BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - DRAMA

ANOTHERSKY

ALBATROSS 7
Saturday, December 11, 2010

River Tam at the Academy, in her own words. Part 7:A short one. River hits the wall. “The Situation”, much larger than her own, begins to dawn on her. Hints of personal history and mass politics, oh my. --- Ongoing. For those who want to start at the beginning, Part 1: http://www.fireflyfans.net/sunroomitem.asp?i=22568


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 1936    RATING: 10    SERIES: FIREFLY

“Blueshift”

And this time I dig deep into my heart To dredge up black bitterness Oily, and tainting. Coating everything it touches With a metallic tang Like the air in a stale room So unpleasant it won’t let you forget And the tiny-stilted shivers of fear rest on your skin, Thankfully stilled Laid carefully over you like paper-mache- To cover with neglect and time. Shreds of damp newspaper, Forgotten bandages Like elephant skin Sodden and falling to pieces If you move. And the skeletons are scratching Against the sunlit walls again, up in the attic. An eerie, airy noise, like distant traffic Or a redox Of packed-in grainy echoes in a box Rebounding off the floor; Like the silence in the theatre After the final chords When the ghosts of notes Fall fragilely and are drowned In the torrent of clapping. There is nothing that this is like.

---

ENTRY #????

I’ve spent so much time perfecting this keep that now I am locked in. So much time defending that I’ve forgotten to question if there’s anything there any more, what I’m for. I’m not for anything, only against. Just negative space that I defend with everything in me, without knowing why. The right to exist for a questionable, vague life too complex to be worth comprehending.

I am compacted—if I move from this crunched space I will break, I cannot re-expand. One way trip, splicing up two-by-fours just to be able to breathe, frantically painting myself into a corner. Who cares about artistry, I’m just trying to get away from the advancing tide. First two feet, then one foot on the ground, hiked up against the corner. Like being inside a letter box, a papered cubbyhole—all the walls covered in writing, signed in blue blood. Footnotes upon footnotes to be read by scholars after those in the Tower are executed. Whose bones lie?

Definitely all your fault. Like a typewriter without the inky finger-staining ribbon, no punched-out stars. It leaves no mark, just a clickety-clack symphony. All your fault. Talk is just sound. I want it in writing. I want my blood in writing to make sure I still exist after the echoes stop.

You cannot deny me this. A record. My proprietary right to pain. Propriety solves nearly everything, but not nearly as much as politeness.

---

ENTRY # ????

I can do anything. That’s what they told me. What everyone has always told me, as if the question isn’t important, as if I’m so versatile I am all-purpose, yet have none; I have a use, but I am useless. I should know.

And no one bothers to talk about anything. They think I know. They think I can just read their minds, and so excuse them from the duty they have to everyone else, all human beings. Knowing doesn’t make me judge, and letting them off scot free doesn’t get me paid. Also, it’s frustrating, never being satisfied, knowing that encouragement doesn’t apply to me, because I have always invalidated the term. Frustrating in ways they’ll never know but think they understand. Actually, they don’t care. So they write me a check, give me a pat on the head. I’ve got my treats, what more could I want—what else could the performance have been for? I’ve learned it all already, how they sleep in the audience and think of how they could be wasting their time in some other way, in some other place. How they want to. Maddeningly, the only foresight they have is one that blinds me.

And so when you say this again at the outset of my journey, offer me the moon and stars at my fingertips, you know in your black hearts, you bastards, that I will go off the path and pick my flowers as you run ahead, through the tangled forest you know so well. The shortcuts you created. Gobble up my ancestors, leaving me distracted among the dandelions; sunny recollections that have no bearing on reality.

Nothing in my basket can pacify you, and I am bound by civility and common human trust. You didn’t look like wolves, your fangs covered by interest and opportunity. I was blind. Now I wish to be naïve again. I will trade my sight.

---

ENTRY #????

Something wrong with the body politic? Oh no, it’s delicious. Non est super terram potestas quae comparetur ei.1

It is the universal Ourobouros, like a snake devouring itself, poisoning every inch in the self-destruct sequence. Autonomous fangs ripping through scaly armor, biting the hand that feeds it, like a rebellious dog. The snake is too busy eating to tell them lies anymore, purple belly, dusky underside writhing in a self-induced stomachache. Bitten off far too much to chew.

Thought its own tail end might sneak up on itself, mistaking movement for menace. Now it chokes under and inside the weight of its own industrious strangling.

Can’t spit it out and admit defeat, the poison already seeping through every heart. They will take you down with them, enclose you in the supernova firefall. Meanwhile, we will have tea (and wait for sunrise). It is just bellum omnium contra omnes2, and so we should not be worried.

Had the snake not struck, this wouldn’t have happened. It wanted to live too high, like Daidalos, and now destroys its prodigal son. Neglected the tail too long, dragging it through dust, and the tail got burned, twitched in waves along the rim. To wit: down came the rain, in blazing color. Reflected in every eye.

----- 1. “There is no power on earth that compares with it”—a quotation from Job 41:25 . Used in Hobbes’ work Leviathan written during the English Civil War about the necessity of a strong central authority to avoid dissent and civil unrest.

