took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Printable Version
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took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - March 23, 2024
Early, February 28th (#2), 1894 — Wellingtonshire
tw: attempted suicideHe hadn’t been able to get to the hospital last night through the blizzard. The Floo had been offline. It was too dangerous to walk out or to apparate. He had done what he could for the next door neighbours who’d needed help, but otherwise – there had been a lot of time to think about things.
He had taken out some parchment at his desk, and thought about writing letters. There were people he wanted to say sorry to: his family, Dionisia and Elliott, Ben. But he had done enough to them already, and more words wouldn’t help – actions would serve them better. And – his usual methods weren’t helping him anymore. All the relief of cutting himself had worn off. His arms were littered with scars from the repetition of it, and more recently he had started on his thighs – knowing too well where the arteries were, and how to make it just painful enough to feel it when he walked. No one had noticed, because no one had any reason to. And it still wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.
But letters would make it too obvious, what he’d done. If he could spare them that shame and still find a way out – that was something. So, early that morning – it had started getting light, but the snow was still coming in fits and starts – he went out, pretending he was going into work. Instead he turned away from Bartonburg and from the High Street, intent upon not seeing anyone he knew – if anyone was out in this weather at all. He already felt numb with cold, but he kept trudging on. He was somewhere in Wellingtonshire – he had thought he would pass the cemetery and head out towards the forest, somewhere on the outskirts of town. So that enough time would pass before he was found, after the snow stopped.
He only saw one person in passing, but he had hurried onwards, pretending he hadn’t, and – that was fine. It would be an accidental death when they recovered his body, Ari was sure: he had thought it all through. He had poison in his jacket pocket – in an unmarked flask – because he was still apparently a coward to the end and was scared of it being too uncomfortable without it, dying in the snow. But the residual signs of the poison would be gone by the time they found him, so they could still presume it hypothermia. And – they would grieve, maybe, which he didn’t want; but they would heal sooner or later, and maybe one day some of them would also quietly come to think it a relief.
When he had gotten out past the houses and could walk no more for shivering, and for his legs feeling ready to give out under him, he stopped, and pulled out the flask. His hands were numb, and the lid almost frozen shut, in spite of the warming spells upon it; it took almost more energy than he had to warm it up enough to twist it open.
He had taken out some parchment at his desk, and thought about writing letters. There were people he wanted to say sorry to: his family, Dionisia and Elliott, Ben. But he had done enough to them already, and more words wouldn’t help – actions would serve them better. And – his usual methods weren’t helping him anymore. All the relief of cutting himself had worn off. His arms were littered with scars from the repetition of it, and more recently he had started on his thighs – knowing too well where the arteries were, and how to make it just painful enough to feel it when he walked. No one had noticed, because no one had any reason to. And it still wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.
But letters would make it too obvious, what he’d done. If he could spare them that shame and still find a way out – that was something. So, early that morning – it had started getting light, but the snow was still coming in fits and starts – he went out, pretending he was going into work. Instead he turned away from Bartonburg and from the High Street, intent upon not seeing anyone he knew – if anyone was out in this weather at all. He already felt numb with cold, but he kept trudging on. He was somewhere in Wellingtonshire – he had thought he would pass the cemetery and head out towards the forest, somewhere on the outskirts of town. So that enough time would pass before he was found, after the snow stopped.
He only saw one person in passing, but he had hurried onwards, pretending he hadn’t, and – that was fine. It would be an accidental death when they recovered his body, Ari was sure: he had thought it all through. He had poison in his jacket pocket – in an unmarked flask – because he was still apparently a coward to the end and was scared of it being too uncomfortable without it, dying in the snow. But the residual signs of the poison would be gone by the time they found him, so they could still presume it hypothermia. And – they would grieve, maybe, which he didn’t want; but they would heal sooner or later, and maybe one day some of them would also quietly come to think it a relief.
When he had gotten out past the houses and could walk no more for shivering, and for his legs feeling ready to give out under him, he stopped, and pulled out the flask. His hands were numb, and the lid almost frozen shut, in spite of the warming spells upon it; it took almost more energy than he had to warm it up enough to twist it open.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - March 23, 2024
The first February 28th, Cash had stayed up too late in his office, reading a mystery book. He caught a few hours of sleep, and when the valet woke him, he found himself still snowed in. He was the furthest thing from an important employee; he did not have to make any efforts to get to the Ministry. He read another few chapters of the Mystery book.
