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Ficlet: Oblivion

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  • Diana
    TITLE: Oblivion AUTHOR: Diana EMAIL: dee@viscerate.com RATING: PG for swearing and general darkness SUMMARY: What plagues the Wolverine. (Pre-movie)
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 13, 2001
      TITLE: Oblivion
      AUTHOR: Diana
      EMAIL: dee@...
      RATING: PG for swearing and general darkness
      SUMMARY: What plagues the Wolverine. (Pre-movie)
      DISCLAIMER: No ownership. No money. No nothing.
      NOTES: Written originally for another brilliant Kate inspiration - Soul
      Kitchen (http://soulkitchen.dymphna.net/). This gave me a great opportunity
      to get down in words a concept of Wolverine that's been swirling around in
      my skull for quite a long time now.

      WORDCOUNT: 350


      He can't remember waking up,
      So he refuses to believe that he ever was asleep
      And he's exhausted.
      - Something for Kate, "Feeding the birds and hoping for something in

      When it got bad - which was more frequently these days - he found a bar, a
      cage, a fight. Trying to find oblivion in the bite of the whiskey, the sharp
      slug of pain, the cleansing surge of adrenaline.

      It never came, but he kept looking anyway. There was nothing else to do.

      It wasn't not knowing. It was the things he did know, the things he did
      remember, even if only partially, in flashes and glimpses and nightmares
      woken from sweating and panicked. Sleep was supposed to be free of memories,
      but his waited there, lurked in darkness, and when he couldn't face them any
      more he'd try to run the only way he could conceive of. Sometimes he went
      days without sleeping. A healing factor didn't help with sleep deprivation,
      though, and soon the memories started coming to find him, walking beside him
      in broad daylight.

      Even the Wolverine, especially the Wolverine, knew when he was beaten. He
      couldn't escape the memories, couldn't find oblivion. That was all he
      wanted. He didn't want memories, he didn't want a past, he didn't want a
      cause or a reason or fucking redemption. He just wanted to be unaware.
      Blank, black, nothing. He knew it was there. He'd kept pushing, spiralling
      downwards, reaching for it, aching for it. But it slipped through his
      fingers, eluded him.

      Left him hanging on a thread, living in jagged rasps at the end, at the
      bottom, on the verge of breaking, except there was nowhere to break to,
      nothing to break into, and maybe that was all that was holding him together.
      He'd tried everything, hoping for the one thing that would trigger the
      blissfull emptiness. He'd never known it, had lived so long without it,
      wanting it, that he'd become used to the bitter taste of desire unfulfilled,
      the feel of urgency inside his bones, more a part of him than adamantium.

      One day. One day he'd find it. Oblivion. Peace.

      He knocked back the whiskey, and turned to the cage, to the fight, to the

      ==== http://viscerate.com ====
      Knowledge is power.
      Power corrupts.
      Study hard.
      Be evil.
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