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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Turn Author: Pet Rating: R Setting: 1880 Underdark. Underheavy. Under...under...underground? Earth, bitter and grainy, in his mouth, resting on his unmoving tongue. Taste of black and rot. Catalogue of senses and he cannot move, frozen stiff, eyes wide and dry and oh dear god, oh sweet Jesus, hail Mary save me, he is dead. Dead and buried and he wants to shriek of mistakes and get me out get me out getmeoutmeoutmeout but his mouth is frozen, he feels the heavy press of a coin on his lips, sealing him in. Locking him down in the black and the weight and the press all over him, and the binding cloth around his hands, he can feel the rough stitches of the linen like they are needles burning his fingers, burning him cold to the bone. Burning like the holes in his throat. Liam. My name is Liam, and this is not happening to me. Shudder slide of movement, small gnawing black movement, oozing across his skin, and his brain is a white wall of screaming, of NO, and earth moves infinitesimally in little puckers of hunger as eyeless things seek his flesh. Things he can somehow remember are bad, should be crushed, should not be eating him, not him, not now, not ever, tiny teeth and suckers, are they really all over him or is this some mad fever dream, some nightmare from which he will wake, shaking?...but no. He would flinch out of sleep from this pain. Every nerve is on fire, and he cannot think for the need to move. GET AWAY FROM ME, but the coin weighs him, the death cripples him, he is alone in the dark with the crawling things and he would be laughing now if he could, hysteria wiping out his sense, he can feel his mind leaving him in trickles and nibbles and jerks against the back of his burning open eyes. Slobbering drooling mind without a body. Crawl and slither, eat and die, eating Liam, poor Liam, sweet little Liam, isn't he sweet? Dance, Liam, he giggles in his mind, dance for the nice creatures. Alone in the underdark. Not alone. Oh, desperate reach, there is someone here, someone who knows and will get him out, brush his hungry little friends from his skin, dress him in satin and take him dancing and feed him cake. Cake in the morning for sweet Liam. But there is no hand there, just a mind, and it is laughing. He laughs too. This is something funny, this dark eating dying rotting, and he laughs and laughs. Laugh echoes, and how nice, he has a friend in his head, someone red and black and teeth. Crawling through his brain, and it would tickle if it did not hurt so very much, eating his brain, will there be any left for me? His hands are growing colder, he can feel them now again, against the wrappings, against the earth. His friend has pushed him to the side, but he does not mind, because as long as there is someone else there everything is wonderful, bright as sunlight in his eyes, because he is not alone. Push SHOVE bite of fang into his thoughts and this is not a nice place to be, this body, and perhaps he should just go, though it seems unfair that he have to leave just when he was laughing and dreaming of cake. NO, because this is not-friend, this is mindeater, soultaker, and he is afraid, so afraid, and the laughter is stronger and shot through with fire that burns him screaming, ice in his veins more painful than teeth in his skin, body begging to convulse but locked still and stiff and AGONY OH JESUS MAKE IT STOP MAKE HIM GO AWAY PLEASE LET ME DIE LET ME DIE LET A newborn demon waits, peaceful and hungry, moving slightly to keep the insects away. Comfortable in the dark. Waiting for his time to rise. [end] Feedback |