Eventually, Cash decided to head out for a walk — it was freezing, but he could not abide being stuck in his house. It made him feel itchy. He had to leave. He dressed, carefully, because he was not particularly fond of freezing — and started out, towards the woods at the edge of Wellingtonshire.
Cash had just reached the trees when he stumbled over something. He landed hard — the item beneath him was less yielding than the snow. Cash shifted backwards onto his knees, feeling through the snow to find someone's body prone in the snow — and shifted the body until the snow shifted and the man's face was exposed. A frozen yellow vomit foam around his mouth. Cash pressed fingers to his throat — nothing. He rolled up the man's sleeves and ran his fingers there, and could not feel a pulse — and startled at the feeling of scars beneath his fingers.
I know this.
He had never done it, but he recognized the impulse.
The next thirty minutes were blurry. He spent some amount of time trying to revive the man. He ran to the constabulary, found the constables, led them to the body. They brought him, and the body, back to the constabulary to provide a witness statement (and do whatever it was the constabulary did the man's bodies.)
They made the mistake of telling him the man's name. He didn't know him, but he knew him. Cash spent some amount of time trying to convince Constable Woodcroft that Ari Fisk had killed himself, he had not frozen to death — he had been sure, ever since he saw the scars. Time passed.
He made it home. The valet drew a bath. Cash sat in it until it cooled, periodically running his fingertips over his wrists, where he'd seen the scars on the other man. At some point, he heard the clock in the house strike midnight, and decided to step out of the bath — but he blinked and he was sitting at his desk with the mystery book in front of him.
February 28th, again.
Where was Ari Fisk?
—
It took Cash ages to fully bundle up. He didn't know when Ari Fisk would get to the spot where he died; he had to be ready to beat him there. He placed warming spells on his boots and gloves. Once he was ready, he walked out of the front door, locked it, and sprinted — the same pace as he'd run at when trying to get to the constabulary the previous February 28th.
(He worried, briefly on the run, that he was going mad — that he was losing time, that the previous day was a hallucination, that he should go home. But he could not be sure, so he had to try.)
He was nearly out of breath and it was only years of athleticism that kept him going at this pace when he saw the man, alive. Cash came to an abrupt stop, skidding in the snow until he was wavering on his feet a mere six inches from the other man, and could not muster words — he pointed, with one hand, at Ari Fisk.
Eventually, Cash decided to head out for a walk — it was freezing, but he could not abide being stuck in his house. It made him feel itchy. He had to leave. He dressed, carefully, because he was not particularly fond of freezing — and started out, towards the woods at the edge of Wellingtonshire.
Cash had just reached the trees when he stumbled over something. He landed hard — the item beneath him was less yielding than the snow. Cash shifted backwards onto his knees, feeling through the snow to find someone's body prone in the snow — and shifted the body until the snow shifted and the man's face was exposed. A frozen yellow vomit foam around his mouth. Cash pressed fingers to his throat — nothing. He rolled up the man's sleeves and ran his fingers there, and could not feel a pulse — and startled at the feeling of scars beneath his fingers.
I know this.
He had never done it, but he recognized the impulse.
The next thirty minutes were blurry. He spent some amount of time trying to revive the man. He ran to the constabulary, found the constables, led them to the body. They brought him, and the body, back to the constabulary to provide a witness statement (and do whatever it was the constabulary did the man's bodies.)
They made the mistake of telling him the man's name. He didn't know him, but he knew him. Cash spent some amount of time trying to convince Constable Woodcroft that Ari Fisk had killed himself, he had not frozen to death — he had been sure, ever since he saw the scars. Time passed.
He made it home. The valet drew a bath. Cash sat in it until it cooled, periodically running his fingertips over his wrists, where he'd seen the scars on the other man. At some point, he heard the clock in the house strike midnight, and decided to step out of the bath — but he blinked and he was sitting at his desk with the mystery book in front of him.
February 28th, again.
Where was Ari Fisk?
