RANDOM ONE-SHOT FAN FIC. I watched The Imaginaruim of Doctor Parnassus last night and this popped in my head. I felt it was a sad story and thought that theres somethings that needed to be answered. This was very random so please be nice. I'll be getting to FCK within a few days; ch. 7 is still in the making.
Dr. Parnassus tip-toed quietly passed his loving daughter, Valentina as she slumbered in her small cocoon of her bed. She looked so innocent when she was asleep, almost as if she was a child again. He smiled softly when she moaned slightly from the occurring dream within her head. Her eyes moved back and forth under her eyelids; active and rushed. Tony, the all-encompassing one laid next to her, with his back turned toward the wall. Little bugger he is that Tony. He knew that he was troubled by never understood the full story of the fake-charity by selling kids to rich families then yet profit the money. He would understand that Russian men would be after his blood. So much was left undiscovered as it pondered his mind. He slowly climbed the ladder to lay a top of the carousel that he called home. With the bottle of run in his hands, he began to drink, savoring the taste as it passed his tongue and into his stomach. He realized now that he was a thousand years old, he would think of the many wonders in his lifetime that he would find strange. The doctor himself would ask him questions of how he would lure a woman or how to claim more souls as the times progressed. He would curse himself every night, wondering if theses souls would do him any good at preserving his immortality. The days would pass and he would still age. His eyes, now sunk into his head revealed his eye sockets with the loose leather skin forming around the curves of bone. His teeth would be rotten or breaking apart every time he would eat his breakfast or whenever he did decide to eat. The drink was becoming more or less water as he drank every night. Still, it would get him sloshed as it always did.
Thinking back on his deal with Mr. Nick, he questioned to as if it was worth it. Was immortality worth all that he had seen in his lifetime? The death of his loving wife when she bared Valentina; watching friends and family rot in graves of hollowed ground. He would wonder even if he was immortal. Every day seemed as if he was older, but none the wiser. With the shaking hands of palsy; confusion with a mix of memory loss, and the all empowered ability to walk forward with his bones, crumbling beneath him he knew that this immortality was nothing what he thought. When he finally saw an opportunity with the Devil, he knew that he would change his life around. That day when he was given mortality, he took it with a grain of salt, never realizing what exactly he agreed to. He himself was not a leading gentleman with the swave looks of an eager 20-something. He had his age; hair white and speckled with grey. He would slouch, cough and sniff hard, knocking back the catching snot and buggers that tickled his nose. The cough of a 70 year smoker would ravage his lungs, heaving and gagging, feeling parts of his lungs break free and be forced into his throat. He tried so hard to be attractive for that woman, yet he knew part of her wanted to run away. Yet, he loved her; ever since he saw her walking down the street with her blonde hair tossed in the passing breeze. As time would tell he would lose her, causing the heartache he felt to re-appear and come full force. He would feel to look at Valentina just so he can manage the loneliness he longed to be rid of. She was his muse, Valentina was. She had the looks of her mother and her father's charisma to keep going. As time would tell he felt obligated to make sure that she would never fall into the arms of Mr. Nick, even though she would rather jump head first.
As the drink became noticed in his vision, he began to hum to himself, remembering the times as he thought were the golden days. Every time the show played he would gather the unfortunate likes of men, women and children to gander into the mirror and imagination of its creator. One by one, they would line up, showing ticket of passage into the unknown world of the doctor's mind. He wondered many a time, whether he would actually see someone change as he would claim their soul in the sake of virtue. Seeing his rival, Mr. Nick falter as the person chose what the doctor perceived rather than the temptations of the Devil himself. Would they ever change for the good or would it be just a round after a night cup of tea? Would his words carry into the minds that chose good rather than evil as they walked back into their reality? The doctor shook his head as he took another swig of rum.
"You know, I wonder if you prefer the bottle rather than helping people," Mr. Nick appeared across the railing of the carriage. The doctor jumped at the immediate speech as Mr. Nick lunged his leg over the rail. He sat down close to the doctor, puffing away on his cigarette that was now almost ash.
"No, I only give the ammunition for them to make the right decision rather than the latter," the doctor replied, looking Mr. Nick up and down.
"Ha! Why do you think people deserve better? Have you actually looked into their minds and see what they were really all about? You can't be that daft to not notice," Mr. Nick chucked taking a hit off of his cigarette. The smoke billowed from his gaping hole as it trailed upwards, into the night sky without a trace.
The doctor knew that Mr. Nick was right. Even though he was a twit at time, he did serve up some points that would need to be looked at twice. Why would someone deserver a chance at virtue? If they never wanted to choose the right passage, would they consider the latter? The doctor thought long at what Mr. Nick was trying to incline. He was right, but we are not always born into the world as evil or doing evil things; even thought the situation at which was present to produce a live is.
"Sometimes, I wonder about you, sir. You sit up here drink until you cannot move and you do the same thing again every night? Do you find yourself, just wanting to quit or find it rather boring?" questioned Mr. Nick.
"I've thought about it," said the doctor, "but it comes down where sometimes you don't care much anymore. I'm living forever; I've lived so—so long that it just seems as if the day doesn't end. That's why I chose not to stop. It makes me feel that at the end of a "day" I deserve a drink; sometimes more than what is needed. I want to have that burning sensation down my throat. Every once in a while the burn is never there. Does that make me want to stop? No. It just a condition that I've came accustomed to. It's a part of me. I live forever, and so does this." He raised the bottle, showing two-thirds of the brown liquid gone.
Mr. Nick shook his head. "And that's why your soul belongs to me. That's where my argument comes from, pal. You've slaved yourself, trying to prove that once someone has committed to sin, that they can change. How are you to know that when you divulge into the sin every night? Your evidence, good sir, is right in front of your face. You are two-faced. You want to see other people; some you don't care if they live or die, you want them to perceive a life of what's right and avoid temptation at all cost. Yet, you sit here, night after night, drinking down that rum like its water; an elixir of life."
Mr. Nick grabbed the bottle and tossed it out of the carriage. The liquid danced inside the bottle before it smashed onto the cobble stone road. Dr. Parnassus looked up from the railing to see the dismal after thought of his only friends, the bottle.
"You need to get this over with. You are here for a long time, chap. I think that with what you teach people you yourself need to listen to your own advice." Mr. Nick climbed down the side of the stage and hopped with a loud thud onto the roadway.
"Why must you sit there and tell me to go good, when all you do is lure me back into the darkness?" the doctor asked with tears in his eyes.
"That's because you live in your own imagination, doctor. I'm apart of it and so is everyone else. And with that in mind, I own your soul. Remember what you did when you walked through the mirror? You saw that opportunity to either go the rough road to sobriety or just give up and have that one last drink. Temptation lured you, for which in the rules that you succumbed to me; and I have your soul. I did give you a chance of not to win your soul, but to see if other people would chose what you chose. I'm not always the bad guy, pal. I just watch people do what they want. Fortunately it means I have their soul and you don't."
Mr. Nick walked away from the carriage and walked down the road with the street lamps lighting his exit along the curvy road.
Doctor Parnassus leaned back and sat on the floor, thinking about what Mr. Nick just said. He just lowered his head and began to cry softly to himself. At long last, the doctor knew that his immortality was nothing more than a curse from the Devil himself.
After his tears subsided, he climbed back down into the tight space of his room and laid in darkness, finally realizing that he was just a scapegoat in the Devil's game. He would try to persuade others to live a life of virtue, than giving in to fantasies that would only subside the thoughts for a brief moment in time. For him, time didn't exist. This was his curse; a serenade of dances with the soul reaper.
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