Lost Fic - Nevermore - Desmond - PG
Title: Nevermore
Author: tinkerbell99
Rating: PG
Character: Desmond
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: He checks the seals; he counts the guns. He listens. He waits. (Was that a sound far above?)
Notes: Written for the Lost Horror Stories challenge at lostsquee. I chose Poe's "The Raven." Excerpts here are from his work.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door...
***
***
***
There are demons far above.
He hears them crawling in the earth. Imagines them digging closer with clawlike hands, their silhouettes lit against a fiery sky. His breath comes shallow when he feels them closing in.
Sometimes, the demons wear Kelvin's twisted, laughing face. Penny's hair is matted with blood.
He wakes with a choked scream to the sound of the alarm. He tells himself this isn't real. (None of this can surely be real.)
He checks the seals; he counts the guns.
He listens.
He waits.
(Was that a sound far above?)
***
Darkness there, and nothing more...
***
He cycles until his thighs are burning, curls his fingers around the metal bar and pulls until his palms are raw. He plunges the needle into his arm.
He listens.
His hands are bleeding from that metal bar. (High above, a young man pauses from his axe. His hands are weeping too. A raven watches all his work.)
The alarm is silent in the night.
Desmond listens.
They're walking softly up above.
***
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before...
***
Four, eight, fifteen, sixteen...
He reads and the letters swim into numbers. Execute. He sleeps, but dreams never seem to come. Every one hundred and eight minutes. Execute. He imagines the smell of salt in the air. And still he hears the sounds above. (Are they louder now than they were before?)
He pauses often now in his routine, his gaze tracing a reluctant path. The photograph isn't the same. Penny's smile has begun to fade, joy erased from her tired eyes. He doesn't recognize the man beside her.
His finger hovers over the button now, hesitates in a way it never has before.
If he's the only man alive, why bother, then, to save the world?
(Footsteps.)
He imagines bright hair clotted with blood.
Execute.
The end of the world is at the door.
***
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before...
***
Metal tears from metal in a sudden concussive blast. Dust falls from the ceiling and sifts to the floor in an admonishing hush.
He won't need to wait anymore.
Boots. Clothes. Mirrors. Guns. He sees their forms, shadowy faces far above.
Stone meets water far below. He watches it fall with disbelieving eyes. Moisture spots the cuffs of his pants.
Shatter. (Not the stone.)
Silence while he waits. The faces disappear. He listens, ears straining to hear a sound. Leaving is a thought that never occurs.
"This isn't real." It can't be real. It's all a game, a test, another button he's been dared to press.
In agonizing inches, he bends to the ground. Fingers curl around the stone fallen from the darkened sky. He raises cautious eyes up to the night. Cool air bathes his face, washes him free of the sulfur smell and lifts the hair from the back of his neck.
A scratching there, just above. Heart pounding, he retreats into the shadows, shoulders hunched against the scarred wall. Years and years carved fruitlessly in those angry marks. Seconds more tick by unheard. Fingers clench the dampened trigger.
"Who are you?" An urgent whisper is met with no response. Desmond's eyes bulge against the dark. "Who are you?"
There's movement there - in the shaft, then on the floor. The dirty pool beneath the column shows the shadow of a raven.
Sweat dries cool on his tingling skin.
The smell of the jungle makes him retch.
***
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore...
***
The bird makes its way straight across the dusty floor where spattered tracks of water fade like memories in its wake. Desmond finds his own eyes darting from the ebony figure to the tower from which it so suddenly appeared.
They've gone for now - these intruders - but the eyes of the bird are upon him, and he shudders underneath its accusing glare. One black eye, though open wide, is slightly marred, a cut weeping red from its tender flesh. The raven watches through that eye.
Desmond finds himself reluctant to leave the shelter of the wall. The stone is cool against his back. He edges away, eyes on the shaft. "Leave me be," he hisses through his teeth, almost unaware he's made a sound.
Quote the raven, "Nevermore."
***
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore...
***
"What?" The word escapes in an exhaled breath. Artificial sun paints them both in prison stripes until in one angry motion he slams shut the blinds. Moonlight creeps into the hatch. Day passes to night. Another lie. Penny's photo finds his hand. One thumb worries softly over her empty face.
He crouches near, not three feet away. Peering closer at the raven, he examines it then, each wing and feather. It's nothing but a bird. Desmond eases back on his heels and exhales a shaky breath. "Did they send you, then?" he almost smiles.
The raven flutters a wing and doesn't reply.
The alarm begins its warning tone. The picture slips from Desmond's hand.
And the raven, sadly watching, croaks his sole prediction, "Nevermore."
***
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour...
