By: Stacy L.
CATEGORY: Angst, POV
TABLE FIC PROMPT: 065. Passing (from stargatefic100) and 097. Writer’s Choice (from 100songs)
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This story is written from Daniel’s point of view and serves as a response to two table fic prompts.
* * * *
Please, please forgive me
But I won't be home again...
I've passed away so many times that I've lost count. I used to fear death. Now I'm intimate with it. One has to be to have experienced it as many times as I have. Each time it becomes easier to leave this world behind, but harder for those who care about me. I've made it a goal now not to die. I believe the next time it happens I won't be coming back again. One can only cheat death for so long before it catches up to you.
I sometimes accept death with open arms. Sometimes I'm prepared, I'm ready to go and other times? Other times I feel that it's so unfair. I gaze at the people around me and see how they fight to hold on to me, how they fear something will happen to me. I see them clinging so tightly fearing that to send me off alone will surely lead to my leaving them again, and I believe they too know that death for me next time will be a one way trip. They are afraid. They fear it. They fear losing me, and they fear having to grieve once more for me.
Sometimes I can see horror in their eyes when I'm sick or when I'm injured. When I'm healed they seem to release a collective sigh of relief, and I find myself once again wanting to apologize to them, wanting to ask them to please forgive me for leaving them.
And sometimes, sometimes I fear that they have already given up on me. Sometimes I feel as if I'm not really there, as if I'm a ghost to them and perhaps I am: one who floats in and out of their lives on a whim. I think it angers them. I think I anger them. They have grown tired of mourning for me and no longer seem to care. I fear they have already said goodbye to me and that my presence in their lives is just a passing thing.
Do they love me? Have they forgiven me? Or have they become so comfortable with me dying that it no longer concerns them? And if they have does that mean my life is no longer important? Does that mean I am expendable to them? These are the questions I sometimes must ask myself.
When I die am I just missing or am I forgotten: never to be mourned again, never to be missed again because it has happened so often that they no longer fear it too? Have I died so often now that I'm no longer worthy of being mourned? Would anyone care that I have passed on or would they believe I'm only missing and will one day reappear? And if I become missing will anyone care enough to come after me or will I be abandoned as those who have loved me finally accept that I am no more?
You won't cry in my absence, I know
You forgot me long ago
Am I that unimportant
Am I so insignificant
Isn't something missing
Isn't someone missing me?
Even though I'm the sacrifice
You won't try for me, not now
Isn't something missing
Isn't someone missing me...
Lyrics from "Missing" by Evanescence
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