Just A Passing Phase
Title: Just A Passing Phase
By: Wyndi, April 11, 2004
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Pink Floyd - The Wall (movie)
Content: Mature subject matter, implied non-con sexual situations, mild language.
Character/s: Pink, the "Young Lust" groupie, off-handed mentions of the Schoolmaster
Summary: Pink has an unwelcome groupie thrust upon him and deals with her in the only manner he can.
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Title from "One Of My Turns" by Pink Floyd. Lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
Notes: Written for the Claustraphobia/Entrapment challenge in approximately 50 minutes. Title and general storyline from "One Of My Turns" by Pink Floyd. The story is based on the events that unfold during the movie as "One Of My Turns" is playing.
Just A Passing Phase
By Wyndi, April 11, 2004
Pink sat in a daze, the after party having lost its appeal almost before it began. He'd wanted nothing more than solitude, peace and quiet. The endless cacophony of so many alien voices assaulted his senses, making his skin crawl. Couldn't they understand he wasn't like them, couldn't relate to them on any level? Mindless dogs, crawling all over one another, wetting themselves in their eagerness to be near him, talk to him, and worst of all, touch him. That really was the most intolerable thing of all. Every time another simpering creature tried to make physical contact with him, it was all he could do not to recoil in abject terror and run screaming into the night.
He’d slipped away from the carefully orchestrated madness of the party for a while, needing to be alone. It wasn't too long, though, before he ventured forth from his private trailer intending to claim a fresh bottle of champagne. Such a simple task, really, but one that was thwarted as a demon spotted him. It was disguised as a human female, but Pink knew better. Sometimes they were disguised as men, as in the case of his childhood Schoolmaster. That one had been particularly cunning and cruel, forcing itself on him while he was too young to fight back properly. Whatever outward appearance they adopted, they were all the same and had but one goal in mind.
The demon began pawing at him, filling his head with all manner of nonsense about `fame' and `artistry.' He'd tried to retreat once again to his trailer, but the demon had already targeted him, grabbed a bottle of wine, and pursued him inside. The creature was not welcome, but he couldn't remember the words of invocation or the ritual that would drive it away. He would have to suffer its presence until he could speak the words that would shatter its spirit and send its ashes floating away on a gentle breeze.
He was in his leather chair, staring blankly ahead at the flickering black and white images that emanated from his television set. Somehow the creature had managed to transport them both from his trailer to his penthouse apartment in New York. This demon was trickier than most. Maybe if he ignored it, it would realise that there was nothing to be gained by remaining and would depart of its own accord. He removed his shades, wincing as the light from the television stabbed at his eyes. He rubbed them wearily, already suspecting that the night was about to go very badly for him. The creature was attempting to engage him in conversation, to make him acknowledge its existence, and thereby enslave his soul. He tried to block out the noise and raised his hands to his temples.
Pink was startled out of his stupor by the feel of cold talons on his skin, lifting his hand up, drawing it towards the wet, gaping mouth of the demon. Every muscle in his body froze as he suffered the intolerable contact, hoping against hope that if he didn't react, the demon would lose interest in his flesh and seek better prey elsewhere. The creature drew each of his fingertips into its dreadful mouth, the foul moisture inside burning him like acid. It raped itself with his fingers, attempting to spread its poison through his pores. He held himself as still as he possibly could, mentally willing the violation to stop.
Pink's heart was slamming against his ribcage and he could finally take no more. With a slowness born of a lifetime of self-preservation, he firmly but gently withdrew his hand from the talons of the creature, hoping his actions wouldn't be interpreted as hostile. The demon huffed at him, out of disappointment, anger, or a combination of the two. It was only a matter of time before it dissolved into any of a dozen shapes, each carefully calculated to terrify, rend, and destroy him. This was the time at which the creature was most vulnerable, and Pink realised he would have to take advantage of its weakness and strike.
