Sep. 19th, 2012

thneedifestdestiny: No One Knows I'm Gone - Tom Waits (Not forevermore)
[personal profile] thneedifestdestiny
[Earlier in the event, the Once-ler's version of the Truffula Valley was a beautiful paradise.

But now, it is someone else's memories, and now it is a desolate wasteland. Every last tree is gone, and in the distance, there is an old husk of a monstrous factory. The air is thick and purple-ish red with smog, and there's no sign of life for miles.

Well. Except for just one.

In the distance, there is a Once-ler - another-ler, older by maybe five or ten years. He's on his knees, in a worn-out green suit, digging through the dirt with green-gloved hands. He looks desperate, like he dropped his keys in the ruins and rubble. Every so often he slows to a slow, lurches, and coughs and hacks until his lungs are empty and sore, and his chest is tight.

And then, with a slow start, he continues his search for that something in the dirt. Just one, precious seed.
usskickass: (I'm blue)
[personal profile] usskickass
[Within walking distance of McKinley high school is the inside of a cell. There's no bars or door in this memory, but the woman sitting inside has no intention of leaving anyway. She's old-- in her sixties, at least --and blank-faced. Empty. As if she's been in there too long to have any anger or sadness left.

As if she died in that cell and even in death has nowhere else to go.]
brainkegger: ((AU) Ashamed)
[personal profile] brainkegger
[Tara is seven years old. She's sitting Indian-style in a beanbag in a basement. Her face is beat-up, some cuts, mostly bruises and burns. He could do more to her face as it became clear there'd be no use in her hiding what happened anymore. He'd made his decision and there was no one to stop him.

No one did.

She's all cried out. At some point she put a bandage over some of the cuts, but she knows there's no point anymore. They don't even bleed.]
pottershotter: (Hesitating)
[personal profile] pottershotter
[There are many, many versions of James Potter. Once he discovered these alternate universe folks (thank you, Yuu) he set out to find his own. Perhaps that's why there wound up being so many of him.

Eventually though, he noticed a common thread: they were all dead. All of them. And they were all very, very young.

There was one who died the second time he defied Voldemort. He was only nineteen, and died in Lily's arms. There was another who did not switch secret keepers, but in that timeline Peter killed Sirius, knowing that it would lure James out of hiding. That James also died on Halloween of 1981.

There were others who died similarly, or close to it, with very minor changes. There was one where Harry had not lived either. There was one that had been killed by torture.

The oldest one James met was in his thirties, and he had lived through Halloween 1981, but Lily and Harry had not. That James was quiet and it seemed that a light had permanently gone out in him. He refused to tell James how he died, but the conversation left James with this sinking feeling that he already knew.

By then, James was not quite so enthusiastic to meet more of himself. He retreated to the Three Broomsticks and ordered a Butterbeer and pondered and pondered. Depression was not really the word for him, not one that he would ever admit to...but he was definitely unsettled by all of it. His friends had gone off to another part of his memory, so he was left with the snow and the cold and the mostly empty pub, unless someone from Wonderland comes along.

He sighed. Changing the future was going to be a lot harder than he had imagined.


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