Work Text:
Imagine the moon.
(Phosphophyllite certainly does.)
Construct it in your mind. Start with the compounds. Then, give it shape. Crust, mantle and core. A differentiated body. A few impact craters there and there. Are you done? Of course not. Get creative. There is no wrong answer.
An advanced civilization filled with white ghosts? A landscape glittering with the dust of your abducted siblings? Have fun with it.
(Here, on their final trip to earth, there aren’t many ways of passing the time. Phosphophyllite makes their own fun.)
Imagine the moon. Imagine a friend trapped there. Your dearest friend.
What wouldn’t you do to save them? To save yourself? Be honest. What wouldn’t you do.
You see, it’s about power, about right, about need, about want.
Haven’t you ever wanted something?
Wasn’t it painful when you didn’t get it?
Don’t pretend you’re any different. Call Phosphophyllite a Lunarian if you like, or something else entirely. They don’t care anymore. Remember, always remember, dear Rutile and Bortz and Euclase and Cinnabar, that breaking the thing you fear into pieces and hiding its remains in the dark doesn’t mean you aren’t a monster yourself.
But that’s not why you break the thing you fear. You do it because you want it gone and you want to laugh and forget and move on.
The gems never liked Phosphophyllite. They never liked them, not when Phosphophyllite tried to be liked and not when they stopped trying and not when they left for the moon. The gems’ views of Phosphophyllite never changed and that’s the truth, that’s the truth. They’ve always despised Phosphophyllite, always, and if Phosphophyllite is about to earn that hatred now, aren’t they just doing everyone a favor? The gems held them in contempt, they always did, and now Phosphophyllite will deserve it, you see, and who knows how long they've been hiding this twisted version of themselves? Or is it a version, is that too generous? Is this their true core, soul and mind, structure and matter? Is who they are now who they’ve always been with the powder of gem civility washed off? They don’t know, they can’t say. Maybe. Yes. It certainly feels true, doesn’t it. The gems wouldn’t have hated them all these years if they hadn’t sensed something.
Really, truly, how noble the gems are. How perceptive and thoughtful and noble they are. To have known Phosphophyllite for who they were before Phosphophyllite even knew it themselves.
Imagine a hand.
Imagine the texture of the glove touching your broken self.
Imagine their fingernails underneath, sometimes blue, sometimes gray. Imagine their knees falling on the floor while swords pierce you from everywhere. Imagine their knitted brows. Their mismatched eyes. You know who. You don’t have to imagine them. Imagine their mouth shaping your name like an apology. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
Imagine showing them just how fucking sorry they are.
Think of an analogy.
Here, they’ll start one off.
The sun is to the moon as Antarcticite is to Phosphophyllite.
Easy, you see? It works because the sun gave purpose to the moon without even realizing it, gave off a light which the moon stole for its own to keep the dark away. The horrible dark that pressed closer and closer until Phosphophyllite became a sliver of themselves, until it became harder and harder to see, until the beautiful light faded away because of them. Simple.
Now.
Here's a riddle.
Consider the sky and the sea:
What stands between them?
The horizon? No. It’s not that.
If it was, then you’d think Phosphophyllite and Cinnabar would meet there.
You'd think they’d touch. But no. Because between the sky and the sea there’s all the moons and the stars and a world of emptiness.
In the end, the sky was not enough for the sea, and the sea swallowed the sky whole with their poison.
That’s enough with the metaphors. They bore them now.
Imagine
Imagine a
Imagine a breaking.
Imagine a wait.
Imagine nothingness. Nothing nothing nothing out there in the ness, nothing at all but you and all the nothing
Here. Let them help you.
.
It’s like that. You’re the dot.
It’s like death, Phosphophyllite supposes. Except not really. They never died, not yet, not from lack of trying. Not even in the technical sense, because once Sensei put them back together they could move. They could speak. They could answer if their name was called. Maybe that’s too narrow a metric for death but it’s the only one they have. Their inclusions will always keep on working.
Before Sensei rebuilt them, Phosphophyllite was broken into pieces and was kept in the dark.
They didn't want the dark anymore.
Maybe they'll die if they’re turned to dust. Maybe they'll die if Sensei prays. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Now, imagine a different death. The death of the gems’ way of living.
Don’t you see the fissures? The cracks in the pillars? Their leader is a broken machine, don’t you see, a machine that loves, maybe, but a machine nonetheless, and the school will crumble into the nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing--
Phosphophyllite is not broken. They are not lost.
They’re just taking the shortest path.
Imagine sword in your hand
(what wouldn’t you do.)
Imagine an army behind you
(all that light. All that power)
Imagine them screaming
(so fucking sorry)
Imagine them breaking
(If only they weren't there)
Imagine a prayer
(all that light)
And then, finally, imagine nothingness.
Have they lost themselves? Are they still there or are they too far gone? Insane or just sane and in too deep for their own good, while everyone else have moved on?
Gem, brother, kin-- no, Phosphophyllite is none of these things anymore. They will destroy everyone who ever had the right to call them those names, because they are free to be nothing to no one, free to be born anew. They are free.
And without the chains that bound them before, let’s see how far they can go.