Through A Glass, Darkly [2/?]
Title: Chapter Two - Psy
Author:
lucentvictrola
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Patrick/Pete, eventually
POV: First
Summary: In a technological dystopia, 17-year-old Pete has never known anything other than the society he lives in. But what happens when he and true reality crash?
Disclaimer: Never happened, obviously. Title from Ghost in the Shell.
Author's Notes: I should be doing homework, dammit. I hate how lazy I am. Fuck it, I need to write this.
1. Norm
You get over being like, Whoa, unit! The moon! The goddamn moon! and instead there's just the rockiness, and the suckiness, and the craters all being full of old broken shit.
- Feed, M.T. Anderson
It's a week before my mom's taking me to the psy, like I'm a crazy, like in that old movie I watched the other day. Movie. No one watches them anymore. Part of why she's taking me. Cause only the geezers stuck in the past watch movies anymore, watch movies instead of plugging into one the virt worlds or sitting back and tuning into one of the entertainment feeds.
The other why is because she thinks I'm downing, majorly. But really, it's hard not to be down when you realize how sucky the world is. I mean, really. Like hat boy said.
But yeah, a week. A week since E, and I've been sitting at that bar every night, every night for hours, waiting for that boy to come, and he never does. So my routine has become waking up at like noon or something and sitting back and watching an old movie. I do that now, trying to see what the appeal is. And then I get ready to go to E and get there and wait and think, and when I get bored and give up hope, I stumble home. And she thinks there's something wrong with me. I guess there might be. Or maybe there's less wrong.
So here I am, at the psy's place, like I'm a crazy, like I'm a downer trying to nova himself, and I'm wondering why people are always so eager to figure out what's wrong, and to drug you up and fix it. Like I need to be fixed. And for a second, I wonder - wonder, like anyone does that anymore, like anyone thinks anymore, anyone except hat boy and me, now - why I don't just run away, try to find the boy, but then the lady is going, "Peter?" and I follow her like a sheep.
The couch is soft, and I lie down on it, and the psy's in this swively chair and he's got a clipboard.
So, Peter...
Pete.
Pete. Your mother tells me you're not taking interest in regular activities anymore.
I wonder why he talks so smart, how he talks so smart, cause I can never concentrate hard enough to put words together like that, not with my feed constantly telling me about which jeans to buy to make my ass look better and stuff.
Pete?
What?
You didn't answer my question.
Well, you didn't, like, ask me anything, you know.
...
It wasn't, like, a question.
How have you been feeling lately?
Awake.
What do you mean by that?
Whatever.
Listen. Do you think there's anything wrong?
With what?
With you.
No.
Then what's the problem, Peter?
Everything else.
And we talk some more, although it's not really talking, more like him trying to fix me, which he can't, and then he prescribes me some pills. He makes me pop one in my mouth, swallow it with some water, and says it'll take effect in a few seconds.
I wonder what's on my feed.
Author:
lucentvictrola Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Patrick/Pete, eventually
POV: First
Summary: In a technological dystopia, 17-year-old Pete has never known anything other than the society he lives in. But what happens when he and true reality crash?
Disclaimer: Never happened, obviously. Title from Ghost in the Shell.
Author's Notes: I should be doing homework, dammit. I hate how lazy I am. Fuck it, I need to write this.
1. Norm
You get over being like, Whoa, unit! The moon! The goddamn moon! and instead there's just the rockiness, and the suckiness, and the craters all being full of old broken shit.
- Feed, M.T. Anderson
It's a week before my mom's taking me to the psy, like I'm a crazy, like in that old movie I watched the other day. Movie. No one watches them anymore. Part of why she's taking me. Cause only the geezers stuck in the past watch movies anymore, watch movies instead of plugging into one the virt worlds or sitting back and tuning into one of the entertainment feeds.
The other why is because she thinks I'm downing, majorly. But really, it's hard not to be down when you realize how sucky the world is. I mean, really. Like hat boy said.
But yeah, a week. A week since E, and I've been sitting at that bar every night, every night for hours, waiting for that boy to come, and he never does. So my routine has become waking up at like noon or something and sitting back and watching an old movie. I do that now, trying to see what the appeal is. And then I get ready to go to E and get there and wait and think, and when I get bored and give up hope, I stumble home. And she thinks there's something wrong with me. I guess there might be. Or maybe there's less wrong.
So here I am, at the psy's place, like I'm a crazy, like I'm a downer trying to nova himself, and I'm wondering why people are always so eager to figure out what's wrong, and to drug you up and fix it. Like I need to be fixed. And for a second, I wonder - wonder, like anyone does that anymore, like anyone thinks anymore, anyone except hat boy and me, now - why I don't just run away, try to find the boy, but then the lady is going, "Peter?" and I follow her like a sheep.
The couch is soft, and I lie down on it, and the psy's in this swively chair and he's got a clipboard.
So, Peter...
Pete.
Pete. Your mother tells me you're not taking interest in regular activities anymore.
I wonder why he talks so smart, how he talks so smart, cause I can never concentrate hard enough to put words together like that, not with my feed constantly telling me about which jeans to buy to make my ass look better and stuff.
Pete?
What?
You didn't answer my question.
Well, you didn't, like, ask me anything, you know.
...
It wasn't, like, a question.
How have you been feeling lately?
Awake.
What do you mean by that?
Whatever.
Listen. Do you think there's anything wrong?
With what?
With you.
No.
Then what's the problem, Peter?
Everything else.
And we talk some more, although it's not really talking, more like him trying to fix me, which he can't, and then he prescribes me some pills. He makes me pop one in my mouth, swallow it with some water, and says it'll take effect in a few seconds.
I wonder what's on my feed.