st_aurafina (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
st_aurafina) wrote2007-04-09 04:37 pm
st_aurafina) wrote2007-04-09 04:37 pm
Entry tags:
Hellblazer ficlet: One Way Trip (John Constantine, G)
Title: One Way Trip
Fandom: Hellblazer
Rating: G
Summary: John Constantine thinks progress does more harm than good.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
youngest_one, who requested John Constantine/progress. Thank you to lilacsigil for the beta.
John leaned his back against the white marble gatepost – after so long underground, the polished stone was clammy, moisture beading on the surface. All around him cranes and bulldozers loomed, blocking the moonlight from touching the clay at the bottom of the pit.
"Here's the ugly truth about progress." John drew long on his cigarette, addressing the gathered building machinery which seemed to lean further in, hungry for every word. "It's always well-intentioned. Some smug bastard has the idea that he can improve humanity's lot, and they always end up doing more harm than good. Honestly, I think we'd all be happier grubbing around in the mud and bashing each other with sticks."
The stone was warming up behind him - he could feel it though his coat. He shifted his position slightly, reaching out with one arm to snag the end of the fuse wire. "Take this building site. Used to be the funeral railway, didn't it? Got bombed in the blitz, but before that, it was the place you bought your last ticket – a one way trip to the necropolis at Brookwood. And you could go first class, if you wanted, though what the difference it makes to a stiff, I can't imagine."
The moon was easing into the zenith of her journey for the night. John squinted sourly at the bright sphere. "So, to reduce disease in the city, they build a railway to shuttle the dead away, nice and tidy and hygienic, but it's just a veneer, isn't it? Death isn't clean or tidy. Then there's all sorts of nasty elements that like to hover where the dead accumulate. And a single gateway for the dead to pass through, oh, that's nice and symbolic, that is. Can't imagine that there'd be any malicious energy accumulating in those stones." When the shadows were just right, John touched the end of his cigarette to the fuse wire, and bolted for the secure cover of a large yellow grader.
The explosion was oddly muffled, as though the sound was channeled away into the earth. John waited until the smoke had cleared completely, then picked his way through the rubble, kicking the larger chunks of marble over with the toe of his boot. "Progress." He leaned over the broken stump of the gatepost, where something dark and oily was squirming in the moonlight. With a smooth gesture he scooped the tiny worm into an empty beer bottle, ramming a cork firmly into the neck. Trapped behind the amber glass, the creature flailed briefly then curled into itself and was still.
"Bring the best idea into fruition, think you're improving life for the human race, but don't look too carefully at your good works, because there's always a grotty scavenger rummaging around in the debris looking for his own bit of treasure."
Blue and red lights preceded the long wail of the sirens, but when the police spilled out of their cars, the building site, illuminated with moonlight, was empty.
Fandom: Hellblazer
Rating: G
Summary: John Constantine thinks progress does more harm than good.
Notes: For
youngest_one, who requested John Constantine/progress. Thank you to lilacsigil for the beta.John leaned his back against the white marble gatepost – after so long underground, the polished stone was clammy, moisture beading on the surface. All around him cranes and bulldozers loomed, blocking the moonlight from touching the clay at the bottom of the pit.
"Here's the ugly truth about progress." John drew long on his cigarette, addressing the gathered building machinery which seemed to lean further in, hungry for every word. "It's always well-intentioned. Some smug bastard has the idea that he can improve humanity's lot, and they always end up doing more harm than good. Honestly, I think we'd all be happier grubbing around in the mud and bashing each other with sticks."
The stone was warming up behind him - he could feel it though his coat. He shifted his position slightly, reaching out with one arm to snag the end of the fuse wire. "Take this building site. Used to be the funeral railway, didn't it? Got bombed in the blitz, but before that, it was the place you bought your last ticket – a one way trip to the necropolis at Brookwood. And you could go first class, if you wanted, though what the difference it makes to a stiff, I can't imagine."
The moon was easing into the zenith of her journey for the night. John squinted sourly at the bright sphere. "So, to reduce disease in the city, they build a railway to shuttle the dead away, nice and tidy and hygienic, but it's just a veneer, isn't it? Death isn't clean or tidy. Then there's all sorts of nasty elements that like to hover where the dead accumulate. And a single gateway for the dead to pass through, oh, that's nice and symbolic, that is. Can't imagine that there'd be any malicious energy accumulating in those stones." When the shadows were just right, John touched the end of his cigarette to the fuse wire, and bolted for the secure cover of a large yellow grader.
The explosion was oddly muffled, as though the sound was channeled away into the earth. John waited until the smoke had cleared completely, then picked his way through the rubble, kicking the larger chunks of marble over with the toe of his boot. "Progress." He leaned over the broken stump of the gatepost, where something dark and oily was squirming in the moonlight. With a smooth gesture he scooped the tiny worm into an empty beer bottle, ramming a cork firmly into the neck. Trapped behind the amber glass, the creature flailed briefly then curled into itself and was still.
"Bring the best idea into fruition, think you're improving life for the human race, but don't look too carefully at your good works, because there's always a grotty scavenger rummaging around in the debris looking for his own bit of treasure."
Blue and red lights preceded the long wail of the sirens, but when the police spilled out of their cars, the building site, illuminated with moonlight, was empty.