(no subject)
resonance. darkness is still there when she wakes; no matter how rapidly she blinks her eyes do not adjust. she feels its weight on her heart and lungs and she inhales sharply to resist against it. the suppression holds. 567 words.
i.
Darkness is still there when she wakes; no matter how rapidly she blinks her eyes do not adjust. She feels its weight on her heart and lungs and she inhales sharply to resist against it. The suppression holds. It leaves her no choice other than to sit there with her breath speeding and fingers gripping to the sheets for dear life.
The dark is cruel. It laughs sadistically. It knows nothing of whim.
I.
From the back seat, he wakes too. He's hundreds of miles from the source of his dreams but he doesn't know that, nor does he care. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and rubs his unshaven chin in thought. The images disturb him. They are nothing but darkness.
He sits up and opens the car door, stumbling out into the side of the empty highway. He checks for passing cars, and when no headlights shine through the fog, he jogs to the driver's seat. When the engine starts to rumble he tries to forget his dream by replacing them with other trivial thoughts, but they don't work.
They continue plaguing him even after he pulls onto the pavement.
ii.
She finally lets go as the whisper of morning filters through her window. She feels the sweat on her skin and is repulsed by the feeling, letting it wash her silly fear of the dark away. Her legs move, stiff by holding still for so many hours, and her feet slip to the carpet.
She relishes in the feeling of it. It is something other than smooth and solid and complete.
She stands slowly, regaining her strength. Her eyes are filled with the rising sun. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips.
She pretends like this light will fill her vision forever. In 12 hours, though, it will be gone again.
II.
The radio churns out crap he has heard dozen of times. It is better than the roar of the road that never changes pitch or never has a chorus he decides. That's that.
Somehow a wave of comfort fills him. It's strange, so much so that his foot draws off the gas a little and he checks himself in the side mirror, frowning.
These emotions he is feeling are beyond his control, and it troubles him. He hopes whatever it is shakes off before he meets up with the rest of his friends. Mood swings with a shot gun would have negative effects, he thinks.
He's probably right.
He can't see the sun through the fog. It's growing thicker.
iii.
She turns the faucet on. The splatter of the water against the sink forms a pleasant ostinato that she needed during the night. Its sound is warm. It's like a voice.
But suddenly she frowns.
She thinks she hears her name.
III.
The car skids to a halt. Over the trashy car radio, there is a scream, and he whips his head around to scan the surrounding landscape. He sees nothing, no person, no speaker, no plausible source for this sound.
It's a name. He knows that at least, but he can't quite make it out through the echoes.
The fog chokes the sound. It chokes every sense he can think of. Nervousness bites at his stomach, and he forces away the queasy feeling.
The car skids as he accelerates. Whatever left of that name is gone now.
notes
this is one of those things that i write in the middle of the night that is pure and utter crap, but somehow i still like it anyway. i don't know what to call this. i suppose it ties in to this fic i'm planning but as a character study? prologue? i don't know. don't ask me. whatever. it sounded like a good idea at the time.
i.
Darkness is still there when she wakes; no matter how rapidly she blinks her eyes do not adjust. She feels its weight on her heart and lungs and she inhales sharply to resist against it. The suppression holds. It leaves her no choice other than to sit there with her breath speeding and fingers gripping to the sheets for dear life.
The dark is cruel. It laughs sadistically. It knows nothing of whim.
I.
From the back seat, he wakes too. He's hundreds of miles from the source of his dreams but he doesn't know that, nor does he care. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and rubs his unshaven chin in thought. The images disturb him. They are nothing but darkness.
He sits up and opens the car door, stumbling out into the side of the empty highway. He checks for passing cars, and when no headlights shine through the fog, he jogs to the driver's seat. When the engine starts to rumble he tries to forget his dream by replacing them with other trivial thoughts, but they don't work.
They continue plaguing him even after he pulls onto the pavement.
ii.
She finally lets go as the whisper of morning filters through her window. She feels the sweat on her skin and is repulsed by the feeling, letting it wash her silly fear of the dark away. Her legs move, stiff by holding still for so many hours, and her feet slip to the carpet.
She relishes in the feeling of it. It is something other than smooth and solid and complete.
She stands slowly, regaining her strength. Her eyes are filled with the rising sun. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips.
She pretends like this light will fill her vision forever. In 12 hours, though, it will be gone again.
II.
The radio churns out crap he has heard dozen of times. It is better than the roar of the road that never changes pitch or never has a chorus he decides. That's that.
Somehow a wave of comfort fills him. It's strange, so much so that his foot draws off the gas a little and he checks himself in the side mirror, frowning.
These emotions he is feeling are beyond his control, and it troubles him. He hopes whatever it is shakes off before he meets up with the rest of his friends. Mood swings with a shot gun would have negative effects, he thinks.
He's probably right.
He can't see the sun through the fog. It's growing thicker.
iii.
She turns the faucet on. The splatter of the water against the sink forms a pleasant ostinato that she needed during the night. Its sound is warm. It's like a voice.
But suddenly she frowns.
She thinks she hears her name.
III.
The car skids to a halt. Over the trashy car radio, there is a scream, and he whips his head around to scan the surrounding landscape. He sees nothing, no person, no speaker, no plausible source for this sound.
It's a name. He knows that at least, but he can't quite make it out through the echoes.
The fog chokes the sound. It chokes every sense he can think of. Nervousness bites at his stomach, and he forces away the queasy feeling.
The car skids as he accelerates. Whatever left of that name is gone now.
notes
this is one of those things that i write in the middle of the night that is pure and utter crap, but somehow i still like it anyway. i don't know what to call this. i suppose it ties in to this fic i'm planning but as a character study? prologue? i don't know. don't ask me. whatever. it sounded like a good idea at the time.