Blue Lips 8
anonymous
November 29 2010, 17:16:59 UTC
No. There was something else. Something big. Jeezum Crow, What had happened? Blood tasted funny when you had a dry mouth, America finally decided.
“….Wake……easier……………-ry….please.” Then some gibberish.
That was a male’s voice. Actually if America concentrated he could tell that there were two voices. One was a woman who was muttering some nonsensical language…though it sounded familiar…and the other was the steady pulsing of a man’s deeper voice. He was talking in English though which really helped against that awful headache starting to emerge. His arm was starting to tingle too- unpleasant like a limb that had fallen asleep.
And…
Oh. Fuck.
America remembered with a burst of clarity- as though someone had shot the memory into his veins like a stimulating drug. Oh damn. Oh hell. Oh frikkin’ A! That…well wasn’t this just wicked bad and wicked un-awesome. He had been hit by a truck. A truck! The Truck that had crested the hill and slipped down until he had been slammed into the guardrail and sent careening into the ditch below.
The pain. That had to be on the top of his lists…there had been cuts from the glass shattering when the metal screamed on impact from the red truck. The snap of his arm when he was flung strangely to the side, being for once unlucky and not wearing his seatbelt. Flung to the roof of the car as it flipped onto the pavement, up again and into the air. Neck whipping back and chest hitting something- everything had looked like the whirlwinds of hell- and he remembered thinking how pretty everything looked with the soft snow. Crash. The car fell on its roof and his leg had vaporized- surely that was the only thing that could cause such pain and he had died. He was dead, right? No? Yes?
Then what had happened? He couldn’t have been in the car…Agh…that beeping. Was someone holding his hand? Oh…he could feel again. Bad Bad Bad Bad. He didn’t want to feel. It hurt. Fuck. Blue eyes opened in hazy slits, blinded by the lights above. Something was moving beside him, but all he saw was hazy soporific shadows ghosting frantically by his peripherals.
Shit. America wanted to mutter something, but all that came out from his parted lips was the quickening of his breath. The pain faded and receded again, but he could feel pressure- and the pressure on his hand was doubling slowly. He flitted his eyes to the other side of the hazy room, realizing with a quirk of his lips that his glasses here gone. The warmth though that lay over him was comforting in the unknown white world.
No. There was something else. Something big. Jeezum Crow, What had happened? Blood tasted funny when you had a dry mouth, America finally decided.
“….Wake……easier……………-ry….please.” Then some gibberish.
That was a male’s voice. Actually if America concentrated he could tell that there were two voices. One was a woman who was muttering some nonsensical language…though it sounded familiar…and the other was the steady pulsing of a man’s deeper voice. He was talking in English though which really helped against that awful headache starting to emerge. His arm was starting to tingle too- unpleasant like a limb that had fallen asleep.
And…
Oh. Fuck.
America remembered with a burst of clarity- as though someone had shot the memory into his veins like a stimulating drug. Oh damn. Oh hell. Oh frikkin’ A! That…well wasn’t this just wicked bad and wicked un-awesome. He had been hit by a truck. A truck! The Truck that had crested the hill and slipped down until he had been slammed into the guardrail and sent careening into the ditch below.
The pain. That had to be on the top of his lists…there had been cuts from the glass shattering when the metal screamed on impact from the red truck. The snap of his arm when he was flung strangely to the side, being for once unlucky and not wearing his seatbelt. Flung to the roof of the car as it flipped onto the pavement, up again and into the air. Neck whipping back and chest hitting something- everything had looked like the whirlwinds of hell- and he remembered thinking how pretty everything looked with the soft snow. Crash. The car fell on its roof and his leg had vaporized- surely that was the only thing that could cause such pain and he had died. He was dead, right? No? Yes?
Then what had happened? He couldn’t have been in the car…Agh…that beeping. Was someone holding his hand? Oh…he could feel again. Bad Bad Bad Bad. He didn’t want to feel. It hurt. Fuck. Blue eyes opened in hazy slits, blinded by the lights above. Something was moving beside him, but all he saw was hazy soporific shadows ghosting frantically by his peripherals.
Shit. America wanted to mutter something, but all that came out from his parted lips was the quickening of his breath. The pain faded and receded again, but he could feel pressure- and the pressure on his hand was doubling slowly. He flitted his eyes to the other side of the hazy room, realizing with a quirk of his lips that his glasses here gone. The warmth though that lay over him was comforting in the unknown white world.
“Alfred?”
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