—
It took Cash ages to fully bundle up. He didn't know when Ari Fisk would get to the spot where he died; he had to be ready to beat him there. He placed warming spells on his boots and gloves. Once he was ready, he walked out of the front door, locked it, and sprinted — the same pace as he'd run at when trying to get to the constabulary the previous February 28th.
(He worried, briefly on the run, that he was going mad — that he was losing time, that the previous day was a hallucination, that he should go home. But he could not be sure, so he had to try.)
He was nearly out of breath and it was only years of athleticism that kept him going at this pace when he saw the man, alive. Cash came to an abrupt stop, skidding in the snow until he was wavering on his feet a mere six inches from the other man, and could not muster words — he pointed, with one hand, at Ari Fisk.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - March 29, 2024
He had picked his poison deliberately. No sense in wasting all those years of healing on a different death, was there? And it had become something of a mind-easing, soul-soothing activity over the past year: browsing the ward’s storeroom or flicking through a well-worn copy of The Healer’s Complete Guide to Poisons, imagining which options might be most useful to him. Anything to help him sleep at night. Anything to help him sleep now. The contents of the flask would be fast-acting. Too quick and too complex to be undone. His body would fight it, because that was the nature of bodies; but in the act of choosing it, his mind was still in control.
Was one supposed to look back on their life, at the end of it? Ari had witnessed deathbeds enough to be familiar with the strange helpless ritual of it – the waiting and the watching by loved ones and family, the confessions and resolutions and desperate, futile patched-up promises. He couldn’t think about his own life here, couldn’t face his own regrets. He felt quite sure his mother would have been disappointed in him, if she were still living.
The future was easier to look at: the Fisk family was large enough that his absence would be no real fracture in it. Dionisia would be a widow – left with the house and money and her son, and free. And Elliott was still young, too young to comprehend the loss. Young enough that most of his memories of his first (false) father would fade in time for some other, better figure to step into his life. It would all work out well.
And maybe Ben would hate him less, this way. If Ari stayed, Ben was well within his rights to blame him for the decisions he had made, to feel the hurt and resentment on and on – but Ben might find some forgiveness if he was gone. (Ari was only sorry he couldn’t erase everything else, the years of turmoil he had already created in his life.)
He had only lifted the flask to his mouth when he caught the movement of someone else, someone here, in his peripheral vision – and he startled physically at their presence, jerked the small flask away from his lips without having drunk from it. The person was out of breath, and pointing; Ari held the poison low and discreet in his hand, masked his expression into some bewildered calm. “Are you alright?” Ari asked, forcing himself to look at the other man, trying to pretend to care. It seemed like an emergency, perhaps. So – his death could wait a moment or two.
Was one supposed to look back on their life, at the end of it? Ari had witnessed deathbeds enough to be familiar with the strange helpless ritual of it – the waiting and the watching by loved ones and family, the confessions and resolutions and desperate, futile patched-up promises. He couldn’t think about his own life here, couldn’t face his own regrets. He felt quite sure his mother would have been disappointed in him, if she were still living.
The future was easier to look at: the Fisk family was large enough that his absence would be no real fracture in it. Dionisia would be a widow – left with the house and money and her son, and free. And Elliott was still young, too young to comprehend the loss. Young enough that most of his memories of his first (false) father would fade in time for some other, better figure to step into his life. It would all work out well.
And maybe Ben would hate him less, this way. If Ari stayed, Ben was well within his rights to blame him for the decisions he had made, to feel the hurt and resentment on and on – but Ben might find some forgiveness if he was gone. (Ari was only sorry he couldn’t erase everything else, the years of turmoil he had already created in his life.)
He had only lifted the flask to his mouth when he caught the movement of someone else, someone here, in his peripheral vision – and he startled physically at their presence, jerked the small flask away from his lips without having drunk from it. The person was out of breath, and pointing; Ari held the poison low and discreet in his hand, masked his expression into some bewildered calm. “Are you alright?” Ari asked, forcing himself to look at the other man, trying to pretend to care. It seemed like an emergency, perhaps. So – his death could wait a moment or two.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - March 30, 2024
tw: suicidal ideation
Cash was catching his breath, and Ari Fisk had lowered the flask from his lips. This gave him time, a small amount of time, to try to figure out how to talk Ari Fisk out of doing this. How did he do that? Cash's desire to die had always been passive; he'd wanted it, but he had never quite looked death in the eyes and wanted to make a choice to meet it. On the first February 28th, this man made that choice — but Cash had not been there.
