Lost Fic: And Then a Vision (Charlie)
7/5/10 11:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ozmissageTitle: And Then a Vision
Character: Charlie (Implied Charlie/Claire)
Rating: R (Language, Drug Use)
Words: 726
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Summary: Charlie imagined something better than this.
A/N: For queen![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
toestastegood who wanted "future" fic, I hope Charlie angst is an acceptable offering. ;)
He wanted to be a rock star so that’s the life he imagined for himself.
There would be a Grammy and a heartfelt speech where he would thank his mum and dad as a single, manly tear ran down his cheek. Maybe there would be a girl (gorgeous, of course) in the audience and he’d say, I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart even if he most definitely could have. And Liam would be there; the two of them together, drinking champagne and talking about how bloody brilliant their lives were.
That is what he imagined.
This is what he got.
He’s stomping around Cardiff at three in the morning, his hands trembling and sweet dripping down his back, looking for his next fix. He just played a show at a tiny venue; the audience was too drunk to notice he was on stage. That’s probably for the best because he was shaking so much he could barely find the right chords.
His money is dwindling fast and he hasn’t talked to his mum in two months. The only thing he ever thanks any girls for are half-decent blow jobs given in bathroom stalls when he’s so high he can barely remember his first name.
And Liam’s gone. He calls from Australia once a month and always makes sure to say how bloody brilliant his life is while Charlie tries not to vomit on the street.
It’s a sodding tragedy is what it is, like some be careful what you wish for Twilight Zone parable and it’s not fair. Charlie never wanted to be a fucking junkie, he just wanted the music. Even that’s slipping away now.
He finds a dealer lurking in an alley and he buys just enough heroin to take the edge off. He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s tainted, if one snort’s going to do him in for good. He just pays the man and heads to the nearest bathroom, shakes the powder into his sticky hands and hates himself for how much he loves the way the first hit burns.
He waits and the relief washes over him until he’s light and floating.
He closes his eyes and he sees…sand and blood, people screaming, rushing about, and then a girl. In the middle of all of this hell he sees a girl. A beautiful blonde. She’s pregnant; very, very pregnant.
Something inside of Charlie twists, breaks, comes undone; he could live a hundred years and never find the right words to describe it. It’s a moment of clarity. He’s not sure if he’s on a piss-covered bathroom floor in Cardiff or on an island in God knows where, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, but this feeling, this beautiful, strange sense of peace.
In his head he moves towards her and she’s smiling; the bloody world’s coming apart around them, and she’s just smiling at him. He smiles back, a laugh bubbling up inside of him---
Someone slaps him. He blinks up at a burly, rather pissed off looking Irishman.
“It’s closing time, get your sorry arse out of my pub.”
Charlie pushes himself to his feet and stumbles towards the door. His cheeks feel damp and he’s almost embarrassed to realize he’s crying. He wonders how long he was out; his head is aching as if the drugs are already working their way out of his system.
Good, he thinks.
Outside the pub he leans against the wall and takes deep, gulping breaths of the cold, early morning air. His lungs sting and he imagines this must be what drowning feels like.
He knows the girl was just a mirage. Just the drugs working their particular brand of magic, but it doesn’t matter if she was real or not. Nothing matters anymore, but ending this.
He wants a future. A good one.
He doesn’t want to die in a fucking alley, another washed-up one hit wonder cautionary tale. His only legacy a song blasted in supermarkets while bored housewives buy roast beef.
He throws the last of the drugs into a nearby bin, knowing it won’t be that simple. But it’s a start. He tries to imagine the girl in his head, but she’s already slipping away, the only thing that remains is the feeling---a mixture of guilt and hope. A promise, he thinks.
This doesn’t have to be his life.
Character: Charlie (Implied Charlie/Claire)
Rating: R (Language, Drug Use)
Words: 726
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Summary: Charlie imagined something better than this.
A/N: For queen
toestastegood who wanted "future" fic, I hope Charlie angst is an acceptable offering. ;)He wanted to be a rock star so that’s the life he imagined for himself.
There would be a Grammy and a heartfelt speech where he would thank his mum and dad as a single, manly tear ran down his cheek. Maybe there would be a girl (gorgeous, of course) in the audience and he’d say, I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart even if he most definitely could have. And Liam would be there; the two of them together, drinking champagne and talking about how bloody brilliant their lives were.
That is what he imagined.
This is what he got.
He’s stomping around Cardiff at three in the morning, his hands trembling and sweet dripping down his back, looking for his next fix. He just played a show at a tiny venue; the audience was too drunk to notice he was on stage. That’s probably for the best because he was shaking so much he could barely find the right chords.
His money is dwindling fast and he hasn’t talked to his mum in two months. The only thing he ever thanks any girls for are half-decent blow jobs given in bathroom stalls when he’s so high he can barely remember his first name.
And Liam’s gone. He calls from Australia once a month and always makes sure to say how bloody brilliant his life is while Charlie tries not to vomit on the street.
