(no subject)
Verse: paradisa
Word Count: 430
When the Master opens his eyes, he is not in bed. He is sitting in a chair, under a spotlight, in the dark. He blinks the way a confused man would and begins to raise his hand to shield his eyes - permit them to adjust - only to find that he is shackled at the wrist. Both wrists shackled to the arms of the chair. His legs as well.
It takes him only a moment to realise what is going on. He is bound to an electric chair, moments away from execution. One of his hearts seizes in his chest, stops dead for half a second before speeding up rapidly. Terror. That is terror he's feeling as a shiver runs down his back, as his arms shake and twitch beyond his control. His mind reels as he tries to remember how he got in this situation, but there is only a fog; everything is beyond him as his body reacts to that part of his mind screaming at him to find some way to flee, to escape.
Two lights from above him flicker into the empty space facing him. Standing in the centre of both beams are two people. Both of them rest their hands on heavy, rusted switches. One man he knows intimately: the Doctor merely shakes his head in disapproval at him, dissatisfied and disappointed. The other man grins widely at him with a mouth filled with too many teeth. He's only seen this man once, but he knows who it is: Walter Sullivan, his previous executioner.
The dark void is suddenly filled with the sound of macabre laughter. The stage is set, piano notes burst in staccato fashion, and behind him he can hear whispering. Thousands of voices whispering all at once, every word becoming like static ringing in his ears.
Walter Sullivan and the Doctor exchange one small glance before they pull their respective switches in perfect synchronisation. The buzz of electricity replaces staccato bursts. The Master screams in agony as he is once more put to his death.
He starts - and once more he opens his eyes. The white ceiling is dark. The faint hum of the TARDIS is the only noticeable noise in the room.
Next to him, the Doctor sleeps. The man's head is pressed tightly against the Master's shoulder. He can feel the Doctor tremble just slightly. In the dark, he can see the Doctor's face is almost pained. Perhaps scared. The Master looks away. He is certain he knows exactly what is plaguing him.
Something of a stage, three lights, three people, and an execution.
Word Count: 430
When the Master opens his eyes, he is not in bed. He is sitting in a chair, under a spotlight, in the dark. He blinks the way a confused man would and begins to raise his hand to shield his eyes - permit them to adjust - only to find that he is shackled at the wrist. Both wrists shackled to the arms of the chair. His legs as well.
It takes him only a moment to realise what is going on. He is bound to an electric chair, moments away from execution. One of his hearts seizes in his chest, stops dead for half a second before speeding up rapidly. Terror. That is terror he's feeling as a shiver runs down his back, as his arms shake and twitch beyond his control. His mind reels as he tries to remember how he got in this situation, but there is only a fog; everything is beyond him as his body reacts to that part of his mind screaming at him to find some way to flee, to escape.
Two lights from above him flicker into the empty space facing him. Standing in the centre of both beams are two people. Both of them rest their hands on heavy, rusted switches. One man he knows intimately: the Doctor merely shakes his head in disapproval at him, dissatisfied and disappointed. The other man grins widely at him with a mouth filled with too many teeth. He's only seen this man once, but he knows who it is: Walter Sullivan, his previous executioner.
The dark void is suddenly filled with the sound of macabre laughter. The stage is set, piano notes burst in staccato fashion, and behind him he can hear whispering. Thousands of voices whispering all at once, every word becoming like static ringing in his ears.
Walter Sullivan and the Doctor exchange one small glance before they pull their respective switches in perfect synchronisation. The buzz of electricity replaces staccato bursts. The Master screams in agony as he is once more put to his death.
He starts - and once more he opens his eyes. The white ceiling is dark. The faint hum of the TARDIS is the only noticeable noise in the room.
Next to him, the Doctor sleeps. The man's head is pressed tightly against the Master's shoulder. He can feel the Doctor tremble just slightly. In the dark, he can see the Doctor's face is almost pained. Perhaps scared. The Master looks away. He is certain he knows exactly what is plaguing him.
Something of a stage, three lights, three people, and an execution.