![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Week 6, Title: Death Forms
Jan. 22nd, 2016 10:09 pmHe wakes to the scent of blood. The smell is familiar, but the nagging hunger it incites is not. One glance at his surroundings and his lips part in shock; bodies- bloody and maimed and dismembered as far as his eyes can see.
They are still here, he realises, their presence screams at him. Their deaths press against his flesh, cloying. Fingers crawl into his mouth, strangle his tongue, push against the crevasse where eye meets nose. It’s suffocating.
A sharp pained cry of a trampled hand. A cold aching helplessness of falling. A panicked, hopeful running. Pushing, pushing, trying to escape. A throng of hurt and despair and agony and will to survive, to save, to help. A mother’s concern for her child. A cascade of all that should have and could have been and need to be. A child’s soft confused whimper. An anger. A strength. A hollow resignation. A weary relief. Echo upon echo upon echo.
Every breath he breathes them in, their icy spectres rending his body and engulfing his mind with feelings that are not his own.
He’s rocking on the floor, fingers fist his hair; his own he thinks. It’s too much. He owes it to them to stay, to allow them in. He can’t. Can’t. Can’t. Never knew there could be so much to feel.
He runs.
( Read more... )
They are still here, he realises, their presence screams at him. Their deaths press against his flesh, cloying. Fingers crawl into his mouth, strangle his tongue, push against the crevasse where eye meets nose. It’s suffocating.
A sharp pained cry of a trampled hand. A cold aching helplessness of falling. A panicked, hopeful running. Pushing, pushing, trying to escape. A throng of hurt and despair and agony and will to survive, to save, to help. A mother’s concern for her child. A cascade of all that should have and could have been and need to be. A child’s soft confused whimper. An anger. A strength. A hollow resignation. A weary relief. Echo upon echo upon echo.
Every breath he breathes them in, their icy spectres rending his body and engulfing his mind with feelings that are not his own.
He’s rocking on the floor, fingers fist his hair; his own he thinks. It’s too much. He owes it to them to stay, to allow them in. He can’t. Can’t. Can’t. Never knew there could be so much to feel.
He runs.
( Read more... )