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rainbowfic2015-10-20 11:40 pm
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-10-20 11:40 pm
Prism 11
Name: starphotographs
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Rainbow color for October)
Characters: Martin
Colors: Prism 11 (grey)
Word Count: 1,200ish
Rating: R
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Martin has a nightmare
Note: I was watching iZOMBiE with my SO, and there was a line about “a zombie having bad zombie dreams.” And then I had to write this. XD
Don’t Go Toward the Light
I woke up in a hospital bed. Not too weird. Shit happens.
And, lately, it mostly happens to me.
Weirder is, I don’t remember having to go to a hospital for anything. But, even that isn’t too surprising. Maybe I blacked out and smacked my head on something. We’d all been joking about it for years. Is that what happened?
Why are all the lights off?
Who are all these other people?
...Wait, is this a hospital?
I guess something about “uncomfortable bed” plus “tube in my arm” made me think “hospital,” but there’s something off about all this. Everything looks old. Grimy. Like someone forgot me back here for twenty years. Forgot us back here, I mean.
Why are there so many of us?
What do I even mean by “us?”
Some light is coming in, around what look like metal sliding doors.
I’m not in a hospital. I’m in storage.
We’re in storage.
The light shines on the person next to me. Like a gleaming knife, carving him in two.
Oh my god.
He’s dead.
Not “beep beep beep coding” dead. “I can see his yellowed skull” dead. So is the guy on my other side. I try to sit up and get a better look around, but it takes a while. I’m not moving correctly. There’s something heavy in my chest, and I’m too bendy at the waist. But, I eventually get a good enough grip on the metal handrails to steady myself.
They’re all dead.
What the hell am I doing here?
My first thought is to find someone and tell them off. Obviously, I’m sitting up, and thus alive. Mistakes have been made, and the makers will pay.
But, who would I tell? The person who installed this I.V. six fucking years ago? The tube is black with blood, old blood, that backed up and dried out who-knows-when.
Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I don’t need this.
I try to pull out the catheter, but it feels stuck, so I pull again. Slower, harder this time.
It pulls out, but a length of vein is coming with it, and I can feel it dragging through my arm. But, it doesn’t exactly hurt, so I figure I can keep going. It’s annoying, actually, how it just keeps coming. This is going to take a while.
I’m not a patient man.
So I pull until there’s enough length to get my mouth around the dark, slippery vein, and I bite down. It tastes like plastic, and snaps between my teeth, but it disintegrates in my mouth. I don’t even need to spit. The chewed end slides back up into my arm, like a lost drawstring.
I should probably be worried, but it didn’t hurt, and I’m not bleeding, so no harm done, I guess.
The line of light between the doors is growing. I know they’re opening, and I know I’m fucked, but I don’t know how I know this, let alone why I’m fucked. I just… Am.
The man in the other bed is staring at me. I can hear him trying to breathe. His insides are half-melted by now. He never told me, but I can see it in my head. I’m not sure what’s holding his eyes in their sockets.
There’s something off about all of this, but I don’t don’t know what “this” is, or how it started. All I know is that I’m here, and a dead man is staring me down, and the doors are flying open.
Everyone’s fluids are glistening in the sun. I see chests moving up and down in big jerking gasps, exposed ribs shining through disintegrating skin.
Someone fucked up, but I’m starting to question the nature of the mistake.
They’re standing now. Heading outside.
They’re standing. How are they standing?
I stay in bed, try to focus on the ceiling.
Outside is just a normal street, a sunny afternoon. But it terrifies me. I think I remember something about this, but I don’t know what. Only that there’s something enormous waiting for me out there, and that if I step out, I can’t go back. Something will be broken, and I won’t be able to fix it.
The others don’t know this, because they’re all dead.
But, somehow, they know I’m not coming. They stop by my bed and stare, waiting for me to follow them. I want to tell them to go, that I’m not where they are yet. That someone fucked something up. Someone fucked something up.
I am very adamant about this.
It’s another thing I can kind-of-see. Like the putrefying organs of the man beside me, now just a tarry, oily, man-shaped stain he left on the sheets. Like the reason I can’t go outside.
They’re standing around me now.
I press my back against the wall.
Nope, not going.
