Feb. 4th, 2006

mistersmith_tm: (i walk a lonely road)
Mister Smith sat alone in the dark. Knees hugged to his chest and eyes tightly closed, he looked inward and hated what he saw. What he knew. What he didn't know.

Sixteen years had passed since the Big Death. Sixteen years of pain and hardship and suffering. Of starving and beatings. Of loneliness.

He couldn't remember his parents. Not just their names, but their faces. Their voices. He didn't know if he had any siblings. Couldn't even say where home had been. Why? Why wouldn't his mind go there? Had he watched them die? Had he tried to help them when the virus came? Or had he run away?

Had he done anything in those 16 years to be proud of? Looking back, sifting through those memories his mind would allow, there was nothing. No successes. Nothing to brag about. Just sadness and grief and emptiness.

But failure? Oh yes, that he had in abundance.

He hadn't known about Rose until she was six years old. It had been nearly too late, for both of them.

He'd failed to save Libby. Failed to find a better way. If he had, she might still be alive. By killing her, he'd failed both Jeremiah and Kurdy.

He'd failed to stop Sims. Failed miserably. And nearly lost everything.

He even managed to botch killing himself. And now there was this Voice in his head. His thoughts were no longer private. His actions no longer his own.

Mister Smith knew exactly what his greatest failure was.



mistersmith_tm: (Default)

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