***
"Nevermore," the bird repeats, one scarred eye fixed coldly on the image turned up on the floor. "Never-nevermore."
"What did you say?" It's not a whisper, but a prayer.
Quote the raven, "Nevermore."
A million memories flood his mind. He feels her hair brush against his cheek. The warmth of her lips ghosts his neck.
Nevermore.
The alarm urges haste.
He acts.
"Get out!" He lunges toward the evil bird, rage evident in his unsteady steps. The raven retreats a few skittish feet before spreading out his coal-black wings. For only seconds does he fly, then comes to rest in a cathedral-like room where the screen reflects sickly green upon his back. Talons skid across the keys. Desmond can hear the numbers inside his head.
The alarm shrills panic inside the room.
"Move!" Urgency now as time ticks away. The raven falters, a five appears on the screen. A two follows close behind.
Execute, and the world will end.
He reaches forth to strike the bird, to push away its unsteady claws. With a squawk and flap, the bird rises away untouched by Desmond's angry hand. He clears the screen and inputs the code.
Execute.
Silence.
"Nevermore."
***
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor...
***
The girl comes first.
His disbelieving hands close over her calves and clench against the muscles while she kicks against her unseen foe. He finds it odd she feels so warm.
She screams as she falls, silenced by the butt of his gun. He throws the mirror back and floods the jungle night with light.
Light catches, too, in the eye of the raven. It watches him while he drags the girl, crouches close beside her still form. He searches her with awkward fingers frantic in their haste. There are more of them above.
"Did she send you?" he asks, pulling hair away from her pale face. "Did she send you for me? Tell me!" The girl's eyes flutter before falling back unfocused. She sags against his trembling arm.
He places her body on the ground with one last whisper. "Tell me...this isn't the end."
Very softly comes the answer, "Nevermore."
***
The man comes next. The man with the angry scar fading over one clear eye.
Desmond never thinks to miss the bird.
***
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
***
"Are you him?"
His shoulders ache from clutching the gun. Who are these people? Why are they here? His head spins dizzy while he asks them time and again.
"What did one snowman say to the other snowman?"
He questions in riddles and puzzles while they stand so still. They answer in lies that sound like nevermore.
"You're not him!"
These are words that cannot be true. The world's not still there (she's not still there) and no one's alive and planes don't crash from an empty sky.
He removes a photo from the cold, dirty floor.
The box man continues his lies.
All he hears is nevermore.
***
***
***
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Author: tinkerbell99
Rating: PG
Character: Desmond
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: He checks the seals; he counts the guns. He listens. He waits. (Was that a sound far above?)
Notes: Written for the Lost Horror Stories challenge at lostsquee. I chose Poe's "The Raven." Excerpts here are from his work.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door...
***
***
***
There are demons far above.
He hears them crawling in the earth. Imagines them digging closer with clawlike hands, their silhouettes lit against a fiery sky. His breath comes shallow when he feels them closing in.
Sometimes, the demons wear Kelvin's twisted, laughing face. Penny's hair is matted with blood.
He wakes with a choked scream to the sound of the alarm. He tells himself this isn't real. (None of this can surely be real.)
He checks the seals; he counts the guns.
He listens.
He waits.
(Was that a sound far above?)
***
Darkness there, and nothing more...
***
He cycles until his thighs are burning, curls his fingers around the metal bar and pulls until his palms are raw. He plunges the needle into his arm.
He listens.
His hands are bleeding from that metal bar. (High above, a young man pauses from his axe. His hands are weeping too. A raven watches all his work.)
The alarm is silent in the night.
Desmond listens.
They're walking softly up above.
***
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before...
***
Four, eight, fifteen, sixteen...
He reads and the letters swim into numbers. Execute. He sleeps, but dreams never seem to come. Every one hundred and eight minutes. Execute. He imagines the smell of salt in the air. And still he hears the sounds above. (Are they louder now than they were before?)
He pauses often now in his routine, his gaze tracing a reluctant path. The photograph isn't the same. Penny's smile has begun to fade, joy erased from her tired eyes. He doesn't recognize the man beside her.
His finger hovers over the button now, hesitates in a way it never has before.
If he's the only man alive, why bother, then, to save the world?
(Footsteps.)
He imagines bright hair clotted with blood.
Execute.
The end of the world is at the door.
***
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before...
***
Metal tears from metal in a sudden concussive blast. Dust falls from the ceiling and sifts to the floor in an admonishing hush.
He won't need to wait anymore.
Boots. Clothes. Mirrors. Guns. He sees their forms, shadowy faces far above.
Stone meets water far below. He watches it fall with disbelieving eyes. Moisture spots the cuffs of his pants.
Shatter. (Not the stone.)
