I against I
Jul. 12th, 2014 04:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalon"I'm the new you." My doppleganger slurred drunkenly waving a knife around he bought in a gas station along with a pack of rolling papers and exactly one Molotov cocktail's worth of gasoline.
"Oh are you now?" I snorted, having had my share of experiences with no end of inebriated shape-shifters and parallel universe refugees. "Suppose you think, it's an easy scene, right? Got yourself a better angle on all the ways of being me."
"Fuck you, man." He puffer-fishes out his chest with all those muscles I've had to put time at the gym in, grins with that shit-eaten grin that's never tasted any of shit that's gone with it. "Which one of us kisses the pretty girls and makes the brave men laugh?"
In answer to his question I look around theatrically with flat of hand shading bloodshot eyes and seeing the man described not present shrug my shoulders in response.
"Yeah, well which one of us has the knife?" He scrunches his face in what I guess is some poor man's imitation of a hard man.
"Not me, tough guy, not me." I smile helpless as helpless can be. "But let me ask you this. Which one of us is going to sit down in front of the page at the end of the night and say what the other dared not?"
The knife sways with the drunken stance of my doppleganger as he ponders the question who's conclusion I've long arrived at. "Don't lose your nerve yet, New Me. Wear those kisses well, let those laughs echo loud. But who would you rather be? The man written about or the man who has to do all the heavy lifting for those not there even when they were? And don't say both, because better New Me's than you have tried that route only to end up in a sobbing ball at my feet. So what's it gonna be, New Me? Life of the party... or it's ghost eternal?"
I give myself a second to shake out a cigarette from a pack stolen off the bar counter and no sooner is it lit than I hear the knife drop, fallen from invisible hands no more.
"Oh are you now?" I snorted, having had my share of experiences with no end of inebriated shape-shifters and parallel universe refugees. "Suppose you think, it's an easy scene, right? Got yourself a better angle on all the ways of being me."
"Fuck you, man." He puffer-fishes out his chest with all those muscles I've had to put time at the gym in, grins with that shit-eaten grin that's never tasted any of shit that's gone with it. "Which one of us kisses the pretty girls and makes the brave men laugh?"
In answer to his question I look around theatrically with flat of hand shading bloodshot eyes and seeing the man described not present shrug my shoulders in response.
"Yeah, well which one of us has the knife?" He scrunches his face in what I guess is some poor man's imitation of a hard man.
"Not me, tough guy, not me." I smile helpless as helpless can be. "But let me ask you this. Which one of us is going to sit down in front of the page at the end of the night and say what the other dared not?"
The knife sways with the drunken stance of my doppleganger as he ponders the question who's conclusion I've long arrived at. "Don't lose your nerve yet, New Me. Wear those kisses well, let those laughs echo loud. But who would you rather be? The man written about or the man who has to do all the heavy lifting for those not there even when they were? And don't say both, because better New Me's than you have tried that route only to end up in a sobbing ball at my feet. So what's it gonna be, New Me? Life of the party... or it's ghost eternal?"
I give myself a second to shake out a cigarette from a pack stolen off the bar counter and no sooner is it lit than I hear the knife drop, fallen from invisible hands no more.