FIC: Undertow
Uh, I wrote Angel fic. Again.
Title: Undertow (snippet)
Summary: The weight of his soul is dragging Angel down.
Rating: PG but will be R
Word Count: 230
A/N: This is an opening snippet of what will be a few thousand words story. It took shape from a discussion shapinglight was having about a Fanged Four fic. I hope she doesn't mind that the conversation inspired me (rather, a challenge of timing inspired me with my own idea)--I'm going in my own direction of course. Would anyone read my writing a story about Angel a few years after he got his soul back and his inability to let go of Drusilla, Spike and most especially Darla? The overall theme being "god doesn't want you, but I still do."
The waves drag him down into the deep black. The cold leeches away all semblance of warmth from his body, turning his limbs to ice. In the waters above, he sees a distant light shimmering.
The moon was full this night, bright enough to color the glassy surface of the sea. He lets the waters pull him down, watches the light recede in the distance above and wonders what oblivion he’ll find at the bottom. Will he sink like a stone?
A shadow passes above and he looks up to see a set of arms and legs flailing. A body struggling to float. A human. Only a human would fight the cold.
Angel opens his mouth wide and the water fills his lungs. The cold spreads through his chest, sharp pinpricks that shoot down his breastbone and across his ribs. The pads of his fingertips feel numb. Ice water is a drug he’s never tasted before-freezing every urge to move, silencing every damning voice, dulling every tormented emotion. He’s missed this feeling, this lack of feeling. He squeezes his eyes shut and embraces the heavy weight inside.
Muscles gone lax, his eyes drift open and he spies the shadow passing overhead again. That damned shadow. He forcefully exhales, expelling the water from his lungs in one great gust, and with a sharp scissor kick, he shoots up towards the surface.
Title: Undertow (snippet)
Summary: The weight of his soul is dragging Angel down.
Rating: PG but will be R
Word Count: 230
A/N: This is an opening snippet of what will be a few thousand words story. It took shape from a discussion shapinglight was having about a Fanged Four fic. I hope she doesn't mind that the conversation inspired me (rather, a challenge of timing inspired me with my own idea)--I'm going in my own direction of course. Would anyone read my writing a story about Angel a few years after he got his soul back and his inability to let go of Drusilla, Spike and most especially Darla? The overall theme being "god doesn't want you, but I still do."
The waves drag him down into the deep black. The cold leeches away all semblance of warmth from his body, turning his limbs to ice. In the waters above, he sees a distant light shimmering.
The moon was full this night, bright enough to color the glassy surface of the sea. He lets the waters pull him down, watches the light recede in the distance above and wonders what oblivion he’ll find at the bottom. Will he sink like a stone?
A shadow passes above and he looks up to see a set of arms and legs flailing. A body struggling to float. A human. Only a human would fight the cold.
Angel opens his mouth wide and the water fills his lungs. The cold spreads through his chest, sharp pinpricks that shoot down his breastbone and across his ribs. The pads of his fingertips feel numb. Ice water is a drug he’s never tasted before-freezing every urge to move, silencing every damning voice, dulling every tormented emotion. He’s missed this feeling, this lack of feeling. He squeezes his eyes shut and embraces the heavy weight inside.
Muscles gone lax, his eyes drift open and he spies the shadow passing overhead again. That damned shadow. He forcefully exhales, expelling the water from his lungs in one great gust, and with a sharp scissor kick, he shoots up towards the surface.