Silence while he waits. The faces disappear. He listens, ears straining to hear a sound. Leaving is a thought that never occurs.
"This isn't real." It can't be real. It's all a game, a test, another button he's been dared to press.
In agonizing inches, he bends to the ground. Fingers curl around the stone fallen from the darkened sky. He raises cautious eyes up to the night. Cool air bathes his face, washes him free of the sulfur smell and lifts the hair from the back of his neck.
A scratching there, just above. Heart pounding, he retreats into the shadows, shoulders hunched against the scarred wall. Years and years carved fruitlessly in those angry marks. Seconds more tick by unheard. Fingers clench the dampened trigger.
"Who are you?" An urgent whisper is met with no response. Desmond's eyes bulge against the dark. "Who are you?"
There's movement there - in the shaft, then on the floor. The dirty pool beneath the column shows the shadow of a raven.
Sweat dries cool on his tingling skin.
The smell of the jungle makes him retch.
***
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore...
***
The bird makes its way straight across the dusty floor where spattered tracks of water fade like memories in its wake. Desmond finds his own eyes darting from the ebony figure to the tower from which it so suddenly appeared.
They've gone for now - these intruders - but the eyes of the bird are upon him, and he shudders underneath its accusing glare. One black eye, though open wide, is slightly marred, a cut weeping red from its tender flesh. The raven watches through that eye.
Desmond finds himself reluctant to leave the shelter of the wall. The stone is cool against his back. He edges away, eyes on the shaft. "Leave me be," he hisses through his teeth, almost unaware he's made a sound.
Quote the raven, "Nevermore."
***
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore...
***
"What?" The word escapes in an exhaled breath. Artificial sun paints them both in prison stripes until in one angry motion he slams shut the blinds. Moonlight creeps into the hatch. Day passes to night. Another lie. Penny's photo finds his hand. One thumb worries softly over her empty face.
He crouches near, not three feet away. Peering closer at the raven, he examines it then, each wing and feather. It's nothing but a bird. Desmond eases back on his heels and exhales a shaky breath. "Did they send you, then?" he almost smiles.
The raven flutters a wing and doesn't reply.
The alarm begins its warning tone. The picture slips from Desmond's hand.
And the raven, sadly watching, croaks his sole prediction, "Nevermore."
***
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour...
***
"Nevermore," the bird repeats, one scarred eye fixed coldly on the image turned up on the floor. "Never-nevermore."
"What did you say?" It's not a whisper, but a prayer.
Quote the raven, "Nevermore."
A million memories flood his mind. He feels her hair brush against his cheek. The warmth of her lips ghosts his neck.
Nevermore.
The alarm urges haste.
He acts.
"Get out!" He lunges toward the evil bird, rage evident in his unsteady steps. The raven retreats a few skittish feet before spreading out his coal-black wings. For only seconds does he fly, then comes to rest in a cathedral-like room where the screen reflects sickly green upon his back. Talons skid across the keys. Desmond can hear the numbers inside his head.
The alarm shrills panic inside the room.
"Move!" Urgency now as time ticks away. The raven falters, a five appears on the screen. A two follows close behind.
Execute, and the world will end.
He reaches forth to strike the bird, to push away its unsteady claws. With a squawk and flap, the bird rises away untouched by Desmond's angry hand. He clears the screen and inputs the code.
Execute.
Silence.
"Nevermore."
***
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor...
***
The girl comes first.
His disbelieving hands close over her calves and clench against the muscles while she kicks against her unseen foe. He finds it odd she feels so warm.
She screams as she falls, silenced by the butt of his gun. He throws the mirror back and floods the jungle night with light.
Light catches, too, in the eye of the raven. It watches him while he drags the girl, crouches close beside her still form. He searches her with awkward fingers frantic in their haste. There are more of them above.
"Did she send you?" he asks, pulling hair away from her pale face. "Did she send you for me? Tell me!" The girl's eyes flutter before falling back unfocused. She sags against his trembling arm.
He places her body on the ground with one last whisper. "Tell me...this isn't the end."
Very softly comes the answer, "Nevermore."
***
The man comes next. The man with the angry scar fading over one clear eye.
Desmond never thinks to miss the bird.
***
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
***
"Are you him?"
His shoulders ache from clutching the gun. Who are these people? Why are they here? His head spins dizzy while he asks them time and again.
"What did one snowman say to the other snowman?"
He questions in riddles and puzzles while they stand so still. They answer in lies that sound like nevermore.
"You're not him!"
These are words that cannot be true. The world's not still there (she's not still there) and no one's alive and planes don't crash from an empty sky.
He removes a photo from the cold, dirty floor.
The box man continues his lies.
All he hears is nevermore.
***
***
***
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!