Like I saw the decay, the mistake, and the warning, they all see what I’m thinking. I see that they see.
They start grabbing me. Their hands are cold and sticky, and they’re gripping so hard that pieces of their skin are sliding off from the friction. I try to fight back, but they’re all just so slippery, and you can’t hurt what’s already dead.
One grabs my arm and pulls, hard.
There isn’t even a pop.
Just a tube of flesh quietly sliding off my naked humerus; my arm falling to the floor.
My posture goes slack. I feel the bone brushing against my side, cold and hard and wet.
I have to get outside.
But, I don’t want to go outside. I can hear the memory of someone screaming at me, furious and afraid. I told you not to go out there!
It’s like this all happened before, but I don’t know anything about that.
All I know is that there’s something out there, pulling me towards it. I feel the tugging in my brain.
As though, with the loss of my arm, I’m finally dead enough.
Time to go.
Everyone else is already gone. I see them out there, red-brown and foul in the sun.
I get out of bed, and I hear what sounds like a dry crack, but it couldn’t have been dry. It would have been wet. Because I think that was the sound of my hips dislocating.
I crumple to the floor.
I need to get out there!
But I can hardly even crawl.
My lower jaw drops off, but it isn’t a big deal. I kind of remember that this was supposed to happen. I feel something pouring out of my half-mouth, so I guess my insides melted, but I think that’s also probably alright. I mean, that’s what happened to the other guy.
And now, it’s all happening to me.
Finally.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to get to the door. My arm is gone. My legs feel hollow.
And I can’t see them anymore.
Fuck, I’m going to miss it.
The sun is in my eyes, and then gone.
The door slams shut. I feel it in all of me.
I lie on the cold floor, overcome with loss.
There was something I was supposed to do.
And I won’t get another chance.
*****
I’m awake. This bed is mine. That’s the light from my window on the ceiling.
There’s nothing you missed. You’re okay.
My arm is limp at my side.
Shit, not again.
I work my arm back into the socket, sit with the feeling of being intact again.
Intact, for just a while longer.
starphotographsStory: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Rainbow color for October)
Characters: Martin
Colors: Prism 11 (grey)
Word Count: 1,200ish
Rating: R
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Martin has a nightmare
Note: I was watching iZOMBiE with my SO, and there was a line about “a zombie having bad zombie dreams.” And then I had to write this. XD
I woke up in a hospital bed. Not too weird. Shit happens.
And, lately, it mostly happens to me.
Weirder is, I don’t remember having to go to a hospital for anything. But, even that isn’t too surprising. Maybe I blacked out and smacked my head on something. We’d all been joking about it for years. Is that what happened?
Why are all the lights off?
Who are all these other people?
...Wait, is this a hospital?
I guess something about “uncomfortable bed” plus “tube in my arm” made me think “hospital,” but there’s something off about all this. Everything looks old. Grimy. Like someone forgot me back here for twenty years. Forgot us back here, I mean.
Why are there so many of us?
What do I even mean by “us?”
Some light is coming in, around what look like metal sliding doors.
I’m not in a hospital. I’m in storage.
We’re in storage.
The light shines on the person next to me. Like a gleaming knife, carving him in two.
Oh my god.
He’s dead.
Not “beep beep beep coding” dead. “I can see his yellowed skull” dead. So is the guy on my other side. I try to sit up and get a better look around, but it takes a while. I’m not moving correctly. There’s something heavy in my chest, and I’m too bendy at the waist. But, I eventually get a good enough grip on the metal handrails to steady myself.
They’re all dead.
What the hell am I doing here?
My first thought is to find someone and tell them off. Obviously, I’m sitting up, and thus alive. Mistakes have been made, and the makers will pay.
But, who would I tell? The person who installed this I.V. six fucking years ago? The tube is black with blood, old blood, that backed up and dried out who-knows-when.
Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I don’t need this.
I try to pull out the catheter, but it feels stuck, so I pull again. Slower, harder this time.
It pulls out, but a length of vein is coming with it, and I can feel it dragging through my arm. But, it doesn’t exactly hurt, so I figure I can keep going. It’s annoying, actually, how it just keeps coming. This is going to take a while.
I’m not a patient man.
