Fic: Epistaxis (1/1)
Title: Epistaxis
Rating: PG-13
Character: Claire Littleton
Word Count: 1,166
Summary: The world goes dark. For the prompt “Claire, nosebleed,” at lostsquee's Lost Fic Battle 2010. General Spoilers Through S5.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Yeah, I don't actually know where this came from. Nor do I know where my sudden enjoyment of writing Claire came from. It kinda ended up trippy and vague, though, so, there you have it.
Epistaxis
(The world goes bright.)
She wakes up, and the universe splinters in rainbows, like diamonds in the light, and she thinks that this, of anything she’s ever seen, looks most like she imagines heaven; hurts more than she fears hell.
The edges shatter before she has a chance to think anything else.
(The world goes dark.)
Smoke. No stench though, no carbon on the air. Except, there is no air. There is nothing but the cloud, and somehow -- someway -- it feels like home and danger and agony and love, familiar, even as she knows she shouldn’t be here; doesn’t want to stay.
Sparks fly across the grey, strike her and jolt through her deadened flesh, shoot through her heart and send life into her still and stagnant veins; she’s felt this way before.
(The world goes bright.)
She recognizes the scent of the ocean, the way it mingles sweetly - almost too sweet - with the aroma of fruit; clashes nauseatingly with the wet stench of dirt, of decay.
She manages to lift her head once against the swirling, aching din of silence and sheer, cacophonous noise -- whispers, insidious, leeching what’s left of her strength, her sanity -- and her eyes fall upon a coffin. An open coffin.
She doesn’t have to move, doesn’t have to think to know the rotting corpse inside of it, and for all the anger, all the hate she’s ever known, the sight still cuts at her like a blunt knife through her skin.
Claire, she hears behind her, and she knows that voice, somehow, like it was imprinted on her consciousness in anticipation of this very moment. She draws one, shaking, stuttering breath, her limbs quivering even as she steadies herself against the roots of the trees. She sees him -- a little gaunt, a little pale, but whole, not half-decomposing with maggots squirming round his face -- and she tries to speak. Against the scent of smoke -- but no, not quite; more like incense now, no sulfur, just a soft, gentle torch to battle with the stars at night -- she tries.
She feels her stomach heave, but the black comes calling before the acid sears her throat.
(The world goes dark.)
She keeps her eyes closed; her head’s pounding with a force greater than her racing pulse, because if her heart really was beating quite that fast, well -- she’s no doctor, but she’s pretty sure she’d be dead.
Maybe you are, a voice whispers behind her; and it’s even worse because to her ears, the words are gibberish, spoken in a tongue she’s never heard, but to the tight space in her chest, it rings true -- something elemental, something that had been waiting for her all this time, from before the beginning.
Something that would have waited until after the end.
She hears footsteps breaking twigs, crushing growing things so that they can grow no more, and all she does is try to breathe -- slow against her throbbing pulse where it tries to suffocate her, steady even as she shakes.
Her hand slips unconsciously, too late, to the flat plane of her stomach, and the traitorous sob that builds in her throat whines against the cut of a blade through the thick evening air, and she’s certain, so certain, that --
(The world goes bright.)
She sees the horizon, far away. She smells the strange intertwining of saw dust and charcoal, the heady burn of meat. She hears drilling just as shrilly as she hears the gentle twang of music she knows only because she knew people, loved people who remembered it themselves. There’s a tug between her ribs as she tries to sit up, keeping her low as the world hums angrily against her temples, and she feels heavy, clung magnetic against the ground.
She licks the corners of her mouth as she lowers herself slowly back to the ground, tastes iron, and she wonders if that’s what’s holding fast, drawing her back.
A shadow blocks out the sun, but it’s a reprieve more than a threat; her lashes flutter and she feels warm, safe in whatever presence surrounds her -- if a little bit fearful, a little bit afraid of the dark.
It will pass, the words are soft, and his eyes blend in with the sky before they fade along with everything else.
(The world goes dark.)
The only light comes from the flames blazing around her, hot against her cheeks as she turns inside the ring of fire; they outshine the stars against the night sky, and she only knows the moon’s there at all from where it reflects in the calm of the sea.
She stares, searches, feels alone in a way that leaves her whole world hollow, and it isn’t until that tug in her chest snaps upward that she feels the empty places grow dense, full with a dread she doesn’t fully understand, the kind of destiny no one can outrun, yet no one can survive.
She lifts her head, and the height is dizzying; she feels the burn in her nostrils as the carefully crafted lines of the statues loom over her. She doesn’t know what it means, but she knows what she must do -- how she knows it, though, is a mystery, and she’s not ready to understand it. She doesn’t want to.
She straightens, wipes the blood from her upper lip, lets it smear across her jaw, high on her cheekbones, a primal, savage sort of flush. She walks with a purpose, her trial by fire, as the trees loom closer with every step.
The flames don’t hurt as she passes through them, and that, she thinks, is the first sign that this is more than she was ever meant to be.
(The world goes bright.)
She fails. Of course she fails. She’s just a child herself, really; she was never cut out for the task he’d set her to, the world he’d asked her to save.
She was only human; it wasn’t fair to demand that she be a god.
He told her it was for a reason, that he’d made her anew for a purpose. She knows she should breathe through her teeth, let the blood drip down across her lips and savor the tang of it traveling on the breeze as a gift, as an honor to behold.
She should accept this life and just believe.
She can’t.
She can’t.
And this is how she saves them all.
