Home / Fan Fiction / Fight Club / Snippets of a Life in Fracture
DISCLAIMER: The following story is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of the original copyright holders, whoever the @#$% the copyright holders of Fight Club actually are. I make no claims on said copyrights. This is all in fun, try not to panic.
Snippets of a Life in Fracture
by: The Brat Queen
Rating: PG for mild language
Summary: A narrative interpretation of the boyz history.
Warnings: Alludes to the FC spoiler.
Notes: This isn't a story as such. Instead it's more like a collection of flashbacks based on a few of my own theories about what it was like for our boyz growing up. A bit different from the norm but I hope you like it anyway. As always, feedback is appreciated.
Dedicated to: The Fight Club listmum, without whom I wouldn't have this addiction ;)
“Shows great talent in observation.”
-- Note found on the report card of Tyler Jack Durden, 5th grade.
People were talking.
Jack knew this, or rather became aware of it, because there was motion around him and he could see others moving their lips. There was no sound, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder how people ever knew what was said if you couldn’t hear what they were saying.
A scrape of a chair against the floor cut through all of this and Jack blinked, realizing that he’d been in a classroom, and that class was over, and people were leaving.
Gathering up his books into a manageable pile, he stood up and filed out of the room with them.
He wondered how he knew where he was going.
He wondered how any of them did it.
But in the end he figured high school was like that for everybody.
For a long time in his life Tyler felt no love for establishment.
Establishment, by his reckoning, was whatever organization it was that put him in any position that he didn’t want to be in.
Which, for Tyler, was most positions.
The problem with establishment, he felt, was that it decided things for you without even asking what your opinion was. He could have maybe towed the line a little bit if he could have given a little input, tried to make some changes, tried to take charge of things here or there. But no. He was just placed where ever and forced to do whatever and there was nothing much he could do about it.
He’d first discovered this in the hospital.
He wasn’t sure why he was there or what he was supposed to be doing but whatever it was obviously didn’t matter. Adults – doctors, teachers and all other members of the institution – didn’t seem to care about what he needed. Instead they just fussed over him and put medicine into him and talked over him as though he couldn’t understand a word.
Which he couldn’t, but that was beside the point.
Plus, they took his stuff. He’d get something for himself one day and find it taken away the next. Or he’d be signed up for one treatment and instead get something that was meant for some other kid.
That one was always the worst. The cuffs they put on his wrists always burned when he struggled against them and the obscenities he would scream at them never made any difference. They just ignored him and proceeded as usual.
Tyler had to wonder if they did this to everybody. The problem with that was that he was never really sure. Just like with his things, the information he’d get about it would just vanish after a little time had passed.
One day, finally, he got fed up with it. He kicked and screamed and swore and demanded that they show him the kid all this was meant for.
That was how Tyler met Jack.
In college, Jack once saw a guy that for some reason he couldn’t forget.
It was quick. Just a flash. Something which happened so fast he wasn’t really sure about the events leading up to it.
But the image itself was unmistakable. A guy – a handsome guy – locking lips with a frat boy that had only just gotten Jack’s attention.
It seemed like only a second, but even so Jack remembered it.
Bitterness was something that Tyler got used to. Life, he figured, was bitter. Evidence of either God’s sense of humor or his lack of interest in the day to day goings on of his supposedly divine creations.
By his way of thinking, God just wasn’t paying attention.
How else could you explain this kind of a mix-up? After all, when you came right down to it it was no more than a simple accounting error. People: 2, Bodies: 1.
In a way it was kind of funny, except Tyler wasn’t laughing.
He didn’t find being trapped in a role to be terribly funny. For an hour maybe, for a day if he had to push it, but for years and years and years…
That was too damn much.
What, he wondered, was the fucking point? What was the point of nothing? Because, after all, that’s what he was when you came right down to it. Nothing. Less than nothing. A knockoff of nothing. Nothing seen nothing heard nothing done. Locked, for some inexplicable reason, together with some God-damned lump who did, of course, nothing.
And for some reason it was his responsibility.
He didn’t want it, didn’t ask for it, didn’t need it. But even so there it was: all of the kid’s memories, feelings and states of being. Bundled up in a nice little package that he was supposed to keep an eye on.
The kid, for his part, didn’t get anything.
Except for those little details like the body and the ability to move out and about in society.
Not that those were important.
It took years of doing, but after a while Tyler managed to tip the scales.
Sitting around the water cooler at work, Jack wondered if his co-workers understood the kind of drivel that came out of their mouths, or if they just made stuff up on the fly like he did.
Hatred was another emotion Tyler had a handle on. It went hand in hand with bitterness when you got right down to it and it tended to make decisions in life very easy. In fact, not giving a damn about anything made a lot of things very easy.
Except himself, of course. Not that he thought much of himself being, as he’d realized before, utterly nothing, but even so he watched out for himself and cultivated an interest in things. He learned, he studied, he sent the kid to all sorts of places in the name of furthering his own education. Internally he set up the landscapes of their minds, making sure that the kid could do his thing but never once interfere with Tyler doing his.
Tyler got jobs. Tyler traveled. Tyler studied art. Tyler got a house.
Then, finally, he could feel a certain sense of satisfaction. Nothing mattered, of course, but at least now he had a nothing that was his. The kid he didn’t give a rat’s fucking damn about, but at least his own corner of the world was settled.
Then came the day when Jack’s doctor told him to try listening to the people in cancer support groups.
Tyler would have been pissed if he wasn’t so impressed.
There it was, in spite of all efforts and evidence: the kid could fight back. After years of Tyler shoving him down and aside Jack still had enough in him to grab on to an emotion and suck the living shit out of it.
Grab on to it hard enough to sleep. Legitimately. Without Tyler coming to the forefront.
In any other circumstances he definitely would have been pissed.
This bore a closer look.