Author: ArwenJaneLilyLyra PM
Angelface's thoughts when 'Tyler Durden' beats him, and an internal struggle - keep his beauty or gain his freedom?Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Drama - Words: 654 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 6 - Published: 11-20-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6491219
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
If The Narrator is Tyler, and The Narrator is the one to beat Angelface, and Angelface looks up to Tyler...then really it's all a bit confusing, because The Narrator being Tyler means Tyler was the one to beat Angelface, and Angelface was beaten by the man he looked up to most. Just some thoughts from the point of view of a weak boy thinking Fight Club to be his greatest gift.
Thank you, Tyler Durden. Thank you as I bleed. You promised freedom, and you promised a break from all that I know. I see you do not come up short on your promises.
Once I was nothing. You showed me that I don't have to be merely a pretty face to be prized by a father who doesn't know shit about my life, only that I'm attractive enough to squeeze some money out of desperate people. I don't even think about him anymore. I don't think about any of my old life. All there is, all there ever will be, is the great man Tyler.
Tyler and Fight Club.
Hard slap crash, fist against jaw; against nose; against eye; against cheekbone. Pain, I feel pain, it blinds me…no that's the blood seeping into my eyes. What's the difference? It all boils down to just how much I owe Tyler Durden for this moment. His fist against my jaw; his fist against my nose; his fist against my eye; his fist against my cheekbone. All pain, all gratitude, all love.
More love than anyone's shown me before.
Thank you Tyler, you promised to take away my burdens, my suffering.
And now you are. You beat the beauty out of me; you beat the one gift, the one curse: thank you.
My mouth is moving and I'm trying, trying so hard to yell stop and you won't let me. You won't let me give in to my weakness, to the fear that grips me-
Don't take from me what I have. All I have. Angel, that's what my mother nicknamed me. What would she call me if she saw me now? Not Angel, for sure. Face of sculpted perfection. Face swimming in blood and tears, all black in the dim light of the basement where we fight.
Realisation. Sorry, don't let me give in. The hits continue, don't worry, Tyler. I swore never to be a mere toy again, but I don't mind. You're setting me free, I know, and I'm grateful.
Blood spills. Hair damp; soaked, really. But I can't tell if it's sweat or blood, I hope it's sweat. The pain's starting to overpower me, Tyler. I can't speak, I can't feel, I can't move. Please stop, Tyler. I've learnt, I'm enlightened, I want to be set free, not sent on to find out if God is real or not.
Cough, choke; something slips down my throat, more solid than thick red liquid. It might be a tooth. Tongue runs over dimpled bare gums. Yes, it was a tooth, probably several.
Retch, groan; arms twist and legs kick.
Writhing beneath strong knees clamped to my chest. Bruises blossom and cracks form. Bones break and still…thank you.
Hard slap crash no more. Weight of Tyler Durden lifts from my abdomen. He walks away; I hear something about a hospital.
And I know. I know the beauty is gone, hidden behind black blood and salty tears.
How humiliating, Tyler grants me the gift and I cry over the pain endured to reach the ultimate goal: freedom.
Someone lifts me up, they're carrying me.