A single tear traced its way down his cheek as he mourned his own sorry existence, the need to constantly defend himself against such assaults. He sat up sharply in his chair as he saw that the demon had projected its image onto his television set. He lashed out with his foot, overturning the set and shattering the sight before him. Like a flash, the demon was inside his coffee table, lurking just beneath the glass. He drove his boot through the top of the table, relishing the creature's agonised cries as he caused it genuine pain.
He glanced up and saw that it was now in the mirror. Shards of glass flew as he struck again, and the creature bolted to a corner of the room. Pink grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, an acoustic guitar, and swung it at the fleeing demon, taking great pleasure in watching it crawl away on its hands and knees to escape his holy wrath.
The demon tried to hide once again, this time behind a shelving unit. Pink hurled the creature's bottle of wine at it. As he did so, he wondered if attacking it with its own weapon would be effective. It retreated further still, finally reaching his bedroom, where it curled up into a tiny ball, chanting its own counter-curses, trying to make Pink falter in his attack. The demon began casting pieces of itself into everything imaginable that it could find. It was desperate to save itself now. It was in a bookshelf, a framed print, even the closet. Pink tore all of these to shreds, trying to eradicate every trace of the creature that he could see.
Pink tore down the blinds that covered the windows, desperate to see the creature's remnants floating away from his sanctuary. Nothing. It was still in his apartment and had hidden itself in the television set once again, perhaps thinking that he wouldn't look in the same place twice. Pink spotted it, picked up the set, hauled it to the window, and hurled it through the glass.
In that moment of triumph, he finally remembered what was required to banish the demon properly. He impaled the palm of the hand it had soiled on the broken glass from the window, letting the blood flow over the windowsill and down the side of his apartment. This would prevent the creature from ever entering again. He saw its ashes floating in the air, smoky, almost like clouds. Against all hope, he had triumphed once again. He leaned out the window and cried his victory for all the city to hear.
"Next time, fuckers!"
Pink laughed maniacally as he swung from the window frame, feeling the poisoned blood seep from his body, purifying him once more. He didn't delude himself. He knew there would be more demons. That much was certain. And each would try in its own way to claim him. But for now, the terrible ordeal was over; just another passing phase.
Pink was safe.
By: Wyndi, April 11, 2004
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Pink Floyd - The Wall (movie)
Content: Mature subject matter, implied non-con sexual situations, mild language.
Character/s: Pink, the "Young Lust" groupie, off-handed mentions of the Schoolmaster
Summary: Pink has an unwelcome groupie thrust upon him and deals with her in the only manner he can.
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Title from "One Of My Turns" by Pink Floyd. Lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
Notes: Written for the Claustraphobia/Entrapment challenge in approximately 50 minutes. Title and general storyline from "One Of My Turns" by Pink Floyd. The story is based on the events that unfold during the movie as "One Of My Turns" is playing.
Just A Passing Phase
By Wyndi, April 11, 2004
Pink sat in a daze, the after party having lost its appeal almost before it began. He'd wanted nothing more than solitude, peace and quiet. The endless cacophony of so many alien voices assaulted his senses, making his skin crawl. Couldn't they understand he wasn't like them, couldn't relate to them on any level? Mindless dogs, crawling all over one another, wetting themselves in their eagerness to be near him, talk to him, and worst of all, touch him. That really was the most intolerable thing of all. Every time another simpering creature tried to make physical contact with him, it was all he could do not to recoil in abject terror and run screaming into the night.
He’d slipped away from the carefully orchestrated madness of the party for a while, needing to be alone. It wasn't too long, though, before he ventured forth from his private trailer intending to claim a fresh bottle of champagne. Such a simple task, really, but one that was thwarted as a demon spotted him. It was disguised as a human female, but Pink knew better. Sometimes they were disguised as men, as in the case of his childhood Schoolmaster. That one had been particularly cunning and cruel, forcing itself on him while he was too young to fight back properly. Whatever outward appearance they adopted, they were all the same and had but one goal in mind.
The demon began pawing at him, filling his head with all manner of nonsense about `fame' and `artistry.' He'd tried to retreat once again to his trailer, but the demon had already targeted him, grabbed a bottle of wine, and pursued him inside. The creature was not welcome, but he couldn't remember the words of invocation or the ritual that would drive it away. He would have to suffer its presence until he could speak the words that would shatter its spirit and send its ashes floating away on a gentle breeze.
