1/100 ; this dream isn't mine
Title: This dream isn't mine.
Author: session416
Rating: G
Character(s): Mal, River, a touch of Simon
Prompt: Set 1, #001, "Cemetery"
Word Count: <400
I'm cold, shivering in my own sweat, beneath a blistering cloud of shellfire. My eyes can hardly focus, but my finger never leaves the trigger. I try to block it out, because it's not real, it's not real-- tides of noise, crashing, bombing, screaming--
I feel my legs bounding from one place to another, collapsing comically on my side like this is a cartoon and that bullet didn't hurt me. Like the blood that starts to leak from my arm isn't giving me warmth that I need but I'm not ready for.
My heart is trying to break ranks from my ribs, but I can't hear it. The noise is filled so thick that it collapsed on itself to mute. The flesh feels ready, charged, but I know it’s the hunger. Simon told me hunger releases endorphins and it does, and it makes me want to dance. But that's my feeling, I know, but I don't, because this isn't me.
The lines are blurring. Me, here, there, now, then, and we're in the gray where it's whole-- but it's not real.
But the eyes are open and I can see the valley through gunsmoke tears. The sky is all the colors of hell coloring the ground in shades of brown, dark, and starless. I feel a laugh in my throat when I slip down into a bunker that's more than six feet deep and I know this is not where I'm meant to die. This dream, this memory, won't bury the flesh but threatens to bury me. The skies are pouring dirt, dust, and blood, and it's thick and heavy and darker than black.
I remember who I am when I hear my own scream. This is my scream, my ribs, my noise.
When my eyes open, this is Simon, and he's holding me.
I fight him, because my body's forgotten which flesh I'm in and I'll fight him. I'll hurt him so he won't come closer, 'cause he can't fix me-- can't stitch old wounds--
In time, he'll force his way past my defenses and make me want him hold me. Simon will whisper my name into my hair, tell me it's him again and again, bringing me down and down, till I'm back in mine, stuck, and shivering from the cold of my own sweat.
***
Author: session416
Rating: G
Character(s): Mal, River, a touch of Simon
Prompt: Set 1, #001, "Cemetery"
Word Count: <400
I'm cold, shivering in my own sweat, beneath a blistering cloud of shellfire. My eyes can hardly focus, but my finger never leaves the trigger. I try to block it out, because it's not real, it's not real-- tides of noise, crashing, bombing, screaming--
I feel my legs bounding from one place to another, collapsing comically on my side like this is a cartoon and that bullet didn't hurt me. Like the blood that starts to leak from my arm isn't giving me warmth that I need but I'm not ready for.
My heart is trying to break ranks from my ribs, but I can't hear it. The noise is filled so thick that it collapsed on itself to mute. The flesh feels ready, charged, but I know it’s the hunger. Simon told me hunger releases endorphins and it does, and it makes me want to dance. But that's my feeling, I know, but I don't, because this isn't me.
The lines are blurring. Me, here, there, now, then, and we're in the gray where it's whole-- but it's not real.
But the eyes are open and I can see the valley through gunsmoke tears. The sky is all the colors of hell coloring the ground in shades of brown, dark, and starless. I feel a laugh in my throat when I slip down into a bunker that's more than six feet deep and I know this is not where I'm meant to die. This dream, this memory, won't bury the flesh but threatens to bury me. The skies are pouring dirt, dust, and blood, and it's thick and heavy and darker than black.
I remember who I am when I hear my own scream. This is my scream, my ribs, my noise.
When my eyes open, this is Simon, and he's holding me.
I fight him, because my body's forgotten which flesh I'm in and I'll fight him. I'll hurt him so he won't come closer, 'cause he can't fix me-- can't stitch old wounds--
In time, he'll force his way past my defenses and make me want him hold me. Simon will whisper my name into my hair, tell me it's him again and again, bringing me down and down, till I'm back in mine, stuck, and shivering from the cold of my own sweat.
***