Home / Fan Fiction / Fight Club / Merry Fight Club Christmas
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.
Merry Fight Club Christmas
by: The Brat Queen
Rated: PG for language
Warning: This story contains The Fight Club Spoiler. Do not read if you don't want the surprise ruined for you.
Notes: This is dedicated to my cyber-wife, Cindy, who once asked if there could ever be such a thing as a fluffy Fight Club slash story. Plus she should understand all the jokes about reindeer.
We're in the middle of, of all things, a petting zoo and I can't help but wonder if maybe the kid isn't getting out just a little too much these days.
I mean, hey, nothing against the whole communing-with-animals-and-Mother-Earth kinda thing but all things considered with a week to go until Y2K I'm thinking maybe Project Mayhem has better things to do with its time than have an up-close and personal chat with pygmy goats whose smell, now that I mention it, reminds me that I need to stir the current contents of our bathtub.
But the kid wants to play with the bunnies so here we are.
I light a cigarette. A random child runs past my shin and nearly stubs it with her foot.
Throughout all of this, the kid is irritatingly quiet.
I backup and do a mental check.
Oh yeah, he's not aware I'm here. I hate it when I forget this little technical shit.
Taking a look at the kid, though, maybe it's for the best. Even for him he's not acting like himself and coming from me that's saying a Hell of a lot.
So I hang back and keep my eye on things.
Why we're here is pretty much obvious. It's the only bit of nostalgia the kid gets in his life, although he's going about it in the wrong way. Checking the mental collective database tells me that he left the house with the best of intentions of recreating the Spirit of Christmas Past but now he's walking about with no real purpose or aim and even he's wondering why he's here.
Can't say that I blame him, though. It's hard to be nostalgic about memories you don't have. Not anymore, anyway.
I take a puff off of my cigarette and blow the smoke towards the passing tourists.
We've been here before, you see. A long, long time ago in a sanity far away. The kid here really was just a kid and this was something like a family outing which, considering that I wasn't really there, is pretty much all I can say about it. But the kid remembers something about it so here he is in a vain attempt to try to find a Christmas normal.
That he even realizes it's Christmas amazes me to no end. But it shows me how strong he's getting in all this which means I've gotta start watching myself but as always I ignore warning signs like this for the far more interesting resulting chaos.
The place we're in, for what it's worth, is one of those historical recreation things where they get poor schmucks to dress up in pilgrim suits and freezing-cold Indian loincloths so they can tell us all about How It Used to Be. Tourists line up, ask a million fucking questions about Pocahontas and go home that much happier that people smarter than they are invented the flushing toilet and other aspects of indoor plumbing.
The petting zoo is, of course, a modern addition which goes right along with the authentic Pilgrim T-shirts and lunchboxes and gives the crowd the feeling that they were able to touch the past without getting their hands too dirty.
The kid continues to wander around, although now he's doing it with a more purposeful stride as though acting like he's going somewhere will actually get him somewhere useful.
I finally decide to make an appearance.
Hey - not even schizophrenics should spend the holidays by themselves.
I mumble something of a greeting around my cigarette and he looks up at me. There's a bit of surprise, but gratitude as well.
"Hey, Tyler," he says.
"Yo," I reply. I take the cigarette out of my mouth and gesture to the pen in front of me which contains some reindeer and one very confused chicken. "So what gives? What are we hoping to accomplish here, my friend?"
The kid shrugs, doing that passive-aggressive thing that got him so many promotions at work. "I don't know. Just seemed something to do."
"And are we going to go home after this and hang mistletoe and sing Christmas carols by the fire?"
"I don't know," he says, "but I'm sure Project Mayhem could do wonders with the double-meanings of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
Got to hand it to him, the kid can really do well with that clever streak of his. "So what were you expecting, a Christmas tree?"
"I don't know," he said, with a tone of irritation in his voice that's not often there. "But something."
"Holiday feelings are a farce," I said. "All part of symbolism thought up by people other than ourselves. Spiritual enlightenment does not exist in a Hallmark box nor does it come by a fat man bearing toys."
"Where does it come from, then?"
"Deep understanding of the self," I said, tossing my cigarette onto the ground and lighting another. "And that doesn't come by spending time with some reindeer that are only going to be killed off one by one the next time this place needs another sample for their Authentic Indian Cooking and Toolmaking Demonstration."
Over the kid's shoulder a mother glares at me, having apparently heard this last comment.
I shrug at her. "Hey, Santa only needs eight. The rest are extra."
She stares daggers at me again and drags her kid off, making sure to keep the kid's ears covered in case I say something else blasphemous.
"Tyler - " the kid starts again.
"No," I say. I put a hand in front of his face to keep him quiet. "We are not going to waste our time here trying to be simple and stupid like the rest of these sheep who don't even realize that most of the religions they hate gave them their precious little Christmas symbols in the first place. If you want to spend December 25 thinking about peace and love do so in your own fucking terms or not at all."
"And what are you going to do?"
I shrugged. "I've got my plans."
I can tell he's just about to ask me, but then he remembers the First Rule of Project Mayhem and keeps quiet about it. We sit there in silence for a bit before I realize what's bugging the kid. Which on the one hand I find flattering but on the other hand I find really fucking funny. And not a little pathetic.
I mean, if you can't trust your alternative personality for an invitation to spend the holidays together, who can you trust?
So there the kid is feeling miserable and there I am feeling a true attack of hysterics coming on thanks to the utter irony of the situation and I finally decide that we've both wasted enough time on this particular farce and I end it all by giving him a kiss.
"There," I say, patting him on both cheeks when I'm done. "There's your Christmas meaning. Now let's go home before the bathroom's not there anymore, ok?"
He nods, stupidly, and follows me.
Which, for me, makes a merry fucking Christmas. Don't know about you but that's how it goes.