He caught his breath. What he said was: "Don't do it."
Ari Fisk could not kill himself. If there was anything Cash had discerned from the questions that the constables had asked, from the conversations he'd heard — there were people who cared about Ari Fisk. Maybe he did not believe it, maybe he did not feel like he had a reason to live right now — but Cash could not let him do this.
He caught his breath. What he said was: "Don't do it."
Ari Fisk could not kill himself. If there was anything Cash had discerned from the questions that the constables had asked, from the conversations he'd heard — there were people who cared about Ari Fisk. Maybe he did not believe it, maybe he did not feel like he had a reason to live right now — but Cash could not let him do this.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - April 10, 2024
He had imagined this a coincidence – untimely and unfortunate, precisely the way life dealt coincidences out – but the man was a stranger, and had spoken to him. Ari couldn’t help himself: he flinched slightly, first, at the words.
His eyebrows knitted together, trying to fathom what else he meant. Because he couldn’t possibly mean this, could he? Ari hadn’t told a soul what he was planning. The man had been running, though, in these conditions, and had pointed at him as if he had known. There was no way he could just look at him and know it, could he? It didn’t make sense. Unless he was adept at Legilimency, perhaps, but even then –
And Ari’s mind was racing and his shoulders were tense and he was still poised on the edge of it, wondering whether he should just do it, do it now, what did one witness matter? But... it would be safer and surer to get away from this fellow first. So he let his arm drop, the poison held casually at his side, as if it was whiskey or cocoa instead. He schooled his expression, polite confusion, and said calmly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
His eyebrows knitted together, trying to fathom what else he meant. Because he couldn’t possibly mean this, could he? Ari hadn’t told a soul what he was planning. The man had been running, though, in these conditions, and had pointed at him as if he had known. There was no way he could just look at him and know it, could he? It didn’t make sense. Unless he was adept at Legilimency, perhaps, but even then –
And Ari’s mind was racing and his shoulders were tense and he was still poised on the edge of it, wondering whether he should just do it, do it now, what did one witness matter? But... it would be safer and surer to get away from this fellow first. So he let his arm drop, the poison held casually at his side, as if it was whiskey or cocoa instead. He schooled his expression, polite confusion, and said calmly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - April 17, 2024
Cash watched the other man, and none of the tension in his shoulders went out until Ari Fisk dropped his arm. Even still, his muscles stayed tense — because he remembered the yellow foam at the corners of Fisk's mouth, and his frigid skin, and the whispers of the constables. He still had to argue Fisk into staying alive, and he still didn't know how. He didn't know anything about the other man, really — big family, healer-maybe, decided to poison himself on the first February twenty-eighth.
"You want to die," Cash said, point-blank, still watching.
"You want to die," Cash said, point-blank, still watching.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - April 27, 2024
He knew.
It was not just a guess – he was convinced of it. Ari stared at him. He couldn’t understand how he knew.
(If someone in his family had suspected, they would not have sent someone else in their stead. He didn’t know this man’s name, or how he knew, but he spent some moments contemplating this and came to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter, in the end. His knowing wouldn’t change his mind.)
“Well,” Ari answered finally, without denying it. “Are you going to let me?”
This was a waste of both their time, wasn’t it? If Ari drank the poison now, there might be a tussle – he might be rushed to hospital and revived. But if he didn’t do it here, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t go home and kill himself another way later. There were a hundred different ways to accomplish the same end. He could find more poison without trouble. He could slit his wrists at home. Walk in front of a carriage. Take a broom out and crash it. He could hang himself in the hospital storeroom if he wanted to. It wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed his mind.
But this way was better, if this stranger could only realise that and walk away.
It was not just a guess – he was convinced of it. Ari stared at him. He couldn’t understand how he knew.
(If someone in his family had suspected, they would not have sent someone else in their stead. He didn’t know this man’s name, or how he knew, but he spent some moments contemplating this and came to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter, in the end. His knowing wouldn’t change his mind.)
“Well,” Ari answered finally, without denying it. “Are you going to let me?”
