2014-01-02 20:05![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lux_mariko
lux_marikoStory: Unilluminated
Year: 2174
Word Count: 300
Rating: R
Characters: Simon Gilboa (here David Greenberg)
Warnings: Amnesia, reference to previous SI.
David was afraid of losing it all. That constant balancing on the edge of a knife, waiting for something to slip out of joint and all the new memories he’d made, with Ruth, to ebb out like the tide. It was a subtle tension, underlying every move he made, wrapping him up in hair-fine threads, binding him close.
That fear, though, he understood. Because, on the flip side, it meant that he would never take Ruth or her love for granted. Not when he was so grateful to wake up every morning and find her still there, and still remember her, and know he still loved her and she him.
But there was another fear, woven in with the other, that made him feel slightly sick to his stomach to think of it. Because, more than forgetting, he was afraid of remembering.
Which was…it was disgusting, of him, not to want the holes in his life filled in, not to want to know what had happened to cost him somewhere between a third and half of a lifetime. But, squirmy, prickly feeling of shame aside, he couldn’t deny the feeling. And it wasn’t even the horrors in his past, the ones he knew were buried there. They were carved into his skin. He was afraid of the good parts—because it couldn’t have been all bad, couldn’t possibly be all bad, or he would have been completely unworthy of loving Ruth and Ruth loving him.
But if there were good parts, and he remembered them…
His secret fear, and his secret shame, was that the beautiful life he’d built from scratch wouldn’t mean anything to him anymore.
So, every night, he prayed he would never remember.
Year: 2174
Word Count: 300
Rating: R
Characters: Simon Gilboa (here David Greenberg)
Warnings: Amnesia, reference to previous SI.
David was afraid of losing it all. That constant balancing on the edge of a knife, waiting for something to slip out of joint and all the new memories he’d made, with Ruth, to ebb out like the tide. It was a subtle tension, underlying every move he made, wrapping him up in hair-fine threads, binding him close.
That fear, though, he understood. Because, on the flip side, it meant that he would never take Ruth or her love for granted. Not when he was so grateful to wake up every morning and find her still there, and still remember her, and know he still loved her and she him.
But there was another fear, woven in with the other, that made him feel slightly sick to his stomach to think of it. Because, more than forgetting, he was afraid of remembering.
Which was…it was disgusting, of him, not to want the holes in his life filled in, not to want to know what had happened to cost him somewhere between a third and half of a lifetime. But, squirmy, prickly feeling of shame aside, he couldn’t deny the feeling. And it wasn’t even the horrors in his past, the ones he knew were buried there. They were carved into his skin. He was afraid of the good parts—because it couldn’t have been all bad, couldn’t possibly be all bad, or he would have been completely unworthy of loving Ruth and Ruth loving him.
But if there were good parts, and he remembered them…
His secret fear, and his secret shame, was that the beautiful life he’d built from scratch wouldn’t mean anything to him anymore.
So, every night, he prayed he would never remember.
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