[Why I Have To Scream Series] (ficlet) To the Left, To the Right
It's been really quiet around here, guys. I'm more sorry about that than you know.
A ficlet of dubious canonical status for [Why I Have to Scream]. Disturbing imagery here children. This is what comes out of my head at 0300. Fucked up Jack is fucked up.
He looks about and buries his face in his hands and he sobs and sobs and sobs for their broken bones, their shattered skulls, for their brains and organs and marrow scattered on the floor. I’m sorry, he says, crawling on their bodies, trying to put them back together because he’s McGee the McGeek, he’s good at puzzles, he can solve anything, he’ll just put them back together the way they were supposed to be and then they’ll sit up and --
-- and punch you and kick you and rape you and stab you with knives until you talk until you scream out everything they want to know --
This isn’t what I wanted, he sobs, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry and he curls up in corner, the gashes on his back and the clicking in his chest pulling with pain and terrible pressure. I’m sorry eventually becomes I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die until he screams and screams, pulling at his hair and skin, trying to reach down into the maelstrom of emotion in his stomach, but no matter how raw his throat becomes he knows that he will never be calm again, will never be happy again, will never be guiltless and thoughtless ever again. I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you is still pounding through his veins, and no amount of screaming will ever take that away.
His shrieks dribble off into moans, into sobs, into whimpers and he falls forward and narrowly misses hitting his head on the floor. When Tim raises his head, his gaze falls on a knife with a long, slender blade and a handle made of ivory. He thinks of knots in his stomach, of I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you, and seppuku and harakiri and he reaches out and picks up the knife and sets the point against his stomach while reminding himself to cut from left to right.
A ficlet of dubious canonical status for [Why I Have to Scream]. Disturbing imagery here children. This is what comes out of my head at 0300. Fucked up Jack is fucked up.
He looks about and buries his face in his hands and he sobs and sobs and sobs for their broken bones, their shattered skulls, for their brains and organs and marrow scattered on the floor. I’m sorry, he says, crawling on their bodies, trying to put them back together because he’s McGee the McGeek, he’s good at puzzles, he can solve anything, he’ll just put them back together the way they were supposed to be and then they’ll sit up and --
-- and punch you and kick you and rape you and stab you with knives until you talk until you scream out everything they want to know --
This isn’t what I wanted, he sobs, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry and he curls up in corner, the gashes on his back and the clicking in his chest pulling with pain and terrible pressure. I’m sorry eventually becomes I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die until he screams and screams, pulling at his hair and skin, trying to reach down into the maelstrom of emotion in his stomach, but no matter how raw his throat becomes he knows that he will never be calm again, will never be happy again, will never be guiltless and thoughtless ever again. I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you is still pounding through his veins, and no amount of screaming will ever take that away.
His shrieks dribble off into moans, into sobs, into whimpers and he falls forward and narrowly misses hitting his head on the floor. When Tim raises his head, his gaze falls on a knife with a long, slender blade and a handle made of ivory. He thinks of knots in his stomach, of I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you, and seppuku and harakiri and he reaches out and picks up the knife and sets the point against his stomach while reminding himself to cut from left to right.