Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 450 words
Notes: Gen! Major spoilers for 2.08. Written in the style of the narrator for Pushing Daisies.
Sam said goodbye to the real world in late September. He had given it two months to get its act together and it had obstinately refused. To be fair, he hadn’t been entirely sure it was the real world he had waved serenely at, but it had been and he had bid adieu, with a spectacular show of something akin to joy.
Sam never thought that his actions might have repercussions in the land of grey and blue. It wasn’t that he was completely insensitive, only that he was completely insensitive to other people’s needs. Remarkably, he had forced himself into a situation where he had to be even more aligned with what others wanted, although those ‘others’ could, perhaps, be designated as aspects of his own psyche. Then again, they could easily be delineated as separate entities who were just along for the ride.
Had Sam known that his actions would break people’s hearts, perhaps he would have thought twice. Or perhaps not. It was hard to tell with Sam, whose empathy seemed to only extend so far.
Now Sam found himself in a place that was like the real world, only slightly less realistic and regressed by about thirty years. The colours were different, the smells and sounds were different. But the consequences, interestingly, were not that different at all. Mistakes still ended up with a rap on the knuckles and if Gene Hunt was about – possibly Sam’s Ego and possibly an egomaniac who’d wound up in the same (un)happy existence – a punch to the kidneys as well.
And the thing was – the very confusing and tormenting thing was – Sam loved this. There was no regret. He was living (unliving?) in a fantasy that required fierce fighting and that was what he wanted. He liked waking up every morning, not knowing if, when midnight struck December 31, he’d be back at the beginning of 1973, or onto 1974. He liked the constant, persistent struggle between getting his own way and having to compromise. He positively adored getting into spats and arguments with everyone around him, even the girl of his dreams.
This was surprising, because, in the real world, Sam had never really liked much of anything before. He’d never let himself like anything. Oh, there had been times he’d tried, knowing that he had to appear to be the same as everyone else, but on the whole, emotion had been barren and devoid in his life. In death – if it was death – he wasn’t faced with such restrictions. He could laugh, he could cry, he could scream and rave and pity. It would not be wrong to say a whole new world had opened up for him.