141.
Since all the cool kids are doing it, here's Eileen's Dark Tower dream for Trrr-eye-all. One of the themes was, uh... "different paths" or something? Like, what would happen if your character went left instead of right, so I wondered what would happen if Eileen tried to escape St. Jerome's before Henry reached her.
The hospital room is small and sparsely furnished. A far cry from the clean and well-equipped ICU you vaguely remember being admitted to. Gone are the hypnotizing bleep-bleeps of the monitors and the kind, encouraging voices of doctors and specialists. Instead, you hear the maddening squeak of over a dozen old wheelchairs rolling to and fro outside your door. The noise is slowly driving you crazy, and cuts into any effort on your part to sleep through the pain.
"Dammit," you mutter as the ruckus becomes unbearable, drawing you further and further away from blissful unconsciousness until it's no longer worth trying. You push yourself up into a sitting position and notice for the first time the dreary state of your room.
It's only slightly bigger than a utility closet with grungy cement walls and floors. The bed frame is wrought iron and in poor condition with a sour smelling mattress that should've been thrown out a long time ago, and there are strange instruments on display throughout the cramped space; a jar full of thick red liquid stands amongst bent syringes and rusted medical tools. You're beginning to feel sick to your stomach and start rationalizing that you were moved by mistake. Granted, it's one hell of a mistake, but all you have to do, so your fuzzy mind dictates, is find a nurse to lead you back to the ICU to rest and recover.
You just want to put this nightmare behind you. That's all.
You stand on shaky legs, favoring the right one over the left, and shuffle to the door. No easy task when you're limping and wearing heels. Strangely, the door is dead bolted from the inside, but the lock comes free with no trouble.
You expect to be greeted by a busy corridor filled with staff, patients and visitors, but there's nothing. Even the creaky wheelchairs have vanished without a trace. But you're not alone. Oh no. And something in your belly tightens as your good eye fixes on three or four tall figures milling about in the far end of the hall near the elevator. You take a step forward, hoping that they can help you; that they can guide you back to the warm bed and closely guarded room that you had been taken from. The clack of your heels on tile is enough to get the group's attention, turning their mottled and misshapen faces toward you.
They're coming for you now, the fronts of their hospital gowns drenched with blood.
You freeze. I'm going to wake up any minute...
They walk with a purpose, long legs carrying them faster than you anticipated. The blood is streaming down their thighs.
You recoil. This was a mistake.
They're only a few feet away now, pipes of varying sizes clutched in their scarred fists.
You raise an arm to protect yourself. Someone, please help me!
It's unclear which one struck you first, but a pipe is brought down hard against the side of your skull, knocking several teeth loose upon impact. The pain is so tremendous and immediate that you're numb to it. You're struck again in the side. This one brings you to your knees. You can barely see for all the tears clouding your vision and you beg for them to stop in a voice that sounds more suitable for a child than a woman. They hit you again, and the blow lands in the dead center of your face, shattering your nose and filling your mouth with cartilage, blood and broken teeth.
And it doesn't stop.
Over and over again, like hard rain against your already battered body. What's left of you won't even look human.
And it doesn't stop.
Your last fleeting thought is "why?" Why was this happening? Why wasn't anyone coming to save you?
And
it doesn't
stop...
*CRAAACKS KNUCKLES* S'been a while since I wrote anything. I haven't been happy with my posts in the game because I felt the quality of my writing was going to shit. Then it occurred that I should write semi-regularly to keep in practice. And by semi-regularly, I mean three fics at once over break. Oh God.
And now to totally switch gears, say hello to the new Freddy Krueger. I'm optimistic!
The hospital room is small and sparsely furnished. A far cry from the clean and well-equipped ICU you vaguely remember being admitted to. Gone are the hypnotizing bleep-bleeps of the monitors and the kind, encouraging voices of doctors and specialists. Instead, you hear the maddening squeak of over a dozen old wheelchairs rolling to and fro outside your door. The noise is slowly driving you crazy, and cuts into any effort on your part to sleep through the pain.
"Dammit," you mutter as the ruckus becomes unbearable, drawing you further and further away from blissful unconsciousness until it's no longer worth trying. You push yourself up into a sitting position and notice for the first time the dreary state of your room.
It's only slightly bigger than a utility closet with grungy cement walls and floors. The bed frame is wrought iron and in poor condition with a sour smelling mattress that should've been thrown out a long time ago, and there are strange instruments on display throughout the cramped space; a jar full of thick red liquid stands amongst bent syringes and rusted medical tools. You're beginning to feel sick to your stomach and start rationalizing that you were moved by mistake. Granted, it's one hell of a mistake, but all you have to do, so your fuzzy mind dictates, is find a nurse to lead you back to the ICU to rest and recover.
You just want to put this nightmare behind you. That's all.
You stand on shaky legs, favoring the right one over the left, and shuffle to the door. No easy task when you're limping and wearing heels. Strangely, the door is dead bolted from the inside, but the lock comes free with no trouble.
You expect to be greeted by a busy corridor filled with staff, patients and visitors, but there's nothing. Even the creaky wheelchairs have vanished without a trace. But you're not alone. Oh no. And something in your belly tightens as your good eye fixes on three or four tall figures milling about in the far end of the hall near the elevator. You take a step forward, hoping that they can help you; that they can guide you back to the warm bed and closely guarded room that you had been taken from. The clack of your heels on tile is enough to get the group's attention, turning their mottled and misshapen faces toward you.
They're coming for you now, the fronts of their hospital gowns drenched with blood.
You freeze. I'm going to wake up any minute...
They walk with a purpose, long legs carrying them faster than you anticipated. The blood is streaming down their thighs.
You recoil. This was a mistake.
They're only a few feet away now, pipes of varying sizes clutched in their scarred fists.
You raise an arm to protect yourself. Someone, please help me!
It's unclear which one struck you first, but a pipe is brought down hard against the side of your skull, knocking several teeth loose upon impact. The pain is so tremendous and immediate that you're numb to it. You're struck again in the side. This one brings you to your knees. You can barely see for all the tears clouding your vision and you beg for them to stop in a voice that sounds more suitable for a child than a woman. They hit you again, and the blow lands in the dead center of your face, shattering your nose and filling your mouth with cartilage, blood and broken teeth.
And it doesn't stop.
Over and over again, like hard rain against your already battered body. What's left of you won't even look human.
And it doesn't stop.
Your last fleeting thought is "why?" Why was this happening? Why wasn't anyone coming to save you?
And
it doesn't
stop...
*CRAAACKS KNUCKLES* S'been a while since I wrote anything. I haven't been happy with my posts in the game because I felt the quality of my writing was going to shit. Then it occurred that I should write semi-regularly to keep in practice. And by semi-regularly, I mean three fics at once over break. Oh God.
And now to totally switch gears, say hello to the new Freddy Krueger. I'm optimistic!
