First Story for stargatefic100 (In Progress)
I'm finishing this today, but before then, I wanted opinions. It's about halfway finished. I still need to do some intergrating because I was doing the scene from memory fo the ep.
Any suggestions or critique is helpful. :) And I will pay with viritual cookies.
Title: It's All in Your Head (Working Title)
Characters: Daniel, Martice
Prompt: 033, Too Much
Word Count: Approx. 869 (had to be at least 500 to continue with the "too much" motif)
Rating: PG
Summary: When trapped in your own head, what else is a guy to do?
Notes: Set in the season seven episode "Lifeboat," but makes references to "Abyss" and general Danny glowy jellyfish days (at least waht he remembers)
He didn’t need a prognosis from Janet to know things weren’t going well for him; he could tell enough of that himself. His head was heavy, overstuffed. The sound of multiple whispers pressed firmly against him. Stifling, suffocating heat rubbing against him; it wasn’t physical, but the sensation was the same: crammed together in too tight of space that was unbraiding, breaking down, threatening to collapse and send all to a horrid end. This space was his mind.
He had awoke to the sound of whispers. At least a dozen people all speaking at the same time, creating a sound similar to the static of a television set that had lost its signal, yet not so piercing, but still as abrasive. First there was the quiet stillness of realization. It wasn’t sleep, but the deeper slumber of unconsciousness; no sound nor motion, but the peace of a dreamless night. And then noise, harsh and invasive shouting voices, voices sounding quite confused. All of them were expressing uneasiness, a sense of wrongness.
He had tried to speak, but the moment he did, a dozen (a dozen?!) others flooded over him, whooshing him away from grasping at the action. The same could be said about all of his motor functions; he tried to move his hand, but that eluded him as well.
It wasn’t as if the others, all lost in their bickering amongst themselves--a sensation which lulled in a melodic rhythm if he tried listening to it for a time, proving to be less uncomfortable, but still very wrong, very wrong--were intentionally pressing him down. No, none of them…wait. There was one, standing if you will, on the edge of the rest. Strong vexation vibrated off that one. A man. This one wasn’t rolling about in confusion with the others, but isolated himself away from the amass of disembodied people. This one was as separate as he himself was, which also spoke of a different kind of discontent, but at the moment, it really didn’t matter.
What really did matter, though, were the questions, how this came to be, where is the way out of this, why do things like this always have a way of happening to him (the last thought came from the recesses, he affirmed, deep down where he could be as bloody cynical as Jack if he wanted to, but preferred not to be, when he would rather think positively…just, this here was a situation difficult to think positively about. In all tense and purposes, though, even though it was not done in malicious intent, their presence was being subversive, as if he were a host (and what a cruel word that was, he decided. Host. It was like he was saying, ‘Here, this is my head. You can stay here, if you like. More the merrier.’ Yeah right!) of a Goa’uld, but this was possibly a dozen times worse, all of their intentions not withstanding consideration, because that didn’t matter much when what he was considering was how he was stuck in his own mind with no apparent means to escape, because hello, his mind; how does one vacate his or her own mind?
Okay, maybe not in his mind, because mind typically meant sense of self, soul, and that could not be reshaped, at least he didn’t think so. Changed, but it was not used as any sort of reciprocal. So, then, the better terminology to use, he decided, was in his head. The lights were on, but too many people were home, he joked to himself. It didn’t help. It didn’t make him feel any bit better. Of course, the original statement he was playing off of hadn’t been that funny, either. He didn’t remember who had said it, but…
_Will you shut up! You are the worst of them!_ a voice snarled.
Sensing proximity in this place was impossible, but he knew who the voice was associated with, and of course, who the voice was referring to. Besides, the other voices were still buzzing in their chatter. If he strained to listen, which was really strange since none of this was in the physical, and the metaphysical was something he had at one time known a great deal about, so he should have felt something familiar about this, but no, it wasn’t anything he remembered feeling before, not even remotely close; of course, being surmounted by a dozen voices was definitely a brand new experience. One that he wouldn’t have stood in line for. Again, he was very close to pondering on what he had done to piss off the universe, which wasn’t something he actually believed, but was one of Jack’s favorite things to mildly tease him about. He did have to admit that thinking this way did somehow make the worst horrors in his life manageable. The weirdest shit that they encountered was apt to happen to him or Jack, more him in recent years, and he did have the worst luck. Both of those, however, he could deal with, had learned how to deal with. Now…
_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! When your soverign tells you to shut up, you will immediately follow your sovereign’s wishes!_
Any suggestions or critique is helpful. :) And I will pay with viritual cookies.
