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Jun. 10th, 2005 04:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mikkenekoWhy do I only ever get ideas and motivation late at night on nights when I have to get to bed early?
Part one. Well, scene one. If you have no idea who's talking or what they're talking about, lemme know, 'cause it's not supposed to be impossible to figure out.
If he'd had any illusions of controlling the process, he'd been sorely mistaken. His will, pathetic and mortal, was only the pebble that started the avalanche; there was no force on earth that could control it once it began to slide.
It brought him down. Like a rockslide, or a waterfall, and then all earthly metaphors fell away and the world rushed away towards darkness. There was something bad about this darkness, vast but not empty, packed and hungry, and if he'd had enough presence of mind left for it he would have been terrified. There wasn't time for that, though, as the last of the light began to fade and his soul seeped into the darkness like water into parched sand.
No, someone whispered, I won't let that happen.
No voice, or at least no sound, only a statement of intention. But he found himself caught, all the same, in a grip that ceased that inexorable downwards slide. For one moment more, he existed in that grip, long enough to try and fathom what was happening. Why?
A feeling that was like a brush of laughter, or tears. You saved me. So I'm saving you. It's not even equivalent exchange; it's just the right thing to do.
And then the blackness went to red, red, too much red for any one soul to comprehend.
Chaos, in the truest sense; sensation and thought whirled about him, broken down into pieces too small for comprehension. Every now and then enough of any one thing would congregate together for him to grab hold of it, but it always swept away. Blistering heat. Freezing cold. White sky. Black sky. Loss. Motion and urgency and a dragging pain. A human voice. A howling wind. Why aren't I dead?
This last thought puzzled him more than all the rest, for it seemed to imply that he wasn't dead. And yet he was sure he remembered dying. He was certain that he ought to be dead. Fairly certain that he'd intended to die doing... something, and that he'd succeeded.
Did dead people get sunburn?
Angry voices, foreign curses; pain. Cold hardness that he thought might have been stone. Something at his lips, hot and salty and unwelcome.
"Take it, you bastard," the angry voice rasped, from somewhere above him. "Take it, damn you!"
He had no will to resist. He gave in, and it flooded his mouth with a nasty taste. More cursing from above him, and that was all the sense he got out of the world for a while.
It seemed he was alive after all, for after a time he slept. When he did, he dreamt of cold water, and awoke thirsty.
In front of his eyes was cold stone and darkness. There seemed to be a little light coming from somewhere; enough that he could make out cracks in the stone. He breathed. Air went out and air came in, smelling of dust and sand and stone, and a faint sharp tang that he couldn't identify. An intense smell of human sweat, whether his own or not he was in no sense to identify. A foul taste in his mouth. He was terribly thirsty.
That was all he was going to learn by staring at the wall, though, so he made the effort to move. When he shifted, he discovered that he was lying on his side, facing the wall; with determination, he turned over onto his back. More stone above him; the wall tapered up and curved over him. The roughness of it suggested a cave, rather than a cell. The light seemed to be moonlight, coming in through the cave mouth not too far away.
Although the cave was rough stone, he did not seem to be lying on a hard surface; when he shifted, it moved like familiar sand, yet felt like fabric under his skin.
Bare skin. He realized with some startlement that he was completely naked. If not for the blanket dropped over him, he would be very cold indeed.
He was still thirsty. Very thirsty; even having grown up with thirst, knowing the scarcity and value of water... he was so thirsty. Now that he'd moved, he could smell water, somewhere nearby. Was any of it for him?
Movement stirred somewhere nearby, and he heard the mutter of a human voice. It sounded male, but apart from that, he couldn't tell anything.
On the third try at speaking, he managed to ask for water.
The rustling movement intensified for a moment, and a shadow came up across the cave opening. "What's that you said?" the voice demanded. It took him long, long moments to attach meaning to the voice; the language was not that of his childhood. It was the language of the Westerners, the conquerers.
He searched his mind for the Western word for water, and came up blank. He couldn't think.
An irritated grunt, and then the shadow moved and spread. He heard footfalls on a hard stone floor, and then, after long moments marked by heartbeats, the splashing sound of water.
Breath went in and breath went out, and it seemed like forever before the shadowed person came over and squatted down by his head. "You'd better appreciate this, you bastard," the low voice came. "I had to go to a lot of trouble to get it."
A hand under his head, raising him up in a way that dizzied his vision; and the rim of a cup was placed against his lips. Automatically, he tried to raise his hands to take it, and felt a moment of dizziness when nothing responded.
It didn't seem to matter; the shadow figure seemed willing to help him. The hand holding the cup was impatient, and a few drops of water spilled over and ran cold down his neck, but he couldn't care less. He drank till it was gone, and bit at the rim of the cup before it could be taken away, waiting for the last few drops.
A sigh, and then both the hands withdrew, and the shadow figure stood. "Don't think you're getting off this easy," the voice growled. "I'm too fucking tired to deal with this now. In the morning I'm going to get some damned answers."
Footsteps led away, and then there was quiet; he closed his dizzied eyes. Only one out of three of the words had filtered through his mind, but the tone of the voice seemed all too familiar. Whatever it was, it wasn't something he could deal with now, either.
He was still thirsty. But he slept.
