“Some say the world will end in fire.
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”
| — |
-Robert Frost. Why do I think of Heroes when I hear this?? |
How much would you pay for a first row ticket to this fight.
Finishing up Season 3 of Heroes.
I would pay my soul.
I’m supposed to be doing school work right now, but I am beginning to find that it is impossible when there are so many distracting things. Such as Heroes. Gods I love that programme.
AND PETER PETRELLI! Yum. I think I found a new favourite.
So I’ve jumped from Jay Baruchel to Colin Morgan to Milo Ventimiglia. I’ve only just got on the episode where Arthur takes Peter’s powers. What a dick.
BUT! I have now decided to do some work. But then I came on here because I haven’t been on here in ages. Which again, is distracting.
BUT!!!! I have study leave for the next two weeks as well as a week holiday after, so I can do my work then. Its not like I have any proper work to do anyway. Just revision really for Psychology and World Development.
But World Development sucks and I’m gonna flunk it anyway cos it is a shit subject.
And I have never revised anyway, so there really is no point in me starting now when I know all I need to know for it.
BUT that doesn’t stop the fact that distractions are still very distracting. You get me?
He was once told there was always hope, but that was a lie. Arthur stared at the broken body he cradled, scarcely able to believe it. This boy - no that wasn’t right - this man always made it through everything with nary a scratch. Looking back, Arthur wondered about it now, but now was too late. Far too late. Arthur choked on a sob, trying to stop the tears building up, but he couldn’t. And so he let them flow freely. He hugged the body that was in his arms. He hugged it so tightly, wishing that it was more than just a corpse, that his friend was alive. ‘Please be alive. Please let this only be a dream. Please be alive. Please let this only be a dream.’ The words repeated themselves in his head. Over and over and over. His chest hurt. He couldn’t get enough breathe. Arthur could vaguely hear someone calling his name. Looking for him. Looking for the one in his arms. The one whose eyes were staring, unseeing to the sky. The body was cold now. There was no warmth to it. How could there be? He was d-dead. There. He said it. The king’s best friend in the whole world was dead. Because, of course they were friends. How come it had taken the death of said friend for Arthur to see that? Had he really been so blind in his arrogance and pride? And suddenly the young king was angry. He was angry at himself for not realising sooner. He was angry at Morgana for causing this war. He was angry at Uther for his blind fear and hatred of magic that had been the root of most attacks on Camelot, including this one. Heck, he was even angry at the whole world in all its unfairness! Because this death was not warranted. It wasn’t called for. It wasn’t fair, dammit! Arthur wanted to scream at the world. He wanted to curse every living thing, but instead he pulled the body into an even tighter embrace, not caring for the blood that some poor sod would have to try to wash out before giving up. He had to pull himself together, before somebody saw because, for godssake, kings did not cry. They had to stand strong for the sake of their people. But he couldn’t stop crying. He screamed with frustration, still silently begging all that was good in the world to wake him up so he could see that goofy grin that he hated (loved) so much. And then he would throw a jug, or something equally as hard in that direction. And they would laugh and the king would then recite the long list of chores. Just to punish him for making Arthur feel so - so - so helpless. So vulnerable. So distraught. There was no silver lining to this cloud. Arthur would miss the banter they threw at each other. He would miss the terrible lies and the way he could always cheer Arthur up after a particularly stressful council meeting. Thanks to the man in his arms, Arthur wouldn’t be able to stand a bootlicker bevause he liked the arguments too much. Arthur scrunched his eyes closed in one last attempt to staunch the flow of tears. When it failed he laid the body to the ground and took one laste look at his servant, his advisor and his friend. “You once told me that there was always hope,” He said brokenly to him, staring into his unseeing eyes. “You lied Merlin.” Arthur whispered to the wind.
