Post by Soldier 76 on Aug 25, 2016 2:10:59 GMT
The couch was the comfiest spot in the whole house, Ansell had decided long ago that if he were going to be laying or sitting it was gong to be there. The tv would be on and he'd watch infomercials, why infomercials? They were fascinating, their whole purpose was to sell a product that could very well do nothing advertised, and yet they were over an hour long, some went for 3. He'd found a routine of lying around watching the home shopping network while George went to get tests, or work, or whatever else he needed to do. The years had gone by so fast.
Routine was nice, modern amenities were nice, and George's sweater in the winter was nice. He had reclaimed some of his lost youth, his 40s spent enjoying 20 something life style, his 50s spent domestically. It was all very nice, and comfortable. Something had been bothering George recently though. He shifted as he heard the door open up, a cold gust of air following the burly fellow as he shuffled in stamping his feet. They lived in the north country now, George called it God's Country. God's Counter certainly was frigid when winter rolled around. Snow measured in feet, Ansell had never seen snow like that till they'd moved here.
The man smiled. "George, you're home, coffee in the pot," he called his fingers moving in time with his speaking. Years of therapy had gotten him to a point where he could live generally pretty normally, and speak as well as anyone else. He also had the added benefit of enjoying conversations with their deaf neighbor. She was a sweet woman, baked him cookies and they'd sit in the backyard when it was summer. "You look disappointed?" George's face didn't change much, but the subtle variations were there, enough that Ansell was accustomed to them.
"Just another failed idea, they can't fix it yet, or remove them..." he replied as he poured some hot coffee into a cup, walking over to settle next to Ansell. "You're looking awful happy, what new product are they selling, eh?" George's accent had only gotten more native since they'd moved here. Ansell thought it was cute.
"Some kind of food processor, this one minces and dices and clean ups a breeze," he mused as he fiddled with one of his still dreaded locks. He'd decided to keep the look, seemed to work for him. "Almost thought about buying one." He always thought about it but had never been stupid enough to do so.
"I see..." George replied looking at Ansell, new wrinkles on his face, more age. Whenever George looked at himself he was just the same. "You look good today, I see you decided my sweater's yours now, eh? I don't know about that." He chuckled a bit dryly.
"Hm, you don't look a day over 50," mused Ansell in a joking manner, though George didn't laugh, which confused him. "What you don't like compliments?"
"No that's not it...it's just, true. I don't look a day over fifty, inside I'm not a day over 35," he replied with a frown crinkling his face. "Ansell...I don't know if there's a good way to say this." He held Ansell close to him. "I'm not getting any older. Not Physically." He swallowed.
George hadn't ever said much about his unique predicament, Ansell figured it was just embarrassing. This threw a wrench into that. "What do you mean?" he asked, a bit of discomfort settling in his stomach.
"...You're about as old as I was when we met, you've aged, I...I haven't. I won't. I'm stuck because of whats been done to me," he murmured. 'They're broken, they don't stop repairing, supposed to just resist poisons and disease but..." But instead they continuously fixed and regenerated cells. Over and over, not even cancer could challenge the little bastards. George had tried that, he used to smoke constantly, he couldn't even get addicted to Nicotine. "They were broken from the start, now they won't let me..." Die.
Ansell stared at him for awhile. "What does that mean?" he asked softly, looking up at him. Means I get to watch you wither away and die George would think to himself. He held Ansell still tight to himself. "George what does that mean? You're not saying anything."
"I don't know yet, they might fail on their own," he said vaguely, without any kind of conviction. "Maybe it's not even something to worry about." His face didn't say that, his face looked distinctly forlorn.
"You don't believe that so...so what does it mean that they're broken?"
"You keep getting older, I stay the same, you can figure out the rest." He didn't want to say it. His gut churned. He looked at his cybernetic arm and his leg. Was there anything those quacks hadn't taken from him? Took his arm, took his wife, his kids, and now even his mortality. Why him? Why'd they have to fuck up like that?
Ansell seemed to have realization dawn on him. He stared, mouth agape. "...but...I thought you were fixing it?" he asked softly.
"Trying, there's no easy way to do this, this project failed. I'm just another failed experiment; the research was classified or destroyed, so there's not a lot to go on," he murmured. "Yet, Heph is silent, he's never been quiet like this. I wonder what he's been waiting for." Maybe he was just letting George have a life for a while, till it was all gone. "This isn't what I wanted for my life."
Ansell sniffed, trying to sort through all this face buried in George's shoulder. "They'll figure it out though," he said without much conviction. "They have to figure it out. I don't want to leave you alone." He clung to the older man sniffling still trying not to cry.