This was a waste of both their time, wasn’t it? If Ari drank the poison now, there might be a tussle – he might be rushed to hospital and revived. But if he didn’t do it here, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t go home and kill himself another way later. There were a hundred different ways to accomplish the same end. He could find more poison without trouble. He could slit his wrists at home. Walk in front of a carriage. Take a broom out and crash it. He could hang himself in the hospital storeroom if he wanted to. It wasn’t as though the thought had never crossed his mind.
But this way was better, if this stranger could only realise that and walk away.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - April 30, 2024
The flask did not hit Ari Fisk's mouth. Ari Fisk did not hex him, either. Cash still did not feel as if he could catch all of his breath, and the tension was fully stuck in all of his muscles — maybe Ari Fisk wasn't going to kill himself right now, but Cash didn't think he could let him go yet. What was he going to do, if this man walked away now and a few weeks from now Cash read a Daily Prophet article about Ari Fisk's unexpected death?
He didn't answer the question.
"I used to want to die," he said, "Not like this, but — a walk in front of a carriage, a tumble from my broomstick. I wanted something like that."
He didn't want it anymore. He wished Ford was here. Ford had talked Cash into wanting to live, or something like it. Cash didn't know how to convince someone else.
He didn't answer the question.
"I used to want to die," he said, "Not like this, but — a walk in front of a carriage, a tumble from my broomstick. I wanted something like that."
He didn't want it anymore. He wished Ford was here. Ford had talked Cash into wanting to live, or something like it. Cash didn't know how to convince someone else.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - May 10, 2024
He hadn’t thought anything this man could say would shock him – he knew the kind of things he would have said to someone else in this position, if he were in a better frame of mind to talk them down; things he had tried to tell to himself in the mirror until they had no effect at all – but I wanted something like that surprised him.
Ari swallowed. (Not the poison; just quietly in his throat, feeling the frozen air hit his lungs.)
He refused to ask it – refused to entertain it aloud, to give him that opening – but the question had found its way to his eyes anyway. A sort of deadened curiosity. Why? Why hadn’t he? What had changed his mind?
They were not the same, at any rate. He might be a good person or a bad one, have things he felt guilty about too, but – Ari was older, he had other people to think of, he was tired. And he knew he didn’t have to defend himself, or explain his choices to a stranger who cared too much, but – Ari had always been too patient for his own good. “I’m sorry,” he said, that happened to you. “But I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t like who I am.”
Ari swallowed. (Not the poison; just quietly in his throat, feeling the frozen air hit his lungs.)
He refused to ask it – refused to entertain it aloud, to give him that opening – but the question had found its way to his eyes anyway. A sort of deadened curiosity. Why? Why hadn’t he? What had changed his mind?
They were not the same, at any rate. He might be a good person or a bad one, have things he felt guilty about too, but – Ari was older, he had other people to think of, he was tired. And he knew he didn’t have to defend himself, or explain his choices to a stranger who cared too much, but – Ari had always been too patient for his own good. “I’m sorry,” he said, that happened to you. “But I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t like who I am.”
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - May 15, 2024
Cash bit his lip. "Neither did I," he said, simply. He had been tired, of himself and of everything around him, and the only thing that really saved him was that he had not spent too much time alone. And Ford hadn't even known him particularly well at the time. Sure, he had known Cash better than Cash currently knew Ari Fisk — but he had not known him that well.
"Why not?" Cash asked, "If we're here. You might as well tell me."
"Why not?" Cash asked, "If we're here. You might as well tell me."
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - May 25, 2024
Ari folded his free arm around himself, feeling the cold the longer they stood out here. The other man should go back inside. Ari suspected he wouldn’t. Not if he had – been here, once.
“You’re not responsible for me,” Ari pointed out. “But I have – there are people I’m responsible for.” One day the pain was going to get too much, and Ari’s problems would spill into his work and hurt a patient, badly. Dionisia suffered every day by being trapped in a marriage with him. He had hurt Ben on purpose, as if that would make it up to her. And Elliott – he was doing this for Elliott too. So he didn’t grow up with all the lies.