(The world goes dark.)
Rating: PG-13
Character: Claire Littleton
Word Count: 1,166
Summary: The world goes dark. For the prompt “Claire, nosebleed,” at lostsquee's Lost Fic Battle 2010. General Spoilers Through S5.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Yeah, I don't actually know where this came from. Nor do I know where my sudden enjoyment of writing Claire came from. It kinda ended up trippy and vague, though, so, there you have it.
Epistaxis
(The world goes bright.)
She wakes up, and the universe splinters in rainbows, like diamonds in the light, and she thinks that this, of anything she’s ever seen, looks most like she imagines heaven; hurts more than she fears hell.
The edges shatter before she has a chance to think anything else.
(The world goes dark.)
Smoke. No stench though, no carbon on the air. Except, there is no air. There is nothing but the cloud, and somehow -- someway -- it feels like home and danger and agony and love, familiar, even as she knows she shouldn’t be here; doesn’t want to stay.
Sparks fly across the grey, strike her and jolt through her deadened flesh, shoot through her heart and send life into her still and stagnant veins; she’s felt this way before.
(The world goes bright.)
She recognizes the scent of the ocean, the way it mingles sweetly - almost too sweet - with the aroma of fruit; clashes nauseatingly with the wet stench of dirt, of decay.
She manages to lift her head once against the swirling, aching din of silence and sheer, cacophonous noise -- whispers, insidious, leeching what’s left of her strength, her sanity -- and her eyes fall upon a coffin. An open coffin.
She doesn’t have to move, doesn’t have to think to know the rotting corpse inside of it, and for all the anger, all the hate she’s ever known, the sight still cuts at her like a blunt knife through her skin.
Claire, she hears behind her, and she knows that voice, somehow, like it was imprinted on her consciousness in anticipation of this very moment. She draws one, shaking, stuttering breath, her limbs quivering even as she steadies herself against the roots of the trees. She sees him -- a little gaunt, a little pale, but whole, not half-decomposing with maggots squirming round his face -- and she tries to speak. Against the scent of smoke -- but no, not quite; more like incense now, no sulfur, just a soft, gentle torch to battle with the stars at night -- she tries.
She feels her stomach heave, but the black comes calling before the acid sears her throat.
(The world goes dark.)
She keeps her eyes closed; her head’s pounding with a force greater than her racing pulse, because if her heart really was beating quite that fast, well -- she’s no doctor, but she’s pretty sure she’d be dead.
Maybe you are, a voice whispers behind her; and it’s even worse because to her ears, the words are gibberish, spoken in a tongue she’s never heard, but to the tight space in her chest, it rings true -- something elemental, something that had been waiting for her all this time, from before the beginning.
Something that would have waited until after the end.
She hears footsteps breaking twigs, crushing growing things so that they can grow no more, and all she does is try to breathe -- slow against her throbbing pulse where it tries to suffocate her, steady even as she shakes.
Her hand slips unconsciously, too late, to the flat plane of her stomach, and the traitorous sob that builds in her throat whines against the cut of a blade through the thick evening air, and she’s certain, so certain, that --
(The world goes bright.)
She sees the horizon, far away. She smells the strange intertwining of saw dust and charcoal, the heady burn of meat. She hears drilling just as shrilly as she hears the gentle twang of music she knows only because she knew people, loved people who remembered it themselves. There’s a tug between her ribs as she tries to sit up, keeping her low as the world hums angrily against her temples, and she feels heavy, clung magnetic against the ground.
She licks the corners of her mouth as she lowers herself slowly back to the ground, tastes iron, and she wonders if that’s what’s holding fast, drawing her back.
A shadow blocks out the sun, but it’s a reprieve more than a threat; her lashes flutter and she feels warm, safe in whatever presence surrounds her -- if a little bit fearful, a little bit afraid of the dark.
It will pass, the words are soft, and his eyes blend in with the sky before they fade along with everything else.
(The world goes dark.)
The only light comes from the flames blazing around her, hot against her cheeks as she turns inside the ring of fire; they outshine the stars against the night sky, and she only knows the moon’s there at all from where it reflects in the calm of the sea.
She stares, searches, feels alone in a way that leaves her whole world hollow, and it isn’t until that tug in her chest snaps upward that she feels the empty places grow dense, full with a dread she doesn’t fully understand, the kind of destiny no one can outrun, yet no one can survive.
She lifts her head, and the height is dizzying; she feels the burn in her nostrils as the carefully crafted lines of the statues loom over her. She doesn’t know what it means, but she knows what she must do -- how she knows it, though, is a mystery, and she’s not ready to understand it. She doesn’t want to.
She straightens, wipes the blood from her upper lip, lets it smear across her jaw, high on her cheekbones, a primal, savage sort of flush. She walks with a purpose, her trial by fire, as the trees loom closer with every step.
The flames don’t hurt as she passes through them, and that, she thinks, is the first sign that this is more than she was ever meant to be.
(The world goes bright.)
She fails. Of course she fails. She’s just a child herself, really; she was never cut out for the task he’d set her to, the world he’d asked her to save.
She was only human; it wasn’t fair to demand that she be a god.
He told her it was for a reason, that he’d made her anew for a purpose. She knows she should breathe through her teeth, let the blood drip down across her lips and savor the tang of it traveling on the breeze as a gift, as an honor to behold.
She should accept this life and just believe.
She can’t.
She can’t.
And this is how she saves them all.
(The world goes dark.)