"...yeah, they'll...they'll figure something out," he agreed. "Course they will." They better, thinking about burying Ansell and then going on living, it ate at him. "Hey, don't worry about it alright? I'm sorry I brought it up, it'll be fine, eh?" He tried to sound positive, but felt it wasn't working.
"It'll be okay..." Ansell agreed.
Routine was nice, modern amenities were nice, and George's sweater in the winter was nice. He had reclaimed some of his lost youth, his 40s spent enjoying 20 something life style, his 50s spent domestically. It was all very nice, and comfortable. Something had been bothering George recently though. He shifted as he heard the door open up, a cold gust of air following the burly fellow as he shuffled in stamping his feet. They lived in the north country now, George called it God's Country. God's Counter certainly was frigid when winter rolled around. Snow measured in feet, Ansell had never seen snow like that till they'd moved here.
The man smiled. "George, you're home, coffee in the pot," he called his fingers moving in time with his speaking. Years of therapy had gotten him to a point where he could live generally pretty normally, and speak as well as anyone else. He also had the added benefit of enjoying conversations with their deaf neighbor. She was a sweet woman, baked him cookies and they'd sit in the backyard when it was summer. "You look disappointed?" George's face didn't change much, but the subtle variations were there, enough that Ansell was accustomed to them.
"Just another failed idea, they can't fix it yet, or remove them..." he replied as he poured some hot coffee into a cup, walking over to settle next to Ansell. "You're looking awful happy, what new product are they selling, eh?" George's accent had only gotten more native since they'd moved here. Ansell thought it was cute.
"Some kind of food processor, this one minces and dices and clean ups a breeze," he mused as he fiddled with one of his still dreaded locks. He'd decided to keep the look, seemed to work for him. "Almost thought about buying one." He always thought about it but had never been stupid enough to do so.
"I see..." George replied looking at Ansell, new wrinkles on his face, more age. Whenever George looked at himself he was just the same. "You look good today, I see you decided my sweater's yours now, eh? I don't know about that." He chuckled a bit dryly.
"Hm, you don't look a day over 50," mused Ansell in a joking manner, though George didn't laugh, which confused him. "What you don't like compliments?"
"No that's not it...it's just, true. I don't look a day over fifty, inside I'm not a day over 35," he replied with a frown crinkling his face. "Ansell...I don't know if there's a good way to say this." He held Ansell close to him. "I'm not getting any older. Not Physically." He swallowed.
George hadn't ever said much about his unique predicament, Ansell figured it was just embarrassing. This threw a wrench into that. "What do you mean?" he asked, a bit of discomfort settling in his stomach.
"...You're about as old as I was when we met, you've aged, I...I haven't. I won't. I'm stuck because of whats been done to me," he murmured. 'They're broken, they don't stop repairing, supposed to just resist poisons and disease but..." But instead they continuously fixed and regenerated cells. Over and over, not even cancer could challenge the little bastards. George had tried that, he used to smoke constantly, he couldn't even get addicted to Nicotine. "They were broken from the start, now they won't let me..." Die.
Ansell stared at him for awhile. "What does that mean?" he asked softly, looking up at him. Means I get to watch you wither away and die George would think to himself. He held Ansell still tight to himself. "George what does that mean? You're not saying anything."
"I don't know yet, they might fail on their own," he said vaguely, without any kind of conviction. "Maybe it's not even something to worry about." His face didn't say that, his face looked distinctly forlorn.
"You don't believe that so...so what does it mean that they're broken?"
"You keep getting older, I stay the same, you can figure out the rest." He didn't want to say it. His gut churned. He looked at his cybernetic arm and his leg. Was there anything those quacks hadn't taken from him? Took his arm, took his wife, his kids, and now even his mortality. Why him? Why'd they have to fuck up like that?
Ansell seemed to have realization dawn on him. He stared, mouth agape. "...but...I thought you were fixing it?" he asked softly.
"Trying, there's no easy way to do this, this project failed. I'm just another failed experiment; the research was classified or destroyed, so there's not a lot to go on," he murmured. "Yet, Heph is silent, he's never been quiet like this. I wonder what he's been waiting for." Maybe he was just letting George have a life for a while, till it was all gone. "This isn't what I wanted for my life."
Ansell sniffed, trying to sort through all this face buried in George's shoulder. "They'll figure it out though," he said without much conviction. "They have to figure it out. I don't want to leave you alone." He clung to the older man sniffling still trying not to cry.
"...yeah, they'll...they'll figure something out," he agreed. "Course they will." They better, thinking about burying Ansell and then going on living, it ate at him. "Hey, don't worry about it alright? I'm sorry I brought it up, it'll be fine, eh?" He tried to sound positive, but felt it wasn't working.
"It'll be okay..." Ansell agreed.