“And I’ve made mistakes I can’t undo,” he explained, and felt the daily churn of guilt in him like stomach bile, and a new flurry of agitation in his chest. “My family think I’m – someone I’m not. I married someone just to use them. She knows, and she hates me – as she should. She can’t be happy because of me. We have a son – she has a son – and he deserves better. I’ve hurt them, and I’ve hurt the only other person I love, and I – I don’t want to lie for the rest of my life, and I don’t want to ruin the rest of theirs either.” It did feel good to say it, in spite of how trapped he felt, backed into a corner from years upon years of selfish decisions; so he would have to hope that this man didn’t tell anyone else and ruin this now.
And maybe he was a coward for it, or maybe he was blind to some obvious option, but Ari couldn’t disentangle happiness from guilt anymore, and he couldn’t bear the rest of his life to be like this. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“You’re not responsible for me,” Ari pointed out. “But I have – there are people I’m responsible for.” One day the pain was going to get too much, and Ari’s problems would spill into his work and hurt a patient, badly. Dionisia suffered every day by being trapped in a marriage with him. He had hurt Ben on purpose, as if that would make it up to her. And Elliott – he was doing this for Elliott too. So he didn’t grow up with all the lies.
“And I’ve made mistakes I can’t undo,” he explained, and felt the daily churn of guilt in him like stomach bile, and a new flurry of agitation in his chest. “My family think I’m – someone I’m not. I married someone just to use them. She knows, and she hates me – as she should. She can’t be happy because of me. We have a son – she has a son – and he deserves better. I’ve hurt them, and I’ve hurt the only other person I love, and I – I don’t want to lie for the rest of my life, and I don’t want to ruin the rest of theirs either.” It did feel good to say it, in spite of how trapped he felt, backed into a corner from years upon years of selfish decisions; so he would have to hope that this man didn’t tell anyone else and ruin this now.
And maybe he was a coward for it, or maybe he was blind to some obvious option, but Ari couldn’t disentangle happiness from guilt anymore, and he couldn’t bear the rest of his life to be like this. “I don’t know what else to do.”
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - May 29, 2024
Ari Fisk was responsible for people. He was responsible for a wife, who he married to use, and her son, and someone who loved him who he had hurt — and he didn't want to lie anymore. I've done all that, Cash thought, and yet, here he was, not trying to die. But Cash had a feeling that he could not say that to Ari Fisk, because comparing their suffering was not going to help them get out of this situation with Ari Fisk's life intact.
Cash should have just hexed him and brought him to the asylum — surely they had someone who could help straighten him out. But it was just Cash, and he was worried Ari Fisk would manage to bring that flask to his lips before Cash could stop him, and Cash did not know how long the poison took to act.
What would Ford have done?
Ford had embraced him, when Cash told him.
"I'm sorry," Cash said, "I'm sorry that your life is hard. I'm sorry that they're hurt." He swallowed. "Am I the first person you've told this?" First, not only — because Ari Fisk was going to survive today.
Cash should have just hexed him and brought him to the asylum — surely they had someone who could help straighten him out. But it was just Cash, and he was worried Ari Fisk would manage to bring that flask to his lips before Cash could stop him, and Cash did not know how long the poison took to act.
What would Ford have done?
Ford had embraced him, when Cash told him.
"I'm sorry," Cash said, "I'm sorry that your life is hard. I'm sorry that they're hurt." He swallowed. "Am I the first person you've told this?" First, not only — because Ari Fisk was going to survive today.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - June 19, 2024
Ari listened. Ari wouldn’t be convinced by him, but if the man was trying to convince him against it (although he hadn’t yet; had just expressed his sympathies, his shared feelings, and was entertaining him with a patience Ari wasn’t sure he deserved), the least he could do was hear it.
But Ari wasn’t sure that was right; he wasn’t sure his life was hard. He wondered, rather, if he had ever been properly equipped for it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been made weak or made wrong, or at least not made for society as it was. Because his life was not terrible. So many people had it far worse than he did, and still he had woven himself a web of lies and tangled himself up in his own unhappiness, and he could not cope with it all in a way that someone stronger surely would have.
Ari jerked his chin in a nod. How could I tell them something like this?
