A little experimental ficlet thing - Duality.
A/N: So, this is really weird. I was thinking about second person and weird fractured narrators, and then I had a couple sentences pop into my head, and then it was midnight and I was writing this, whatever it is. And yeah, I'm confused too. I have on maybe one occasion had a weird crazy trippy internal monologue like this, where I contradict myself constantly, so there's some little depraved part of me somewhere in here, but it's well buried underneath the mindfuck. So! SPN fic with ten heaping doses of bizarre mental weirdness. Excuse any errors, because it's late and I'm tired.
You sit on your bed, staring up at the ceiling because it's the best place to stare right now, and wonder when (if?) help is ever going to come.
Sixteen seconds (three days) ago, you settled down for a nap and then there was screaming, echoing off the walls, horrific noises in the night. They'd told you not to move in here (they'd laughed), they'd refused to help you cart in your sofa (which might have been the whole problem, the damn sofa, it always seemed to be looking at you funny). Someone offered to let you stay at their place for the night, so you could get used to the place during the day (but now it was always dark, so it didn't matter so much).
Twenty-five seconds (eighteen hours) ago, you looked for a phone somewhere, but there wasn't one within your line of sight, and they'd told you not to leave the bed (they didn't talk), and they'd hurt you when you had (they had no fingers, only claws).
Two days (four hours) ago, you heard knocking against the window, but it was drowned out by the sound of blood (tears) dripping down from the ceiling (your cheeks) and the air smells like salt and filth but it's only been five minutes (three days) and you can handle it (where are your hands?) because help is going to come (they don't care).
Now (never) the door is kicked open, and you shove back against the headboard because it's back to hurt you again (it never hurt you), to add to the huge puddles of blood everywhere (you don't have a single scratch on you). “No,” you scream (yesyesyesyesYES) because someone's walking into (an empty room) your torture chamber and you just want to be alone (don't leave, don't leave, can't be alone).
“Found her, Dean. She's in the bedroom,” someone calls down into the hall (with a voice like broken glass) as they walk in and put a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you're alright. You're safe now.” (never safe, they're going to come back).
Someone tries to pull you off the bed, wants you to stand up (they took your legs hours ago) but you kick and punch and scream with everything you've got (nothing) because they're coming back but they can't get you here. You're safe here (nowhere). Safe.
“You go deal with whatever it is while I try to calm her down.” Silence (alone, why are you alone?) and then he talks again. “Are you alright? What happened?”
What happened? You don't know (don't want to know) other than it just went dark (no more light for you, naughty, naughty girl) and then you tried to get out of bed and it threw you back and there were claws in your shoulders and it pinned you down (you deserved it, somehow) and said it was all your fault (it was), that you didn't belong, that you shouldn't have come here (they all said that).
“We're gonna take care of you. It's fine. The spirits are gone now, okay?” No, you want to shout, not okay (but at least you're not alone) but your voice is gone, so you just grab the dirty covers tight between your fingers (don't have any fingers left, do you?) when he tries to pick you up again.
“Hey, I know you're scared, but we gotta go you outta here. You need to get to a hospital.” He puts his hands on you again and even though you really want to (need to) scream, you hold it in, because it'll be mad if you don't (it's already mad). He picks you up and suddenly it feels like you're bleeding, everywhere, everywhere he's touching, you want to run away but you can't (won't), he won't let you (you don't want to).
As he carries you out of the room, and your vision starts to fade out (you haven't seen anything in days) you hear him talking about something that's fucked with your head, but really, it's your head fucking with things, isn't it? That's what it told you (when it spoke) (it talked a lot). It was all your fault, you couldn't avoid it, you earned this, you should have stayed away, you didn't deserve this house, if they couldn't have it, no one could.
Well, you didn't have it anymore (they did) and you wouldn't be staying here anymore (not staying anywhere). And whoever was carrying you out of your (their) house, he was hopefully going to take care of you.
Even if he didn't, at least you're not going to be here anymore (you're not going to be here, you need to be here). But it's too late to worry, now, as the world goes black (white).
A/N: Yay! I'm totally bonkers for writing this!
You sit on your bed, staring up at the ceiling because it's the best place to stare right now, and wonder when (if?) help is ever going to come.
Sixteen seconds (three days) ago, you settled down for a nap and then there was screaming, echoing off the walls, horrific noises in the night. They'd told you not to move in here (they'd laughed), they'd refused to help you cart in your sofa (which might have been the whole problem, the damn sofa, it always seemed to be looking at you funny). Someone offered to let you stay at their place for the night, so you could get used to the place during the day (but now it was always dark, so it didn't matter so much).
Twenty-five seconds (eighteen hours) ago, you looked for a phone somewhere, but there wasn't one within your line of sight, and they'd told you not to leave the bed (they didn't talk), and they'd hurt you when you had (they had no fingers, only claws).
Two days (four hours) ago, you heard knocking against the window, but it was drowned out by the sound of blood (tears) dripping down from the ceiling (your cheeks) and the air smells like salt and filth but it's only been five minutes (three days) and you can handle it (where are your hands?) because help is going to come (they don't care).
Now (never) the door is kicked open, and you shove back against the headboard because it's back to hurt you again (it never hurt you), to add to the huge puddles of blood everywhere (you don't have a single scratch on you). “No,” you scream (yesyesyesyesYES) because someone's walking into (an empty room) your torture chamber and you just want to be alone (don't leave, don't leave, can't be alone).
“Found her, Dean. She's in the bedroom,” someone calls down into the hall (with a voice like broken glass) as they walk in and put a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you're alright. You're safe now.” (never safe, they're going to come back).
Someone tries to pull you off the bed, wants you to stand up (they took your legs hours ago) but you kick and punch and scream with everything you've got (nothing) because they're coming back but they can't get you here. You're safe here (nowhere). Safe.
“You go deal with whatever it is while I try to calm her down.” Silence (alone, why are you alone?) and then he talks again. “Are you alright? What happened?”
What happened? You don't know (don't want to know) other than it just went dark (no more light for you, naughty, naughty girl) and then you tried to get out of bed and it threw you back and there were claws in your shoulders and it pinned you down (you deserved it, somehow) and said it was all your fault (it was), that you didn't belong, that you shouldn't have come here (they all said that).
“We're gonna take care of you. It's fine. The spirits are gone now, okay?” No, you want to shout, not okay (but at least you're not alone) but your voice is gone, so you just grab the dirty covers tight between your fingers (don't have any fingers left, do you?) when he tries to pick you up again.
“Hey, I know you're scared, but we gotta go you outta here. You need to get to a hospital.” He puts his hands on you again and even though you really want to (need to) scream, you hold it in, because it'll be mad if you don't (it's already mad). He picks you up and suddenly it feels like you're bleeding, everywhere, everywhere he's touching, you want to run away but you can't (won't), he won't let you (you don't want to).
As he carries you out of the room, and your vision starts to fade out (you haven't seen anything in days) you hear him talking about something that's fucked with your head, but really, it's your head fucking with things, isn't it? That's what it told you (when it spoke) (it talked a lot). It was all your fault, you couldn't avoid it, you earned this, you should have stayed away, you didn't deserve this house, if they couldn't have it, no one could.
Well, you didn't have it anymore (they did) and you wouldn't be staying here anymore (not staying anywhere). And whoever was carrying you out of your (their) house, he was hopefully going to take care of you.
Even if he didn't, at least you're not going to be here anymore (you're not going to be here, you need to be here). But it's too late to worry, now, as the world goes black (white).
A/N: Yay! I'm totally bonkers for writing this!