Re: Amnesia Filled! (1/5)thisismsmercyJuly 1 2011, 01:08:34 UTC
(Thankyou so much for this prompt, it was ridiculously fun to write)
He knows much about heaven and hell, having spent his life meting out judgement on the Lord’s behalf. This, though, is a torture entirely new to him. Most of the time he sleeps, which goes some way towards dulling the agonising pain that he feels constantly, right down to his bones. With sleep, of course, comes dreaming, and he is haunted by nightmares that feel almost like memories; visions of fire and stone, bells and screaming, a woman so beautiful she could only be a creation- dancing, singing, burning. The moments he spends awake are spent as though he is asleep. His eyes are too heavy to open, forming words is an impossible task. He is visited by someone- surely someone sent from heaven for him- who patiently feeds him, helps him stumble blindly to a chamber pot, changes and re-wraps bandages with care, but never speaks. These visits help him to gauge the span of time, though he has no notion of how long he has been here (or, indeed, of where he is). He would say it felt like a lifetime, had he felt in any way like a living thing. When, one day, he cracks open his eyes- which ache monstrously, even in the dim candlelight- a figure standing over him starts. “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake!” It does not occur to him that a male voice is speaking. He can think only of the pain, and deliverance from it, the tender press of wet bandages to his skin, and the exquisite beauty who lives in his dreams. “Did you awaken me with a kiss?” His eyes won’t hold themselves open. “I wasn’t aware that was an option.”
*
Hands under his bandages sear his flesh with long, languid caresses. He moves as much as he is able, though he’s truly uncertain of whether he wishes to get away or move closer. A part of him that has been dormant for longer than he can remember yearns for release, and contrition.
He knows much about heaven and hell, having spent his life meting out judgement on the Lord’s behalf. This, though, is a torture entirely new to him.
Most of the time he sleeps, which goes some way towards dulling the agonising pain that he feels constantly, right down to his bones. With sleep, of course, comes dreaming, and he is haunted by nightmares that feel almost like memories; visions of fire and stone, bells and screaming, a woman so beautiful she could only be a creation- dancing, singing, burning.
The moments he spends awake are spent as though he is asleep. His eyes are too heavy to open, forming words is an impossible task. He is visited by someone- surely someone sent from heaven for him- who patiently feeds him, helps him stumble blindly to a chamber pot, changes and re-wraps bandages with care, but never speaks.
These visits help him to gauge the span of time, though he has no notion of how long he has been here (or, indeed, of where he is).
He would say it felt like a lifetime, had he felt in any way like a living thing.
When, one day, he cracks open his eyes- which ache monstrously, even in the dim candlelight- a figure standing over him starts.
“Sleeping Beauty is finally awake!”
It does not occur to him that a male voice is speaking. He can think only of the pain, and deliverance from it, the tender press of wet bandages to his skin, and the exquisite beauty who lives in his dreams.
“Did you awaken me with a kiss?”
His eyes won’t hold themselves open.
“I wasn’t aware that was an option.”
*
Hands under his bandages sear his flesh with long, languid caresses. He moves as much as he is able, though he’s truly uncertain of whether he wishes to get away or move closer. A part of him that has been dormant for longer than he can remember yearns for release, and contrition.
*
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