Author's note: Whilst writing my one-shot "Disparaged," I was hit by this idea. It was unlike anything I've ever tried writing, but the idea would not let go. It's somewhat experimental in that it's my first attempt at non-linear storytelling. If you choose to actually read this, I thank you so much. If you ever feel dizzy or confused or irritated with the frenetic pacing, just go with it. But admittedly, I don't know what effect this will have on you. I only know what it has done to me.

This fic was inspired by a novel with a similar title, but due to the nature of its content, I can in no good conscience recommend it to anyone under the age of eighteen, so I will not be posting its title or author here. If you are over eighteen and would like to know the novel that served as something of a foundation for this fic, feel free to ask me in either a review or a private message.

The End of Danny

0

I've been here some time now. Not yet a long time. My time here will eventually become long, but as of now, I've been here for less than he was here, and any time shorter than that is very short indeed.

Danny. Please take care with this name I give you. He was my ocean, my sapphire. Please, understand that. I hope you can see that there was no other choice, that he had to end.

It is early morning. I rarely sleep, and when I do, I only ever see him. Blissful at first, but then my lucid intellect always reminds me that he's an illusion here, and I cry and cry and hold him against me and hope that I never wake up, that I just stay in this dream with him forever. He is never angry with me here. He always wonders why I keep holding him so tight as if he is going to disappear.

The guards at last wake us and call us to attention. The names are called. Compliant responses, snarky responses, quiet responses. Some try to hold on to something from their past lives, their past personalities.

"Klara Baskova."

"Good morning to you," says Baskova from the cell next to me. She sounds groggy, but I know she sleeps soundly every night. She never had a son. She can't relate to me. No one here can relate to me. They are not like me. I am certainly not like them.

"Madeline Fenton."

"Yes," I answer. I want to forget myself, bury my identity under submission and monotony, but it is impossible when I am reminded of who I am at the beginning of each day.

...

A couple guards talk. One of the other guards will be leaving soon, pregnant with a boy. A boy, oh, boy.

"What will she name him?"

"I know what I want to name him," I told Jack, my husband.

"Anything you want," he whispered. "It's your turn."

"She still hasn't decided," says the guard. "Can you believe that?"

No, I cannot believe that. I knew from the beginning what I wanted to name him.

...

It was early morning another time. In the kitchen, I was too exhausted to do anything but sit. I hadn't slept at all. Neither had he.

I was still in my normal jumpsuit. I never changed out of it. I planned on just wearing it again that day. No shower. I sat at the table alone and waited.

Through bloodshot eyes, I watched him enter the kitchen. His thick hair was tousled. His shirt and jeans were wrinkled.

He stared at me for some time, perhaps afraid that I would yell at him again. He took a seat at the table with me. His eyes were misty.

"What now?" he asked softly with a quaver in his voice.

I didn't answer.

"Please don't be mad at me anymore," he begged. He put his head in his hands and started shaking.

Something stirred in me. I fell upon him, kissed him over and over.

...

I get letters. All kinds of letters. They are angry, inquisitive, demanding, philosophical, disgusted, delighted. A wide array of reactions to our story. I read them all, but I never answer them. Every once in awhile, I am tempted to reply, tempted to defend myself. Or him.

How could you do such a thing? Why did you hate him so much?

I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone, more than anyone could comprehend.

I went to school with him. Do you remember me coming to your house once for homework help with your daughter? I swore that the next time I saw him I would kill him, but I never did see him again. Thanks for taking care of him for me. You really did the world a favor.

I know who this one is. I remember what he did to this one. This one deserved it.

But I cannot disagree. I did do the world a favor. My tears fall fast and heavy.

But the world doesn't know the whole story. I'm writing it only to you now. Will you read it to the end, or will you give up on it, too repulsed to continue?