Hello! This is just a thing I wrote- for school actually- if you haven't read the summary its a crossover between Joeseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness and Tale of Two Cities- I really like it and I hope you all anjoy it as well!

DISCLAIMER: As always, I own nothing. (Italics signify excerpt from the book)

FYI- This is written in the style of Heart of Darkness- so if you have not read that... well that's why it's written rather weird- it took a while to get used to reading- and I know there is not a lot of spaces- but hey, its authentic!

For those who have read Heart of Darkness: This takes place before Marlow leaves for Africa- he's just left his aunt's house.

An Unremarkable Encounter

"…The best way I can explain it to you is by saying that, for a second or two, I felt as though instead of going to the centre of a continent, I were about to set off for the centre of the earth."

Marlow paused for a second, staring out across the water. He rubbed his chin, frowned, shrugged and then nodded as if reaching a decision.

"I'm never sure whether to include this part in the telling of this story," he began again. "It seems a rather unremarkable encounter, with a self-professed unremarkable man. I honestly can't say why I do include it, indeed why I even remember it- except to say that I do remember it and something draws me to include it. Which I suppose is reason enough.

"Having left my dear aunt's house, it was still quite early in the night- my aunt, being a woman, did not desire to stay up to all hours of the night- and so I sought some good wine to match the good tea I had just finished drinking at my aunt's house. Besides, I figured most explorers had some good wine before leaving for such an adventure as I was about to have. I wandered the streets for not too long a time before reaching an alehouse that appeared to be good enough for my purposes.

"Stepping inside revealed it to be very crowded and I was about to leave, when a man waved me over, declaring he would be honored if I shared a drink with him, though he fully understood if I could not bear it. I had really no intention of looking for another place and really no qualms that I could see about sitting with the man. I judged him to be about my age, perhaps a little older. His long dark hair was not pulled back, but swept away from his face. He was not ugly; in fact, if not for the perhaps 3-day stubble I would say he was a handsome fellow. As I sat down opposite him, I thought him not quite drunk yet, but rather well on his way.

"He asked me what it was that I did and I explained to him quite simply, without revealing any of the Company secrets- that I was sailing up the Congo in a steamboat. He didn't say anything for a moment, merely taking a swig or two of his drink. He nodded to himself, as if he approved of my profession. I was just about to ask him what it was he did, when he spoke again. 'Is that what you want to do?' I must confess I was mildly bewildered. I nearly laughed the situation off, but looking at the man again, I realized he was most concerned about this answer, oddly so. He had leaned back in his chair and was staring at me, in a way that made me shift uncomfortably before answering, in a light tone that yes, I had always been fascinated with the world and was most excited to leave. The man nodded, took yet another swig, and smiled at me, sweeping his hair out of his face once more. 'Well, there you go,' he said, leaning forward, while drinking. 'There you go.' He didn't say anything more and I have never been the type that needs to fill silence, as you well know. After several minutes, he spoke again, 'What are you going to be on this steamboat?' 'Captain,' I replied. He nodded as if that's what he expected. 'Name?' 'Charlie Marlow.' 'Captain Marlow,' he said, as if testing it out. 'Well, Captain, you're obviously the better man here.' 'I don't know that,' I replied politely. This only seemed to exasperate the man. He waved a hand, answering me in a firm voice. 'Well, Captain Marlow- if you have not caught on judging from me appearance- not that I in any way are suggesting you are not smart- I am,' he paused, searching for the right word, 'worthless.' I didn't say anything, for he did not seem to be done- but it was occurring to me that he may have been more drunk than I first thought. Though, I must confess, he seemed to know perfectly well what he was saying and perhaps that is what made this all the more uncomfortable for me. To my surprise he fell silent. As I did not wish to break this tentative silence, I took the opportunity to drink from my own glass.

" 'Charles,' he said suddenly, looking no longer at me- but at something in the distance, something unattainable. He said it almost in a whisper as if it were something sacred. 'Charles Darnay.' He smiled to himself, a small sad smile. He didn't say anything more, and I being a young man full of ill-place curiosity finally broke my silence. 'Is that your name?' Why, the man threw back his head and laughed- loud enough that a few people looked over. 'You- thought,' his laughter stopped him. 'Thought- I was Charles Darnay. My dear, sir- may I call you dear- I am the opposite of everything Charles Darnay is. He is a man of honor, and goodwill, and usefulness, and compassion, and oh, just about everything any man would hope to be.' His voice had become quieter, softer during his list of traits. 'Everything any man would hope to be,' he repeated. 'Everything any woman would love.' I didn't say anything, simply watching as he stared at a point behind my head. 'She loves him.' he said, as if that explained everything. He tried to give me a half hearted smile, but failed. I admit I stared- I had never seen, indeed I say I haven't seen since, a face of such pain. It is impossible to describe- impossible. You here cannot imagine- I have seen hospitals, stayed in one for quite sometime- no person's physical pain even came close to matching this- it was worse than The Intended which I will describe later. It was… unbelieveable.'"

Marlow fell silent, his face fixed once again on something not among us present. He continued after sometime, his eyes never moving from that spot.

"I was younger than- I didn't know how to handle this. I still don't know how to handle it, were I upon the same situation again. But I felt then it would be pointless to try to ignore that torture upon his face- I scarcely knew how he lived with it. But I knew that to try and turn this conversation in a different direction would be a disrespect to that man's agony. 'What's her name?' I asked. He looked at me, took another swallow of his near-empty bottle and seemed to draw the pain out of view as he tilted his head back. 'Lucie,' he said. The man was in love with her. I knew it from the moment his tongue formed the L in her name. It amazed me that a single syllable could contain so much feeling. There was suffering and love and longing. There was one thing more disturbing to me than anything I have seen. I couldn't pinpoint it then- but I can now. There was no hope.

"I have found that even in the direst of times, men continue to hope. It creates a cause for our survival, a reason for us to live. Put man in the darkest of times and fantasies will continue to circle our brains, fantasies of redemption, of a savior. Even when men have accepted death, or defeat, there is always that faint glimmer of hope. This man had none. His voice held love, but he had accepted his failure. He believed everything he told me about himself. Before then I wanted to pass it off as alcohol, or one bad night, or anything but the truth- because the truth, my friends, is agonizing to witness.

"We drank a little longer, with no words said after that name. What more was there to say- any conversation I could have tried to start would have been forced and the man across from me was steadily drinking. Finally I decided I should leave, having to catch an early boat the next morning. As I stood up, I realized I had to know something- 'It's been a pleasure drinking with you,' I said politely. 'What's your name?' He chuckled before replying. 'It's unimportant- like its user.' 'Please,' I asked. He frowned, staring at me, before chuckling again, now quite drunk and replying. 'Sydney- Sydney Carton.'

"I nodded to him and he waved his drink at me, bowing and grinning foolishly. There was no evidence that he had revealed perhaps the entirety of his life to me- maybe in his current state he didn't remember, maybe when he woke up the next morning he would never recall our conversation, maybe he would live his whole life never knowing that he, for no more than a few minutes, showed me his soul. But I knew then that I would not forget Sydney Carton.

"Even then, and still now- I do not know why this man was so memorable to me. He appeared to be an unkempt, uninspired, alcoholic but-"

Marlow stopped, and finally taking his eyes off the invisible spot, looked at us. He shrugged.

"I do not claim to be a good judge of character. Most attempts I have made to judge character have often turned out very wrong. But as I walked away from the bar that night, I could not shake the feeling that Sydney Carton was not going to end up as useless as he labeled himself. Even now, I feel as if I would not be surprised if I learned that Sydney Carton had done something great with his life- something very great indeed."

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