It’s a sodding tragedy is what it is, like some be careful what you wish for Twilight Zone parable and it’s not fair. Charlie never wanted to be a fucking junkie, he just wanted the music. Even that’s slipping away now.
He finds a dealer lurking in an alley and he buys just enough heroin to take the edge off. He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s tainted, if one snort’s going to do him in for good. He just pays the man and heads to the nearest bathroom, shakes the powder into his sticky hands and hates himself for how much he loves the way the first hit burns.
He waits and the relief washes over him until he’s light and floating.
He closes his eyes and he sees…sand and blood, people screaming, rushing about, and then a girl. In the middle of all of this hell he sees a girl. A beautiful blonde. She’s pregnant; very, very pregnant.
Something inside of Charlie twists, breaks, comes undone; he could live a hundred years and never find the right words to describe it. It’s a moment of clarity. He’s not sure if he’s on a piss-covered bathroom floor in Cardiff or on an island in God knows where, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, but this feeling, this beautiful, strange sense of peace.
In his head he moves towards her and she’s smiling; the bloody world’s coming apart around them, and she’s just smiling at him. He smiles back, a laugh bubbling up inside of him---
Someone slaps him. He blinks up at a burly, rather pissed off looking Irishman.
“It’s closing time, get your sorry arse out of my pub.”
Charlie pushes himself to his feet and stumbles towards the door. His cheeks feel damp and he’s almost embarrassed to realize he’s crying. He wonders how long he was out; his head is aching as if the drugs are already working their way out of his system.
Good, he thinks.
Outside the pub he leans against the wall and takes deep, gulping breaths of the cold, early morning air. His lungs sting and he imagines this must be what drowning feels like.
He knows the girl was just a mirage. Just the drugs working their particular brand of magic, but it doesn’t matter if she was real or not. Nothing matters anymore, but ending this.
He wants a future. A good one.
He doesn’t want to die in a fucking alley, another washed-up one hit wonder cautionary tale. His only legacy a song blasted in supermarkets while bored housewives buy roast beef.
He throws the last of the drugs into a nearby bin, knowing it won’t be that simple. But it’s a start. He tries to imagine the girl in his head, but she’s already slipping away, the only thing that remains is the feeling---a mixture of guilt and hope. A promise, he thinks.
This doesn’t have to be his life.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 7/5/10 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/5/10 09:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/5/10 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/5/10 09:14 pm (UTC)I love Charlie so much, but I rarely write him so it was fun to have a chance to explore the messier side of him.
no subject
Date: 7/5/10 04:49 pm (UTC)Outside the pub he leans against the wall and takes deep, gulping breaths of the cold, early morning air. His lungs sting and he imagines this must be what drowning feels like.
THAT LINE KILLED ME.
Terrific. Absolutely terrific. ♥
no subject
Date: 7/5/10 09:15 pm (UTC)Heh. I had to throw the drowning thing in there. *snuggles Charlie*
no subject
Date: 7/5/10 06:53 pm (UTC)You know me so well. ;)
This is so awesome! I love reading about Charlie's junkie days - they are so desperate and so sad. The way you worked with the theme here was awesome, looking at Charlie's lost dream for the future versus his vision of what the future really will be. It's a brilliant way to juggle the idea. And I wanted to cheer for Charlie when he threw away the drugs. Bravo, my boy!
no subject
Date: 7/5/10 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/5/10 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/6/10 03:04 am (UTC)Charlie is my favorite character on the show, but he's so hard to write I don't attempt him very often, but I had to for Toes. :)
no subject
Date: 7/6/10 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/7/10 04:34 am (UTC)His sideways stuff nearly broke me this year. Poor guy, I just want to snuggle him every time he's on screen.
no subject
Date: 7/6/10 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/7/10 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/6/10 04:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/7/10 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/6/10 06:14 pm (UTC)brb, crying now <3
this was gorgeous dear, just fantastic. the imagery and narrative flow together so well, and the use of the future prompt here was so creative! you should be writing more charlie all the time :)
no subject
Date: 7/7/10 04:37 am (UTC)I love Charlie so much and for some reason that makes it hard for me to write him. I think I'm too busy fretting over messing him up, but I'm hoping the luau will give me a few more excuses to try him.
no subject
Date: 7/6/10 09:08 pm (UTC)The beginning especially is just incredible, and the moment where he envisions Claire in the bathroom is so heart-breaking, especially knowing what's to come. But that he wants a future, in the end, is so perfect and so in-line with how Charlie progresses once he gets to the island. So beautiful!
no subject
Date: 7/7/10 04:40 am (UTC)Charlie is so damaged. And I kind of love that about him, even as I want to make him better.
no subject
Date: 7/7/10 04:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/7/10 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/9/10 09:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 7/9/10 06:46 pm (UTC)A bit of insecure self-conceitedness and delusions of grandeur -and a lot of heartbreak and yearning for something real
That to me is Charlie in a nutshell. He just wants to be needed and loved, the problem is he's so full of self-doubt. It's destructive and it bites him in the ass every single time. I love him so much, I used to have to resist the urge to hug my television every time he was on screen. ;)