Justin Pendleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
othersdie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2012-07-15 07:46 pm
othersdie) wrote in poly_chromatic2012-07-15 07:46 pm
Entry tags:
[action/text]
[action]
[Justin, looking older and more worn than usual, is in the garden. If his rumpled appearance or the cigarettes don't indicate a cursed state, his complete inaction should. He's seldom idle, usually, and the police force has been keeping him occupied lately.
But right now, he's sitting under a tree. Smoking. Looking either bored or blank--it's difficult to tell. He's not going anywhere soon.]
[text]
This again. And again, and again, and again. The details change but the plot repeats itself. Not just one weekend a month or even here alone. Listen to the clock. Each tick is just like the one preceding it, like the one following it. Tedious second after tedious second. Identical seconds, adding up to minutes and hours and days and years that blur together into a single unremarkable life until, finally, we have the privilege of dying.
I wonder why we bother living through the tedium.
Why do we consider life so valuable when it ultimately comes to nothing?
[ooc: Cursed with The Years That Never Were. This is a Justin I've been working on for a while, so there's an explanation for the curious. Responses will come from the curse journal, mostly.]
[Justin, looking older and more worn than usual, is in the garden. If his rumpled appearance or the cigarettes don't indicate a cursed state, his complete inaction should. He's seldom idle, usually, and the police force has been keeping him occupied lately.
But right now, he's sitting under a tree. Smoking. Looking either bored or blank--it's difficult to tell. He's not going anywhere soon.]
[text]
This again. And again, and again, and again. The details change but the plot repeats itself. Not just one weekend a month or even here alone. Listen to the clock. Each tick is just like the one preceding it, like the one following it. Tedious second after tedious second. Identical seconds, adding up to minutes and hours and days and years that blur together into a single unremarkable life until, finally, we have the privilege of dying.
I wonder why we bother living through the tedium.
Why do we consider life so valuable when it ultimately comes to nothing?
[ooc: Cursed with The Years That Never Were. This is a Justin I've been working on for a while, so there's an explanation for the curious. Responses will come from the curse journal, mostly.]
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But what about you? You look different, too.
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[He takes a long draw on his cigarette.]
What do you mean?
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That's quite a bit of time. Perhaps that's why you seem different to me.
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[He has no idea he's cursed, Ken. Really.]
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It's hard to explain. Normally there's something.... I can't really put words to it, I'm sorry.
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Oh. That's fine.