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anxious-gnome-cryptid · 5 years

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The Future of History

Summary: Gideon is having some issues coming to terms with his past. Allen encourages him to look towards the future. Written for my Creative Writing Final, using the same characters (and a few new ones!) from Hey Little Jitterbug

Warning for alcohol mention, death mention, a non-graphic war scene in a documentary, and a discussion about suicide.

I swallowed back the tears begging for release and curled into a tighter ball on the couch, clutching the Ravenclaw mug filled with jasmine tea tighter to my chest. My bed seemed to call to me, promising safety and refuge from the horrors being presented before my eyes if I only had the courage to move, but my terror and anguish won out, keeping my legs locked in place as images of the destruction of both land and human life flashed before my eyes. Allen had warned me that it may not be the best idea to watch this, not while the news of Edward’s passing was still fresh and painful, but my own morbid curiosity had sunk its claws into my brain and forced my hand, leading to my current position, watching a documentary narrated with a soothing British accent (Estuary, I can tell, far from my own Queen’s English accent) about the First World War.

The bright explosions seared my retinas, yet I could not look away as red splattered the ground, most likely red paint but depicting real events, making it real. My ears rang with the screams of the dying men, actors channeling years of grief to recount the dying gasps of young men who had not known what they were in for. Mud stained everything, mixing with water and blood to create an awful soup coating the ground and the bodies that decorated it. Cannon after cannon fired, punctuated by the staccato hits of a machine gun, accompanying the bright explosions of grenades being thrown across a ruined battlefield.

Mid-scream, mid-explosion, the screen in front of me went blank, and I slowly turned, tears in my eyes, to face my current roommate. Allen held the remote in his hands, blue eyes hard as he stared at me.

“I told you to avoid these.” His voice seemed to boom in the quiet air of the apartment even though he was barely speaking above a murmur. I nodded and took a shaky sip of tea, refusing to meet his eyes. Allen sighed in return and moved around the couch, steps far quieter than usual due to his lack of combat boots. He sat next to me on the couch, fidgeting with the remote, and did not speak again.

“I know it was incredibly stupid of me to watch that. I just… wished to learn more about-”

“About a useless war where so many people died?” Allen snapped, head snapping over to glare at me. “Why? Because hurting yourself won’t bring Nonno back.”

“At least I can try to understand what he was thinking as he…” My voice trailed off, the words choking up my throat. I could not even bring myself to say it. How pathetic was I?

“No one knows what he was thinking when he blew his own brains to kingdom come,” Allen growled. “And, really, you don’t need to know. Some things are better left private.” I bit my lip in a futile attempt to stem the flow of tears, and Allen let out a heavy sigh before leaning over, resting his head on my shoulder.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” he apologized, looking down at his chipped blue nail polish. “Just… I’ve been down this road. It doesn’t lead anywhere good. More often than not, it ends at 3 am with you making yourself so high you’re not sure you’ll ever come back down.”

“How do I know this whole experience is not just a bad dream or a hallucination? Perhaps I ate something strange and am truly back in my room in 1878,” I murmured in return, staring into the depths of my cooling tea as if it could offer me answers.

“Gideon, I’m not dealing with an existential crisis today,” Allen laughed. “But I can tell you: it’s real. I don’t think you could have dreamed up something as elaborate as this.”

“You are most likely correct,” I answered, sipping at my tea again. “I have always been told I have a poor imagination.”

“See? Answer right there,” Allen said, voice tinted with a rare smile. “Plus, why would you dream up someone as terrifying as this Tory you keep telling me about?”

“You make an excellent argument, Allen,” I chuckled, finishing the rest of my tea. “Tory is… quite the character.”

“Yeah, she is. Sounds a lot like an old friend of mine,” Allen laughed again, standing. He reached out a hand towards me and I took it, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

“May I ask why we are getting up?” I asked, cocking my head to the side in confusion.

“Ice cream. We’re going for ice cream and a walk,” Allen announced, walking back over to the coat rack and throwing on his dark green canvas jacket before slipping into his beat-up black Converse. I pulled on my brown boots and grey woolen peacoat and followed him out the door, taking in the wild wind through my hair as we stepped outside. Allen grabbed my hand to prevent our seperation and we started our short walk to the ice cream store just around the corner.

The nice young couple who ran the small shop simply smiled as we strolled in and immediately began making our usual orders. Allen chatted up their child, a young man of about 12, asking about how his school year was going, his plans for the future, the newest round of Dungeons and Dragons he had played, and other things I did not understand. I thanked the owners as they handed me our ice cream and I gave them the exact change, taken from Allen’s wallet earlier that week as an emergency store. The two of us left soon after and began to walk towards the small park near Allen’s college campus, taking small nibbles of our ice cream and enjoying the late winter air.

“Okay, Gideon. I’ve gotta say something, and you won’t like it,” Allen announced once we were away from most of the people. I paused, halfway through a bite of ice cream, waiting for his statement.

“You… you can’t change history, Gideon. You’re so worried about living in the past… and I think that’s why you’re still stuck.” Allen sighed, flailing his hand in circles in his thinking gesture before continuing. “Maybe… look to the future? All the new things that have been invented? All the things you could do or be?”

“But my history is where the answers to where I have gone wrong lay,” I countered, swallowing the ice cream. The small chunk of chocolate scraped against my throat, but I ignored it, looking at Allen with wide eyes.

“Is it? Or is it just keeping you trapped in regrets?” Allen asked, looking deep into my eyes with a stare so intense I felt my knees go weak. He looked so much like Edward, if only Edward had been a couple years older and merged with Virgil. I shook my head, determined to get rid of the thoughts. I did not need to think of both my great losses right now.

“We cannot forget our history, Allen.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have to be trapped by it either,” Allen said, smile and voice softer than was normal of him. “In fact, we can start now.”

“How?” I asked, highly confused. “We cannot forget the past.”

“Not forgetting, just not letting it define us,” Allen corrected. “For example, there’s a nice gay bar a couple blocks over. Might be fun to let go and have some fun.”

“Are you quite sure?” I asked, flushing. Allen’s openness about his bisexuality, as he defined it, was… startling to me, to say the least.

His grin was crooked as he grabbed my hand and began to run, laughing. “Yeah! Let’s have some fun, Gideon!” I yelped but allowed him to lead me away, a smile tugging at my lips against my will. Healing would take a long time, I knew, but perhaps Allen would be the one to heal me fully. Perhaps Allen would be the one to break the curse. I ignored the small whispers telling me I had thought that of many people before and followed Allen into the soft rainbow lights of a rustic wooden bar, determined to focus on the future, if only for a few hours. I had had enough of history today. Now, it was time to at least pretend I had a future.

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