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Introspection (1 of 1)
MRiley99@AOL.COMSat, 30 Jun 2001 16:07:50 EDT
This story was originally published in Highland Blades 5. Okay to archive. Richie ponders his immortality. ~~Introspection~~ by Melanie Joan Riley Mriley99@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I don't think I'll ever get used to this. My ears are still ringing. This is getting old. . .fast. Being immortal *should* be a simple thing. You live forever. . . period. No, that was too easy. Someone's cosmic plan, or cosmic joke, was that immortality equaled fighting for your very existence. If you weren't prepared to fight to the death, then you gave up your immortality. . .along with your head. I'd laugh if my own head wasn't currently beating out a fox-trot - thanks to some hulking Neanderthal who came out of nowhere and issued a challenge. And, of course, he was an *immortal* Neanderthal. You'd think Seacouver was Immortal Central the way they seem to come out of the woodwork here. Maybe I should move to someplace quiet. . . . . .New York City would be good. Back to the Neanderthal -- he may not have had much going for him in the looks department, but he was pretty good with a sword. I guess it was lucky for me that we were interrupted and he took off. If he hadn't, if the fight had gone on much longer. . . Well, no point in going there. Everything turned out okay. Why dwell on it? I'll leave the angst bit to those who seem to thrive on it. Mac comes to mind. Okay, so maybe he doesn't thrive on it, but you have to admit he has the brooding bit down pretty good. Funny, it never works for me. I always look like I'm pouting. I've heard it before; it's the baby face. I'm stuck with that. It's my boon and my burden - always underestimated by my opponent, always carded in bars. Oh, man, you can only hear the clash of swords for so long before you get slap-happy. I think I passed that point about ten minutes into the fight. The headache's doing a rumba now. More my style, anyway. There's something primal about swinging your hips and swaying to the beat. . . Yeah, yeah, yeah, so I drifted off subject. Hey, it happens. Where was I? Right, the baby face. Joe says I should look on the bright side; I could have died a double-amputee. Okay, I know what he's saying: work with the hand you're dealt. He's right, and I'm not complaining. I've got youth and I had a knowledge of The Game going in. I've also got a teacher who's not afraid to bounce me off the floor if I don't pay attention during training sessions. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Pretty impressive title, and he's good. He's really good. He's had to be to live four hundred years. He could lighten up a little, though. Not as light as Amanda. It's a wonder *she* doesn't float away. I wonder if she takes anything seriously. Now, Tessa - she had the right idea. 'Never worry about tomorrow. Do what you can and let the rest take care of itself.' She didn't always practice what she preached, but she tried. You gotta admire that. Now, me. I'm not as uptight as Mac, not as carefree as Amanda. I'm. . .well. . .somewhere in the middle. Tessa always told me I had a lot of good qualities. She also told me prudence wasn't one of them. Prudence. Meaning, look before you leap. She didn't laugh when I asked her what it meant. Tessa knew an education was never high on my list of priorities. Getting enough to eat, shelter for the night, those were my priorities when I was on the street. Before that, in the foster-care system, I guess I just wanted to be acknowledged. Like, here I am, Richie Ryan. I'm not just a check, or another mouth to feed, or someone to give your kid's hand-me-downs to. I'm a real flesh-and-blood person with feelings, and dreams, just like everybody else. Imagine that. A nobody, from nowhere, going nowhere, with feelings. What a concept. At least that's what I used to think. That was before I met Mac and Tessa. *She* showed me with words and gestures that I was *somebody*. Mac took the more direct approach: he pounded it into my head. Well, if I'm gonna be fair, I have to admit that he had reason sometimes. I can be pretty hard-headed. I used to blame that on my Irish ancestry. 'Course that was before I found out that Emily Ryan wasn't really my mother. Maybe it's just a trait of all Immortals. Works for me. Wait until I run that one past MacLeod. He'll probably pop a vein trying to convince me that I'm wrong. Sometimes playing devil's advocate is just too much fun. I still don't understand what God had in mind when he made me an Immortal. Another cosmic joke, maybe, and the joke's on me. I mean, growing up without parents - okay that one I learned to deal with a long time ago. Never having a kid of my own - that one's gonna take some time. It's not like I ever *planned* on having kids, but I knew it was always out there - always a possibility. I see people with kids now, and I wonder what mine would have looked like. . . . . .if I could've had one. But I can't. Headache's almost gone now. That's one perk of being immortal - pain doesn't last long. Correction; physical pain doesn't last long. Geez, I sound more like Mac every day. Lighten up, Ryan, you're getting to be depressing in your old age. Old age - yeah, right. I'm twenty. The big 2--0. Doesn't sound like much compared to the other Immortals I've met, but then it doesn't sound like much compared to most mortals, either. Okay, so I'm young by anyone's standards, except my own. Young or not, Mac seems to want me to understand everything *right now*. Joe says to give it time; it'll all fall into place if I'm patient. Patience; that's another trait Tessa never accused me of having in large amounts. I understand the differences between Mac and Joe, though. Mac's worried about me losing my head. Joe's worried about me losing my way. They're both right, in a way. I have a lot to learn and I may not have the time to learn it. . .or I may have all the time in the world. I feel another headache coming on. So what's so great about being an Immortal? Well, for starters I heal fast--which is a good thing, since I get cut up a lot more than I used to. Then there's the dying bit. I can't die unless someone cuts off my head. I still think that's pretty gross, but I'm getting used to it. Getting used to it. . .that's kind of sad when you think about it. . .so I try not to. Third, and this is the big one: if I live long enough--outlive Joe and Amanda and Sir Lancelot. . .and Mac. If I live that long, then maybe I'll win The Prize. Capital T, capital P. Must be a pretty big deal. Funny, nobody knows what it is. If you ask me, it's got a pretty high price tag. So, basically, that's Richie Ryan in a nutshell. A worthwhile guy - at least my friends think so - who heals fast and can't be killed unless you chop off his head, and who'll win some prize if he lives longer than all the people who mean anything to him. You know. . . . . .sometimes I wonder. . . . . .who wants to live forever? ~~~~~~~~~~~~ finis Introspection by Melanie Joan Riley Mriley99@aol.com