“I can’t – it’s not their problem.” It was not this stranger’s problem to solve either, however much in common they had. “I’m doing this for them,” he added, suddenly fierce. It didn’t work half so well – didn’t work at all – if Ari burdened them with the truth first. And maybe it was half for himself (he had said it already, I don’t want to do it anymore; in the end he had always put himself first), but it would be better for everyone else in his life, too.
But Ari wasn’t sure that was right; he wasn’t sure his life was hard. He wondered, rather, if he had ever been properly equipped for it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been made weak or made wrong, or at least not made for society as it was. Because his life was not terrible. So many people had it far worse than he did, and still he had woven himself a web of lies and tangled himself up in his own unhappiness, and he could not cope with it all in a way that someone stronger surely would have.
Ari jerked his chin in a nod. How could I tell them something like this?
“I can’t – it’s not their problem.” It was not this stranger’s problem to solve either, however much in common they had. “I’m doing this for them,” he added, suddenly fierce. It didn’t work half so well – didn’t work at all – if Ari burdened them with the truth first. And maybe it was half for himself (he had said it already, I don’t want to do it anymore; in the end he had always put himself first), but it would be better for everyone else in his life, too.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - June 21, 2024
''I think,'' Cash said quietly, ''That they would like to be given the choice.'' No matter what Ari Fisk had done to his life — the barely-healed scars on his arms, the hurt he claimed to have caused — they would not have wanted him to die. They would have wanted him to fight. But how on earth was Cash supposed to convince him to fight, when some days Cash was not sure he could convince himself until he was out of bed.
He swallowed.
''This is the second February twenty-eighth,'' Cash admitted.
He swallowed.
''This is the second February twenty-eighth,'' Cash admitted.
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Ari Fisk - July 25, 2024
The choice. What was he supposed to do with that? Surely it would only be cause for them to hate him or be hurt by him more, if he told them he wanted to die. Dionisia had been a mediwitch. Whatever she thought of him now, she would probably suffer her way through his continued survival for his sake. Ben would not let him do it, either – Ari could imagine his anger and his fear too well – but wouldn’t Ari only feel worse for putting that burden on him, too? He had ruined his life in enough ways already.
And – who could he go to in his family? His father, maybe, who would tell him he was talking nonsense, who would not believe it of him – who would probably suggest they dealt with the issue quietly. Not Kons, who had already lost Amelia; not Dory, who had enough on his mind, not Leo or Nemo either. Roslyn would be sensible, and Katia would be sympathetic, but they had their own families to worry about, and so did Xena, and so did Zelda now. He couldn’t tell them – although as they crossed his mind now it felt like he was disappointing them by doing this, too.
But the next remark shook him out of his head entirely. His forehead creased. “What – what do you mean?” Odd things had happened with time before, sure; but it felt to Ari like an ordinary day. (And – he swallowed now – what did it mean, if today of all days, something like that had happened again?)
And – who could he go to in his family? His father, maybe, who would tell him he was talking nonsense, who would not believe it of him – who would probably suggest they dealt with the issue quietly. Not Kons, who had already lost Amelia; not Dory, who had enough on his mind, not Leo or Nemo either. Roslyn would be sensible, and Katia would be sympathetic, but they had their own families to worry about, and so did Xena, and so did Zelda now. He couldn’t tell them – although as they crossed his mind now it felt like he was disappointing them by doing this, too.
But the next remark shook him out of his head entirely. His forehead creased. “What – what do you mean?” Odd things had happened with time before, sure; but it felt to Ari like an ordinary day. (And – he swallowed now – what did it mean, if today of all days, something like that had happened again?)
RE: took a walk with all my brightest thoughts - Cassius Lestrange - July 29, 2024
Finally, Cash had managed to surprise Ari Fisk — the crease in his forehead, the question. Cash swallowed. He had to impress this upon Ari Fisk — that maybe he was not meant to die, at least not today, because the first time Cash had found his body and the second time Cash had found him alive.
"This is the second February twenty-eighth," he repeated, as if to make it sink in. "That's how I knew where you'd be." He had not sprinted here for fun, nor had he done so on accident — he had done it to try to save Ari Fisk.
"This is the second February twenty-eighth," he repeated, as if to make it sink in. "That's how I knew where you'd be." He had not sprinted here for fun, nor had he done so on accident — he had done it to try to save Ari Fisk.