2. “The war of all against all” Hobbes/Leviathan again on the “natural state” of humanity prior to their social contract with governance.

COMMENTS

Sunday, December 12, 2010 7:50 AM

BYTEMITE


I rejoice in your posting, which considering River's suffering is probably very wrong in some way.

"I dig deep into my heart

To dredge up black bitterness

Oily, and tainting."

Melancholy?

"Laid carefully over you like paper-mache- "

Mummification.

"Or a redox

Of packed-in grainy echoes in a box"

Incineration, cremation, ashes. Also, an echo of River's rebirth in a box, but she's too hurt/upset/angry to see the outcome of her escape.

"One way trip, splicing up two-by-fours just to be able to breathe, frantically painting myself into a corner."

I'm not sure about this one? My best guess is it continues the death and coffin theme.

"Footnotes upon footnotes to be read by scholars after those in the Tower are executed."

Uhhh... Babel? Or maybe the Tarot card reading, which has a similar meaning. Change and destruction, a tower/pinnacle falling.

"I’ve learned it all already, how they sleep in the audience and think of how they could be wasting their time in some other way, in some other place. How they want to. Maddeningly, the only foresight they have is one that blinds me."

The apathy and lack of caring is what allows this to happen to her.

"Nothing in my basket can pacify you" Litte Red Riding Hood!

"Something wrong with the body politic? Oh no, it’s delicious. "

Mwahaha, I've always loved that play on words/joke.

Also, :o at River not quite quoting something from Job and Leviathan in War Stories. YIKES. As if that scene wasn't alarming enough already.

Sunday, December 12, 2010 1:41 PM

AMDOBELL


Wonderful writing and use of imagery at once coherent and chaotic. Poor River, no one should have the power to do to her what they did and to all those others at the Academy. Ali D :~)
"You can't take the sky from me!"

Monday, December 13, 2010 12:15 PM

ANOTHERSKY


Byte: Suffering...sometimes I wonder about you. No, kidding. Hers is just one of the meddled-with lives, so I was going for depth.

Little Red Riding Hood also permeates the paragraph before that line, and pops up later too.

But wouldn't it be scary to realize that the wolf had orchestrated the dark woods and the pretty flowers? Stop and smell. I was just trying to get at the level of horror where she'd need to resort to fairy tales, the big-picture was so unreal. This is the point where she realizes that nothing in her 'bag of tricks' can make them stop or get her out. Propriety got her in, and bad guys don't play fair when they have you trapped. River blames herself for trusting, something she has big problems with later. Most of the crew do.

The Tower (of London) in Richard III was used as a constant threat by government gone wrong to imprison and execute political inconveniences with state secrets.

Leviathan always held a lot of irony for me. Though to be fair, the men running Hobbes' ideal Alliancy government would be very morally upright. Right. Even Niska knows(and relishes) what absolute power does.
War Stories: :0!


Body politic--Yes, Hamlet humor. Darker than emo-black.


Amdobell: "Hey, new people!" :) Always welcome. Glad you found the fic and it made some kind of sense to ya. River tends to but more than a once-over tends to reveal what she's saying.

Monday, December 13, 2010 12:18 PM

ANOTHERSKY


One thing I found interesting myself was how often the Alliance appears as something devouring.

Does it need to eat?

Monday, December 13, 2010 12:35 PM

ALIASSE


I'm so delighted that you have updated! Not that I actually have time to read... But Christmas break starts in a few days. Can't wait to get my teeth into this (and it'll give me time to dig out my notes...)

Monday, December 13, 2010 4:33 PM

ANOTHERSKY


Well it'll be here when you have time Aliasse, as well as part 8.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010 10:47 AM

ANONYM


I hate the alliance...they remind me of my german teacher - it's not a good thing. Which is why I'm interested and can't wait for the butt-kicking!

Friday, December 17, 2010 11:52 AM

ANOTHERSKY


Part 8 coming up tomorrow. So don't be late. And bring the grenades. Thought grenades. :)

Saturday, December 18, 2010 11:52 AM

ALIASSE


'dig deep' took me straight back to previous references to Persephone/underworld. Could this be a place where she actually feels safe?

And it may not have been intentional, but 'I am compacted—if I move from this crunched space I will break, I cannot re-expand' reminded me of a depiction of expanded Alice in a picture book I had.

Reading this makes me wonder how the person who annotated the file could refer to it as 'mental doodles'. The meaning is amply clear.

Looking forward to Part 8.


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River Tam was once a student at The Academy. Now she has disappeared into the black, and all official records of the years she spent in captivity there have been erased or smoothed over. They no longer exist. But the girl does. Her diary is the only remaining commentary on the horrors of a future deceived.

This is her story, told in her own words.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks and big props to patient betas gilove2dance, Steamer, and most especially Bytemite, who has so far stuck through this moonbrain narrative all the way through with true browncoat tenacity. Bravo. Thanks also to ncbrowncoat and a few others who encouraged the concept.

[River copyright Joss & Co., text copyright me, Joss is boss, etc. et al, ad nauseum...]