SPN Drabble: Glittering Cloud.
author: queeneve_84
characters: Cas
genre: Angst
word count: 190
Warnings: None.
A/N: I've been feeling emo lately, so I wrote an artsy drabble! It felt so good to write something. It feels kind of 'off' but i didn't want to sit on it forever., so if you have suggestions, please share!
He didn’t expect it to hurt.
There is too much here, too much knowledge, too many voices.
They all know his name, they call to him at night.
His mouth is moving, but he cannot think enough to make words.
Help me.
This knowledge is terrible, it has a will.
It pushes outward, blinding white. Slicing like a blade.
His mouth moves again, no thoughts, just desperate words.
Help me, help me.
His hands move without him, reaching to crush, to punish.
He can feel it now, a rush of hot flesh. He can feel it, this life, the flutter of a frantic pulse.
It is his. His to take.
He realizes it too late. He knows this man, this flesh. It is not his, but a part of him still.
He doesn’t want this, but his hands are numb. He feels the flesh tear, the life flicker.
It is strange that he is the one who is saying it.
Stop this. Please, save me.
He begins to understand the One he has brushed aside.
Father, father, forgive me.
There is no one to hear him.
He cannot save himself.
Glittering Cloud, Imogen Heap
characters: Cas
genre: Angst
word count: 190
Warnings: None.
A/N: I've been feeling emo lately, so I wrote an artsy drabble! It felt so good to write something. It feels kind of 'off' but i didn't want to sit on it forever., so if you have suggestions, please share!
He didn’t expect it to hurt.
There is too much here, too much knowledge, too many voices.
They all know his name, they call to him at night.
His mouth is moving, but he cannot think enough to make words.
Help me.
This knowledge is terrible, it has a will.
It pushes outward, blinding white. Slicing like a blade.
His mouth moves again, no thoughts, just desperate words.
Help me, help me.
His hands move without him, reaching to crush, to punish.
He can feel it now, a rush of hot flesh. He can feel it, this life, the flutter of a frantic pulse.
It is his. His to take.
He realizes it too late. He knows this man, this flesh. It is not his, but a part of him still.
He doesn’t want this, but his hands are numb. He feels the flesh tear, the life flicker.
It is strange that he is the one who is saying it.
Stop this. Please, save me.
He begins to understand the One he has brushed aside.
Father, father, forgive me.
There is no one to hear him.
He cannot save himself.
Glittering Cloud, Imogen Heap