Mal - Nightmares
Nightmares
Mal doesn't deal with the trauma. Post-War Stories. Prompt: Nightmares.
Wordcount: 261 / Rating: PG-13
Nightmares.
Twisting, black and red emotions tight in his stomach. Images of people he thought he'd forgotten and a few faces he would never forget. Niska. The slide of cold metal worming its way under his skin, pulling the intense pain into his nerves. The nothingness of death and the hot fear that came with being revived. The slow, intense trickling feeling as his limbs fought to catch up with the faded blood flow.
He'd never hated any one person as entirely as he hated Niska. The Alliance could push him and push him but that was just a concept. He could hate everything about it and never pin it to one single person. There was no real focus. Niska, though, he worked against the Alliance and against him. And he hated him. He hated him so much his gut clenched with as much pain as that in his chest. He hated him enough that the only thing keeping him going was the thought of killing him when - if - he got out.
And even thought he knew he should be relieved when he found himself half dead just inches from Zoë and the Wash. He knew. He wished he could be.
Yet all he could feel was the twisting, black and red nightmares. They wouldn't fade.
Mal doesn't deal with the trauma. Post-War Stories. Prompt: Nightmares.
Wordcount: 261 / Rating: PG-13
Nightmares.
Twisting, black and red emotions tight in his stomach. Images of people he thought he'd forgotten and a few faces he would never forget. Niska. The slide of cold metal worming its way under his skin, pulling the intense pain into his nerves. The nothingness of death and the hot fear that came with being revived. The slow, intense trickling feeling as his limbs fought to catch up with the faded blood flow.
He'd never hated any one person as entirely as he hated Niska. The Alliance could push him and push him but that was just a concept. He could hate everything about it and never pin it to one single person. There was no real focus. Niska, though, he worked against the Alliance and against him. And he hated him. He hated him so much his gut clenched with as much pain as that in his chest. He hated him enough that the only thing keeping him going was the thought of killing him when - if - he got out.
And even thought he knew he should be relieved when he found himself half dead just inches from Zoë and the Wash. He knew. He wished he could be.
Yet all he could feel was the twisting, black and red nightmares. They wouldn't fade.