what's said and gasping at what isn't.
Finally, yay for Elbow! Sometimes I think I'm the only person I know who is aware of their existence! *shares the Elbow-love*
no subject
One of the things I admire about your writing is how well you layer anguish and complexity under brief declarative sentences like There's nothing wrong with Helen that sleep won;t help. It's really effective, and helps me to get lost in your stories, following what's said and gasping at what isn't.
Finally, yay for Elbow! Sometimes I think I'm the only person I know who is aware of their existence! *shares the Elbow-love*
First of all, thank you for the the FB Drive-By. If all Drive-Bys were the nice the world would be a better place. It's not too early for dark humor, is it? Pfft. Also, another person who feels the Elbow love? Yay!