We'll Fly Home

Pick me up or I will fall into next week.

Sean slammed the front door of his flat closed. The plastic wobbled ever so slightly, and it was only afterwards that he considered the thin pane of glass that was wedged in the middle. His accommodation may only be temporary, but he didn't think anyone'd be too pleased if he handed them the keys back with the door hanging off its hinges and the glass in it shattered into a million tiny fragments. Hindsight. It's a great thing, but it was very rare that Sean actually thought about things before they happened. He just did them and dealt with the consequences later.

He was going to have to do some real thinking, though. He knew what was expected of him when he signed up for this. He knew Ian was going to die eventually, but it still didn't make it any easier. He could have his whole life ahead of him; he could do anything, and as cliche as it sounds, the world was his oyster. He could grow up to be whatever he wanted, absolutely anything. He could get married, he could have kids, he could have a family. He could have a life.

Sean walked into his makeshift home, into the kitchen, and put the kettle on, before slumping down at the table with his head in his hands. What had he gotten himself into? He couldn't save Ian's life, he knew that. He could give him more time, but even that was starting to look almost hopeless. He'd prevented the kid's death once, sure, but that could have easily been a fluke. And of course, whatever it was - fate? - wasn't going to give up. Not until he was caught in the crushing grip of death. How was he supposed to prevent that?

He sighed, heaving himself up as the kettle let out a high pitched whistle. He poured the steaming water into a mug, the coffee granules at the bottom turning the liquid a deep, rich brown colour. He added three heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar, and stirred it for a few seconds, before dropping the spoon in the sink and taking a long sip of the bitter drink. He didn't eat or drink very often, but it was nice when he did. He never felt great hunger or thirst either, but he liked coffee. He knew that much. It was something he'd always liked, no matter who he was meant to be. It was a small comfort.

He wondered why he'd volunteered to do this at all. He didn't like the thought of it, knowing that every person he came in contact with was doomed. They lived their whole lives, not knowing what would become of them, whether they'd live to see another day, or wake up the next morning. It crushed him every single time he was assigned to someone new. He knew their numbers; the dates they would die. Well, most of them anyway. And every single person had met their fate on that day, the timing precise, down to the exact hour, the minute, even the second. And the worst part? He couldn't do anything about it. He didn't know what was expected of him, did he have "Sean Smith: saviour" written on the back of his head? Because if there's one thing he sure as hell wasn't, it was a saviour.

He thought of Ian and his mother. They were probably sat at the kitchen table, mugs of tea in hand, a open packet of biscuits lying beside them, ready to be dunked. Or perhaps they were sat in the living room, snuggled up under a blanket, watching a cheesy family movie together, and just having a laugh. It would break his poor mother's heart to know that those could be her final weeks with her son or even, in the worst case scenario, days.

Sean let out a deep sigh of frustration, letting his head fall onto the wooden table with a soft thump, his mop of grape coloured hair spread all over the surface. Why did they have to make things so difficult for him? Everything was a challenge of almost impossible proportions. He never asked for things to turn out like this. He never asked to die.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm not sure if I've actually done anything to clear things up about Sean or if I've just added to the confusion...

Sorry for not updating this in ages. I've just felt.. well, pretty terrible. I'm not sure when I'm going to update anything else. Bear with me, guys.

Title's from Stand Up (again)