*squints at* He'll get his personality back shortly, I promise. *staggers off to bed*
Part one. Well, scene one. If you have no idea who's talking or what they're talking about, lemme know, 'cause it's not supposed to be impossible to figure out.
If he'd had any illusions of controlling the process, he'd been sorely mistaken. His will, pathetic and mortal, was only the pebble that started the avalanche; there was no force on earth that could control it once it began to slide.
It brought him down. Like a rockslide, or a waterfall, and then all earthly metaphors fell away and the world rushed away towards darkness. There was something bad about this darkness, vast but not empty, packed and hungry, and if he'd had enough presence of mind left for it he would have been terrified. There wasn't time for that, though, as the last of the light began to fade and his soul seeped into the darkness like water into parched sand.
No, someone whispered, I won't let that happen.
No voice, or at least no sound, only a statement of intention. But he found himself caught, all the same, in a grip that ceased that inexorable downwards slide. For one moment more, he existed in that grip, long enough to try and fathom what was happening. Why?
A feeling that was like a brush of laughter, or tears. You saved me. So I'm saving you. It's not even equivalent exchange; it's just the right thing to do.
And then the blackness went to red, red, too much red for any one soul to comprehend.
Chaos, in the truest sense; sensation and thought whirled about him, broken down into pieces too small for comprehension. Every now and then enough of any one thing would congregate together for him to grab hold of it, but it always swept away. Blistering heat. Freezing cold. White sky. Black sky. Loss. Motion and urgency and a dragging pain. A human voice. A howling wind. Why aren't I dead?
This last thought puzzled him more than all the rest, for it seemed to imply that he wasn't dead. And yet he was sure he remembered dying. He was certain that he ought to be dead. Fairly certain that he'd intended to die doing... something, and that he'd succeeded.
Did dead people get sunburn?
Angry voices, foreign curses; pain. Cold hardness that he thought might have been stone. Something at his lips, hot and salty and unwelcome.
"Take it, you bastard," the angry voice rasped, from somewhere above him. "Take it, damn you!"
He had no will to resist. He gave in, and it flooded his mouth with a nasty taste. More cursing from above him, and that was all the sense he got out of the world for a while.
It seemed he was alive after all, for after a time he slept. When he did, he dreamt of cold water, and awoke thirsty.
In front of his eyes was cold stone and darkness. There seemed to be a little light coming from somewhere; enough that he could make out cracks in the stone. He breathed. Air went out and air came in, smelling of dust and sand and stone, and a faint sharp tang that he couldn't identify. An intense smell of human sweat, whether his own or not he was in no sense to identify. A foul taste in his mouth. He was terribly thirsty.
That was all he was going to learn by staring at the wall, though, so he made the effort to move. When he shifted, he discovered that he was lying on his side, facing the wall; with determination, he turned over onto his back. More stone above him; the wall tapered up and curved over him. The roughness of it suggested a cave, rather than a cell. The light seemed to be moonlight, coming in through the cave mouth not too far away.
Although the cave was rough stone, he did not seem to be lying on a hard surface; when he shifted, it moved like familiar sand, yet felt like fabric under his skin.
Bare skin. He realized with some startlement that he was completely naked. If not for the blanket dropped over him, he would be very cold indeed.
He was still thirsty. Very thirsty; even having grown up with thirst, knowing the scarcity and value of water... he was so thirsty. Now that he'd moved, he could smell water, somewhere nearby. Was any of it for him?
Movement stirred somewhere nearby, and he heard the mutter of a human voice. It sounded male, but apart from that, he couldn't tell anything.
On the third try at speaking, he managed to ask for water.
The rustling movement intensified for a moment, and a shadow came up across the cave opening. "What's that you said?" the voice demanded. It took him long, long moments to attach meaning to the voice; the language was not that of his childhood. It was the language of the Westerners, the conquerers.
He searched his mind for the Western word for water, and came up blank. He couldn't think.
An irritated grunt, and then the shadow moved and spread. He heard footfalls on a hard stone floor, and then, after long moments marked by heartbeats, the splashing sound of water.
Breath went in and breath went out, and it seemed like forever before the shadowed person came over and squatted down by his head. "You'd better appreciate this, you bastard," the low voice came. "I had to go to a lot of trouble to get it."
A hand under his head, raising him up in a way that dizzied his vision; and the rim of a cup was placed against his lips. Automatically, he tried to raise his hands to take it, and felt a moment of dizziness when nothing responded.
It didn't seem to matter; the shadow figure seemed willing to help him. The hand holding the cup was impatient, and a few drops of water spilled over and ran cold down his neck, but he couldn't care less. He drank till it was gone, and bit at the rim of the cup before it could be taken away, waiting for the last few drops.
A sigh, and then both the hands withdrew, and the shadow figure stood. "Don't think you're getting off this easy," the voice growled. "I'm too fucking tired to deal with this now. In the morning I'm going to get some damned answers."
Footsteps led away, and then there was quiet; he closed his dizzied eyes. Only one out of three of the words had filtered through his mind, but the tone of the voice seemed all too familiar. Whatever it was, it wasn't something he could deal with now, either.
He was still thirsty. But he slept.
*squints at* He'll get his personality back shortly, I promise. *staggers off to bed*