Title: It's All in Your Head (Working Title)
Characters: Daniel, Martice
Prompt: 033, Too Much
Word Count: Approx. 869 (had to be at least 500 to continue with the "too much" motif)
Rating: PG
Summary: When trapped in your own head, what else is a guy to do?
Notes: Set in the season seven episode "Lifeboat," but makes references to "Abyss" and general Danny glowy jellyfish days (at least waht he remembers)
He didn’t need a prognosis from Janet to know things weren’t going well for him; he could tell enough of that himself. His head was heavy, overstuffed. The sound of multiple whispers pressed firmly against him. Stifling, suffocating heat rubbing against him; it wasn’t physical, but the sensation was the same: crammed together in too tight of space that was unbraiding, breaking down, threatening to collapse and send all to a horrid end. This space was his mind.
He had awoke to the sound of whispers. At least a dozen people all speaking at the same time, creating a sound similar to the static of a television set that had lost its signal, yet not so piercing, but still as abrasive. First there was the quiet stillness of realization. It wasn’t sleep, but the deeper slumber of unconsciousness; no sound nor motion, but the peace of a dreamless night. And then noise, harsh and invasive shouting voices, voices sounding quite confused. All of them were expressing uneasiness, a sense of wrongness.
He had tried to speak, but the moment he did, a dozen (a dozen?!) others flooded over him, whooshing him away from grasping at the action. The same could be said about all of his motor functions; he tried to move his hand, but that eluded him as well.
It wasn’t as if the others, all lost in their bickering amongst themselves--a sensation which lulled in a melodic rhythm if he tried listening to it for a time, proving to be less uncomfortable, but still very wrong, very wrong--were intentionally pressing him down. No, none of them…wait. There was one, standing if you will, on the edge of the rest. Strong vexation vibrated off that one. A man. This one wasn’t rolling about in confusion with the others, but isolated himself away from the amass of disembodied people. This one was as separate as he himself was, which also spoke of a different kind of discontent, but at the moment, it really didn’t matter.
What really did matter, though, were the questions, how this came to be, where is the way out of this, why do things like this always have a way of happening to him (the last thought came from the recesses, he affirmed, deep down where he could be as bloody cynical as Jack if he wanted to, but preferred not to be, when he would rather think positively…just, this here was a situation difficult to think positively about. In all tense and purposes, though, even though it was not done in malicious intent, their presence was being subversive, as if he were a host (and what a cruel word that was, he decided. Host. It was like he was saying, ‘Here, this is my head. You can stay here, if you like. More the merrier.’ Yeah right!) of a Goa’uld, but this was possibly a dozen times worse, all of their intentions not withstanding consideration, because that didn’t matter much when what he was considering was how he was stuck in his own mind with no apparent means to escape, because hello, his mind; how does one vacate his or her own mind?
Okay, maybe not in his mind, because mind typically meant sense of self, soul, and that could not be reshaped, at least he didn’t think so. Changed, but it was not used as any sort of reciprocal. So, then, the better terminology to use, he decided, was in his head. The lights were on, but too many people were home, he joked to himself. It didn’t help. It didn’t make him feel any bit better. Of course, the original statement he was playing off of hadn’t been that funny, either. He didn’t remember who had said it, but…
_Will you shut up! You are the worst of them!_ a voice snarled.
Sensing proximity in this place was impossible, but he knew who the voice was associated with, and of course, who the voice was referring to. Besides, the other voices were still buzzing in their chatter. If he strained to listen, which was really strange since none of this was in the physical, and the metaphysical was something he had at one time known a great deal about, so he should have felt something familiar about this, but no, it wasn’t anything he remembered feeling before, not even remotely close; of course, being surmounted by a dozen voices was definitely a brand new experience. One that he wouldn’t have stood in line for. Again, he was very close to pondering on what he had done to piss off the universe, which wasn’t something he actually believed, but was one of Jack’s favorite things to mildly tease him about. He did have to admit that thinking this way did somehow make the worst horrors in his life manageable. The weirdest shit that they encountered was apt to happen to him or Jack, more him in recent years, and he did have the worst luck. Both of those, however, he could deal with, had learned how to deal with. Now…
_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! When your soverign tells you to shut up, you will immediately follow your sovereign’s wishes!_