He was in his leather chair, staring blankly ahead at the flickering black and white images that emanated from his television set. Somehow the creature had managed to transport them both from his trailer to his penthouse apartment in New York. This demon was trickier than most. Maybe if he ignored it, it would realise that there was nothing to be gained by remaining and would depart of its own accord. He removed his shades, wincing as the light from the television stabbed at his eyes. He rubbed them wearily, already suspecting that the night was about to go very badly for him. The creature was attempting to engage him in conversation, to make him acknowledge its existence, and thereby enslave his soul. He tried to block out the noise and raised his hands to his temples.
Pink was startled out of his stupor by the feel of cold talons on his skin, lifting his hand up, drawing it towards the wet, gaping mouth of the demon. Every muscle in his body froze as he suffered the intolerable contact, hoping against hope that if he didn't react, the demon would lose interest in his flesh and seek better prey elsewhere. The creature drew each of his fingertips into its dreadful mouth, the foul moisture inside burning him like acid. It raped itself with his fingers, attempting to spread its poison through his pores. He held himself as still as he possibly could, mentally willing the violation to stop.
Pink's heart was slamming against his ribcage and he could finally take no more. With a slowness born of a lifetime of self-preservation, he firmly but gently withdrew his hand from the talons of the creature, hoping his actions wouldn't be interpreted as hostile. The demon huffed at him, out of disappointment, anger, or a combination of the two. It was only a matter of time before it dissolved into any of a dozen shapes, each carefully calculated to terrify, rend, and destroy him. This was the time at which the creature was most vulnerable, and Pink realised he would have to take advantage of its weakness and strike.
A single tear traced its way down his cheek as he mourned his own sorry existence, the need to constantly defend himself against such assaults. He sat up sharply in his chair as he saw that the demon had projected its image onto his television set. He lashed out with his foot, overturning the set and shattering the sight before him. Like a flash, the demon was inside his coffee table, lurking just beneath the glass. He drove his boot through the top of the table, relishing the creature's agonised cries as he caused it genuine pain.
He glanced up and saw that it was now in the mirror. Shards of glass flew as he struck again, and the creature bolted to a corner of the room. Pink grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, an acoustic guitar, and swung it at the fleeing demon, taking great pleasure in watching it crawl away on its hands and knees to escape his holy wrath.
The demon tried to hide once again, this time behind a shelving unit. Pink hurled the creature's bottle of wine at it. As he did so, he wondered if attacking it with its own weapon would be effective. It retreated further still, finally reaching his bedroom, where it curled up into a tiny ball, chanting its own counter-curses, trying to make Pink falter in his attack. The demon began casting pieces of itself into everything imaginable that it could find. It was desperate to save itself now. It was in a bookshelf, a framed print, even the closet. Pink tore all of these to shreds, trying to eradicate every trace of the creature that he could see.
Pink tore down the blinds that covered the windows, desperate to see the creature's remnants floating away from his sanctuary. Nothing. It was still in his apartment and had hidden itself in the television set once again, perhaps thinking that he wouldn't look in the same place twice. Pink spotted it, picked up the set, hauled it to the window, and hurled it through the glass.
In that moment of triumph, he finally remembered what was required to banish the demon properly. He impaled the palm of the hand it had soiled on the broken glass from the window, letting the blood flow over the windowsill and down the side of his apartment. This would prevent the creature from ever entering again. He saw its ashes floating in the air, smoky, almost like clouds. Against all hope, he had triumphed once again. He leaned out the window and cried his victory for all the city to hear.
"Next time, fuckers!"
Pink laughed maniacally as he swung from the window frame, feeling the poisoned blood seep from his body, purifying him once more. He didn't delude himself. He knew there would be more demons. That much was certain. And each would try in its own way to claim him. But for now, the terrible ordeal was over; just another passing phase.
Pink was safe.