http://best-served-hot.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
best-served-hot.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
shifted_prompts2010-08-06 05:13 pm
best-served-hot.livejournal.com) wrote in shifted_prompts2010-08-06 05:13 pm
~Pretending Doesn't Make You a Real Boy
Title: Mechanical Boy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
passionstorm
Character/Fandom: Doctor Who
Prompt: mechanical piano
Word Count: 323
Summary: There has always been a beat to follow but has it always been there or are you still trying to dance to a tune you used to know?
Author Notes/Warnings: Just in case, vague warning for spoilers for the End of Time parts one and two. Other than that, none save this has been sitting on my computer for a while now. *hides*
Black on ivory. Melding. Bleeding through. It used to be contained but it isn't anymore. It cracks and peels and splits but never stops. Color contrast is stark and unforgiving.
You've always had your own tune. You think you say that enough, it's implied by right and title.
It doesn't make it true.
Color bleeds into the programming, so subverted that you can't see how it is eaten through. It bleeds through so well that you think it must have always been there. You tell them all and help them to hear it.
It still torments only you.
You've always had your own tune. You've been dancing to it for centuries now. It's implied that you should know which step comes next.
It doesn't mean you won't miss it and you do.
You're a mechanical boy playing on a mechanical piano to a tune someone else as set you to learn. You stumble over a semblance of the original tune and think it your own. Rebuild. Rebirth. It's good.
Is it?
The keys mangle and sound harsh when your fingers slip away so you subconsciously move back to what you know. Where you were always meant to be but just don't know it quite yet. It lurks like a question and an answer wrapped in lies and truth like life and death. It is in the shadows and the light and the corners of your eyes but you think if you look and see the truth you'll never look away.
It won't be your own tune. It will all have been a lie or will it? You'll hate the composers, the musicians and yourself, the instrument. You'll be left to wonder, after it's over, how much of yourself was ever really yours.
Since you weren't the tune but the instrument being played upon.
Author:
passionstormCharacter/Fandom: Doctor Who
Prompt: mechanical piano
Word Count: 323
Summary: There has always been a beat to follow but has it always been there or are you still trying to dance to a tune you used to know?
Author Notes/Warnings: Just in case, vague warning for spoilers for the End of Time parts one and two. Other than that, none save this has been sitting on my computer for a while now. *hides*
Black on ivory. Melding. Bleeding through. It used to be contained but it isn't anymore. It cracks and peels and splits but never stops. Color contrast is stark and unforgiving.
You've always had your own tune. You think you say that enough, it's implied by right and title.
It doesn't make it true.
Color bleeds into the programming, so subverted that you can't see how it is eaten through. It bleeds through so well that you think it must have always been there. You tell them all and help them to hear it.
It still torments only you.
You've always had your own tune. You've been dancing to it for centuries now. It's implied that you should know which step comes next.
It doesn't mean you won't miss it and you do.
You're a mechanical boy playing on a mechanical piano to a tune someone else as set you to learn. You stumble over a semblance of the original tune and think it your own. Rebuild. Rebirth. It's good.
Is it?
The keys mangle and sound harsh when your fingers slip away so you subconsciously move back to what you know. Where you were always meant to be but just don't know it quite yet. It lurks like a question and an answer wrapped in lies and truth like life and death. It is in the shadows and the light and the corners of your eyes but you think if you look and see the truth you'll never look away.
It won't be your own tune. It will all have been a lie or will it? You'll hate the composers, the musicians and yourself, the instrument. You'll be left to wonder, after it's over, how much of yourself was ever really yours.
Since you weren't the tune but the instrument being played upon.