Ahead By A Century
by Hayley, 2001
summary: It's just Zac pondering....things....life....whatever. If you've ever read HanFic, you've seen this sort of thing before. Except mine's much better than all the others. Kidding. all lyrics from The Tragically Hip's "Ahead by a Century."
disclaimer: Not true.
rating: PG, for a little bit of language, and a little bit of darkness.
First we'd climb a tree
and maybe then we'd talk
or sit silently
and listen to our thoughts
with illusions of someday
casting a golden light
no dress rehearsal,
this is our life
We don't have the treehouse anymore. I wonder if it's still there. Or if the new occupants tore it down. The treehouse was a living thing to me. Whenever we were up there talking, it quietly listened. Sometimes it felt like the treehouse was breathing. Our words made it alive. We talked about everything up there. We never talked about important things in the house. It didn't seem secure, like the house was bugged by the FBI or something. Our words had life. Hope and fear and excitement, you could hear it in our words. And the treehouse breathed it all in. Maybe that's why things aren't the same anymore. By absorbing the hope and joy in our voices, the treehouse stole it from us. Or maybe we just got what we wanted.
Stare in the morning shroud
and then the day began
I tilted your cloud,
you tilted your hand
There's something about hotel curtains. They block out all light. Like a pillow put over the face of the sun, smothering it to death. I used to wake up with beams of sunlight falling in weird shapes around the room because of the tree outside our window. Now I wake up to darkness. I've become accustomed to it, though. So accustomed that I put heavy curtains on my window at home. To smother the sunlight. Because even if I woke up to the sunlight, I'd still be waking up to darkness.
Rain falls in real time
and rain fell through the night
no dress rehearsal, this is our life
*squeak*.......*squeak*.......*squeak*
The windshield wiper only squeaks when it moves to the left. Every time. That's somehow comforting. Constant, predictable, unfailing, something you can count on. There aren't many constants in our life now. It's nice to have one, however insignificant it may be.
Everything is so shiny when it rains. The road, the cars, even the lights. I've always wanted to dance in the rain. Not get caught in it accidentally, but to actually run out there purposely, to jump in puddles, catch raindrops on my tongue, and open my arms to embrace it, just let it in. It's something I've never done. I know everyone sees me as the exact type of person to do that all the time. Comes with the territory of being wacky. Zany Zac. People think I should've been born dancing in the rain. It's something I'd like to do.
But now I have to go. I don't have time to dance in the rain. Now I have to go sit behind my drums and be wacky. While drumming. This is my life. It's what we've always wanted.
And I had a feverish dream
with revenge and doubt
tonight, we smoke them out
I think I'm gonna put a hole in these fucking drums, I'm pounding them so hard. They all just think that I must be in a good mood. Rocking out up here. But I'm not. I'm hitting these drums like I want to fucking kill them. And I'm picturing their faces, their squealing, crying, adoring faces, while I'm doing it. And it makes me pound harder. And not because I want to hurt them. Because I want to give them what they want. Wait, do I want to give them what they want, or do I have to? Doesn't matter now. It's what we wanted. I have to live up to it. I have to live up to me.
But this is our life
and disappointing you's gettin'
me down