JackSGreyson Says

Like with all things, there is a diminishing return of value to immortality. That first moment of realization will always be amongst the top, if not the best, part. There may be times after that–when you get hit by car and survive, or when your friends start to get their first wrinkles and tricky joints–that you think your invincibility and everlasting youth is a good thing. As time marches on, this happens less and less.

The first few years, maybe even the first few decades, immortality is not such a bad thing. But then, your family and friends start to get older. They age, they die. You don’t. You are invulnerable to death and change, which is human nature to fear. But maybe you’re not human anymore.

When the last of your loved ones’ loved ones die, for even love is finite in the face of forever, you realize that you have no history. There are no more shared moments because all of those you shared them with are dead. There is no one left to tie you down, and so you are adrift. You have no past, only a looming endless future. And you begin to wonder how long forever really is. If your lack of death has somehow stretched your life forwards and backwards. 

Infinity is a paradox, one which you are living.

~

A/N: Short, because I have a headache.

He runs as fast as he can, his breathing loud in his ears syncopated with his footfalls slapping against wet pavement. It’s dark and the drizzling rainclouds block what little moonlight there could have been. The lampposts in this part of town are hit and miss, maybe only a third of them have a weak, flickering glow; the rest of them are dead.

Like he will be if his pursuers catch up.

He’s been lucky so far, as much as just barely being able to stay ahead of people trying to kill him can be considered lucky. He’s stumbled and fallen a few times, has tears in his trousers and scraped knees and palms to show for it, but it’s always been easy to pick himself back up. He hasn’t hit any dead ends yet, even though he’s gone beyond the areas he’s familiar with. For the most part, his size lets him squeeze through places that prevent his pursuers with much longer legs from following so easily.

But they are still on his trail, and he is getting tired.

He’s on the outskirts of the city–there’s no retail or residential buildings here, just warehouses and defunct railroad tracks. He’s considering the junkyard, the piles of trash should deter his would-be-killers, but he knows that junkyard dogs are not exactly fictional and it may be as much a danger for him as it is for them. But the other option is to run around the empty railroad tracks with no cover or hiding spots beyond a few abandoned train cars, which would be easy enough to search through.

So he climbs. There’s barbed wire at the top which catches and tears at the fabric of his clothes, and a few even get to the skin underneath, but it’s a minor distraction and he pushes through. On the other side of the fence, the junkyard seems bigger. As if it were a city unto itself. As he creeps through the maze of trash, he can kind of tell there’s an attempt at organization: the cars are lined up in neat rows despite their own crumpled forms, one small mountain is all electronics, another all furniture and fabrics.

They know where he is, they must do, because he can hear raised voices and the rattling of the metal fence. One of them, the one he just calls Baldy in his head, yells for wire cutters. Why they have that on hand makes his gut churn with fear, but he pushes on. He’s so focused on listening for his pursuers that he has completely missed the fact that there are now two dogs in front of him. Two really huge, really muscular dogs. With very big mouths and no doubt very large teeth.

He might have peed on himself a little bit. But they’re not growling which… is probably a good thing? Instead one of them, the one that looks like police dogs on TV, just huffs and walks away while the other, which is taller and less furry, with a wider and droopier face, slowly makes its way closer to him. He knows better than to make any sudden movements, so instead he just freezes in his crouch which is rather uncomfortable for his calves but he’s been mean to them all evening so whatever.

The dog that stayed edges closer and closer until its face is right next to his. Then it sticks it’s nose right into his armpit which is ticklish and causes him to fall backwards. Immediately the dog is on him, but it’s friendly if a rather invasive, since it seems content to just sniff him in really awkward places. He’s trying really hard not to laugh and keeps trying, and failing, to push the dog’s face away.

Suddenly though, the dog starts to growl. But its not looking down at him, it’s looking forward. Which means, for him, he looks up from where he’s lying just in time to see his pursuers turn into the same pathway. They start yelling threats at him, and maybe some at the dog too.

The dog’s stance is protective over him, but its just one dog against over five guys who probably have guns or some kind of weapons. Until there’s a chorus of barking and growling and waves of furry legs and paws rush past him and then its more like twenty dogs against five guys.

Two of them do have guns, which they pull out and start firing, and he feels sick, because these dogs are going to die because of him, but amazingly none of them hit. They just… stop in midair before being pulled down by gravity. And his pursuers couldn’t outrun one tired boy, let alone twenty angry dogs so soon enough they’re dragged down under the weight of several dogs each.

He closes his eyes, because he hates those guys but he doesn’t actually want to see people getting mauled.

“Peace, child. Cease your crying. They will live.” A raspy voice says, which makes the dog literally standing guard over him finally stop growling.

But it’s aimed at him, which is weird because he didn’t even notice he was crying until he was told to stop. He opens his eyes again and turns his head to see scuffed brown boots and faded blue denim in the beam of a flashlight.

“Blitz, off,” the stranger says, and the dog backs up until he can sit up, “Come now, I have medical supplies… and cleaning supplies” And the stranger walks away, unmindful of the canine-human battle happening only a few yards away, uncaring if he actually follows or not.

The dog, Blitz, just looks at him, tail wagging slowly.

Considering he’s covered in mud and blood and dog saliva and his own urine, he would be stupid not to follow.

~

A/N: I don’t know where this came from… but I like it.