A Lesson in Ignorance (A Separate Peace)

A Lesson in Ignorance

A/N: Well! I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted a fanfiction. And I certainly wasn't expecting my next fanfiction to be this. I read A Separate Peace almost a year ago and, although I did like it, didn't think much of it after finishing it. However, recently I became interested in it again and started rereading bits and pieces of it, and...this happened. Once I figured out my next fic was probably going to be for A Separate Peace, I actually thought it was going to be a lighthearted AU. Which may or may not be the next thing coming up. Oh well, we'll see. But this angsty thing came out of me first. I have mixed feelings about it, but I finished it, so I decided to post it. ^-^'

I just wanted to warn you guys that this is written in second person, which I know annoys some people. Also, depending on the reception I get (and my motivation), I may make a second part to this regarding Phineas and his thoughts before the surgery happens and he...well. You know.

(By the way, I think the picture I put for this fic is the lyrics to a song. I don't know what song it is; I just found the quote online and felt that it fit.)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and...here we go.

G E N E

You have gentle visions when you're waking up and falling asleep. They come like salt-scented breezes—the kinds you cherished so on the rare occasions you visited the beach with him—and they go like the wave that came on one of those occasions and swept you off your feet with all the viciousness nature holds.

These visions are your everything. They are what tell you there will be a tomorrow, and that yesterday was real. They are what keep you living. They are what keep you dying.

When you open your eyes in the morning and close them at night, these are the things that haunt you. They are everything that could have been yours, if only you weren't so afraid.

So afraid of everything.

You were afraid of being the valedictorian; you were afraid of not being the valedictorian. You were afraid of being a good athlete; you were afraid of being an awful one. You were afraid of following the rules; you were afraid of breaking them.

You were afraid—terrified—of loving him the way you did. But you were afraid of hating him the way you did, too.

The one thing you were not afraid to do was put yourself before him. And now, you have something much more prominent to say for yourself than being either valedictorian, or athlete, or rebel.

You are a murderer.

You didn't strangle him. You didn't plunge a knife through his chest or shoot a bullet through his head. You didn't kill him in a way anybody could see in an instant. But—

He died because of you.

If only you hadn't made him lose his balance that day. If only you hadn't made him fall from that tree. If only you hadn't made him break his leg (twice).

Then he would not have died, and you wouldn't be a murderer, and everything in life would be fine because yes, there was a war going on, and yes, you would both have to enlist, but he would be there with you, and you would be there with him.

(You know that's not true, but it's nice to think it is.)

You were jealous. You wanted everything he had, everything he was. You wanted confidence and popularity and good looks and athleticism. You wanted the ability to convince anybody to do anything, just by being yourself. You wanted to be capable of loving everybody and everything, and saying there was no war, and seeing sports as nothing more than an intriguing game where everyone competes but nobody wins.