So I pull until there’s enough length to get my mouth around the dark, slippery vein, and I bite down. It tastes like plastic, and snaps between my teeth, but it disintegrates in my mouth. I don’t even need to spit. The chewed end slides back up into my arm, like a lost drawstring.
I should probably be worried, but it didn’t hurt, and I’m not bleeding, so no harm done, I guess.
The line of light between the doors is growing. I know they’re opening, and I know I’m fucked, but I don’t know how I know this, let alone why I’m fucked. I just… Am.
The man in the other bed is staring at me. I can hear him trying to breathe. His insides are half-melted by now. He never told me, but I can see it in my head. I’m not sure what’s holding his eyes in their sockets.
There’s something off about all of this, but I don’t don’t know what “this” is, or how it started. All I know is that I’m here, and a dead man is staring me down, and the doors are flying open.
Everyone’s fluids are glistening in the sun. I see chests moving up and down in big jerking gasps, exposed ribs shining through disintegrating skin.
Someone fucked up, but I’m starting to question the nature of the mistake.
They’re standing now. Heading outside.
They’re standing. How are they standing?
I stay in bed, try to focus on the ceiling.
Outside is just a normal street, a sunny afternoon. But it terrifies me. I think I remember something about this, but I don’t know what. Only that there’s something enormous waiting for me out there, and that if I step out, I can’t go back. Something will be broken, and I won’t be able to fix it.
The others don’t know this, because they’re all dead.
But, somehow, they know I’m not coming. They stop by my bed and stare, waiting for me to follow them. I want to tell them to go, that I’m not where they are yet. That someone fucked something up. Someone fucked something up.
I am very adamant about this.
It’s another thing I can kind-of-see. Like the putrefying organs of the man beside me, now just a tarry, oily, man-shaped stain he left on the sheets. Like the reason I can’t go outside.
They’re standing around me now.
I press my back against the wall.
Nope, not going.
Like I saw the decay, the mistake, and the warning, they all see what I’m thinking. I see that they see.
They start grabbing me. Their hands are cold and sticky, and they’re gripping so hard that pieces of their skin are sliding off from the friction. I try to fight back, but they’re all just so slippery, and you can’t hurt what’s already dead.
One grabs my arm and pulls, hard.
There isn’t even a pop.
Just a tube of flesh quietly sliding off my naked humerus; my arm falling to the floor.
My posture goes slack. I feel the bone brushing against my side, cold and hard and wet.
I have to get outside.
But, I don’t want to go outside. I can hear the memory of someone screaming at me, furious and afraid. I told you not to go out there!
It’s like this all happened before, but I don’t know anything about that.
All I know is that there’s something out there, pulling me towards it. I feel the tugging in my brain.
As though, with the loss of my arm, I’m finally dead enough.
Time to go.
Everyone else is already gone. I see them out there, red-brown and foul in the sun.
I get out of bed, and I hear what sounds like a dry crack, but it couldn’t have been dry. It would have been wet. Because I think that was the sound of my hips dislocating.
I crumple to the floor.
I need to get out there!
But I can hardly even crawl.
My lower jaw drops off, but it isn’t a big deal. I kind of remember that this was supposed to happen. I feel something pouring out of my half-mouth, so I guess my insides melted, but I think that’s also probably alright. I mean, that’s what happened to the other guy.
And now, it’s all happening to me.
Finally.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to get to the door. My arm is gone. My legs feel hollow.
And I can’t see them anymore.
Fuck, I’m going to miss it.
The sun is in my eyes, and then gone.
The door slams shut. I feel it in all of me.
I lie on the cold floor, overcome with loss.
There was something I was supposed to do.
And I won’t get another chance.
I’m awake. This bed is mine. That’s the light from my window on the ceiling.
There’s nothing you missed. You’re okay.
My arm is limp at my side.
Shit, not again.
I work my arm back into the socket, sit with the feeling of being intact again.
Intact, for just a while longer.
no subject
It pulls out, but a length of vein is coming with it, and I can feel it dragging through my arm. But, it doesn’t exactly hurt, so I figure I can keep going. It’s annoying, actually, how it just keeps coming. This is going to take a while.
I’m not a patient man.
Really, dude, you're a zombie and THIS is where you go with it? This was fun.
no subject