(no subject)
darkness
concrete walls
stained floors
steel doors on either side
the hallway outside his cell
a voice, distant, pleading: "Jack, please help me! Jack?!"
Audrey's voice.
trying to run, feet feeling like they're encased in cement
hallway doesn't end, stretching on into infinity
a hand on his shoulder, holding him back
turning, Curtis is behind him, shirt covered in blood as he holds his neck where Jack shot him
can't hear what Curtis is saying, but he doesn't have to, the expression in Curtis' eyes says everything
can't pull away, can't run, tries to speak and nothing comes out, trapped, no way to escape--
Jack opens his eyes with a gasp, for a moment unsure of where he is as the darkness presses in around him. For a moment, he thinks he's back there, in his cell, before he realizes that he's on a bed, not a concrete floor. That he's wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, not the loose, prison uniform.
He sits up, slowly, wincing at the pain in his ribs and his left shoulder, his heart still hammering. He's safe, but that feeling of danger isn't gone yet, and doesn't seem to be dissipating. If anything, it's getting worse; that inner instinct that a threat is nearby getting louder. Something isn't right. Something is triggering his defenses, telling him to get out of there, that he isn't safe. In the dim light, it feels like the walls are starting to close in on him, his chest getting tight.
Shoving his feet into his shoes, he grabs his room key and hurries out the door of his room.
concrete walls
stained floors
steel doors on either side
the hallway outside his cell
a voice, distant, pleading: "Jack, please help me! Jack?!"
Audrey's voice.
trying to run, feet feeling like they're encased in cement
hallway doesn't end, stretching on into infinity
a hand on his shoulder, holding him back
turning, Curtis is behind him, shirt covered in blood as he holds his neck where Jack shot him
can't hear what Curtis is saying, but he doesn't have to, the expression in Curtis' eyes says everything
can't pull away, can't run, tries to speak and nothing comes out, trapped, no way to escape--
Jack opens his eyes with a gasp, for a moment unsure of where he is as the darkness presses in around him. For a moment, he thinks he's back there, in his cell, before he realizes that he's on a bed, not a concrete floor. That he's wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, not the loose, prison uniform.
He sits up, slowly, wincing at the pain in his ribs and his left shoulder, his heart still hammering. He's safe, but that feeling of danger isn't gone yet, and doesn't seem to be dissipating. If anything, it's getting worse; that inner instinct that a threat is nearby getting louder. Something isn't right. Something is triggering his defenses, telling him to get out of there, that he isn't safe. In the dim light, it feels like the walls are starting to close in on him, his chest getting tight.
Shoving his feet into his shoes, he grabs his room key and hurries out the door of his room.