Still Life fic - Still Death
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dimity_blueTitle: Still Death
Author: Dimity Blue
Rating: All
Genre: gen, epilogue
Characters: John May
Word Count: 401 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: John, after the end.
Warnings: Major spoilers for Still Life. Mentions of cancer.
Still Death
By Dimity Blue
John blinked and opened his eyes. Greenery waved above him, moved by a soft, warm breeze. Beyond that, an endless blue sky.
He felt at peace. The rush of adrenaline that had carried him into the road in a futile attempt to catch his bus had gone.
John blinked some more. He thought he ought to feel quite disturbed. After all, he had just received a very large bus to the face, but even that memory provoked nothing more than surprise at the painlessness of his ending. Perhaps it had been too quick. One solid blow to throw him from that life into this.
'But surely there ought to be more people?' he thought.
"Aye. Come on, lad. Up you get."
John reached for his father's hand. His father who looked so much younger than John remembered. His old country accent was back in force, a throwback to John's childhood when his dad would use it to make him laugh. Grammar school had stamped most of it out, but it had never taken Ian May's love of the country from him.
"Where's Mum?"
"Here." And here she was, her voice stronger than it had been before the cancer stole her life.
John blinked away the memory of the weak-voiced figure dying in a hospital bed and accepted a hug from arms that were as strong as they'd ever been. "Now what?" he asked.
"Well, now..."
John's dad turned as figures appeared one by one. Not family, as John had expected; not the faintly remembered older generations restored to youth and vitality. But people John had only seen in photographs. Young and old, all races, shapes and sizes - their only common link that they had died alone and unmourned. John found himself receiving handshakes and hugs. A kiss on the cheek from Pat Finlay in pink, a slap on the back from David Thomas in his green striped rugby jersey. And then...
"Billy Stoke!"
Warm hands clasped his. Eyes that reminded him of Kelly's smiled into his. "So, you pissed on the bastard's tyre then?"
John laughed. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"Good on you."
Once Billy Stoke had gone, John's mum took his arm and steered him toward a cottage that looked remarkably like the one in Ian May's photo of his childhood home.
"Now what?" John asked, repeating his earlier question.
"Now, we have all eternity."
The end. Or the beginning.
29 January 2017
Author: Dimity Blue
Rating: All
Genre: gen, epilogue
Characters: John May
Word Count: 401 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: John, after the end.
Warnings: Major spoilers for Still Life. Mentions of cancer.
Still Death
By Dimity Blue
John blinked and opened his eyes. Greenery waved above him, moved by a soft, warm breeze. Beyond that, an endless blue sky.
He felt at peace. The rush of adrenaline that had carried him into the road in a futile attempt to catch his bus had gone.
John blinked some more. He thought he ought to feel quite disturbed. After all, he had just received a very large bus to the face, but even that memory provoked nothing more than surprise at the painlessness of his ending. Perhaps it had been too quick. One solid blow to throw him from that life into this.
'But surely there ought to be more people?' he thought.
"Aye. Come on, lad. Up you get."
John reached for his father's hand. His father who looked so much younger than John remembered. His old country accent was back in force, a throwback to John's childhood when his dad would use it to make him laugh. Grammar school had stamped most of it out, but it had never taken Ian May's love of the country from him.
"Where's Mum?"
"Here." And here she was, her voice stronger than it had been before the cancer stole her life.
John blinked away the memory of the weak-voiced figure dying in a hospital bed and accepted a hug from arms that were as strong as they'd ever been. "Now what?" he asked.
"Well, now..."
John's dad turned as figures appeared one by one. Not family, as John had expected; not the faintly remembered older generations restored to youth and vitality. But people John had only seen in photographs. Young and old, all races, shapes and sizes - their only common link that they had died alone and unmourned. John found himself receiving handshakes and hugs. A kiss on the cheek from Pat Finlay in pink, a slap on the back from David Thomas in his green striped rugby jersey. And then...
"Billy Stoke!"
Warm hands clasped his. Eyes that reminded him of Kelly's smiled into his. "So, you pissed on the bastard's tyre then?"
John laughed. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"Good on you."
Once Billy Stoke had gone, John's mum took his arm and steered him toward a cottage that looked remarkably like the one in Ian May's photo of his childhood home.
"Now what?" John asked, repeating his earlier question.
"Now, we have all eternity."
The end. Or the beginning.
29 January 2017