Fic a day - Fire and Ice
IkeMarth
Yeeeeeah, I'm never gonna make up those three I owe.
This one makes no sense at all, I just went along with whatever I had. Even if it was this bad.
I like the idea but my execution - Could use with improving. Highly.
---
Cold. He was so very, very cold.
A chill coursed its way through his body and seemed to leave as it reached his head.
He couldn't remember for the life him the reason for his laying upon the hard floor, but the faint glow of orange in the hall ahead probably had a little partcipation. His eyes flicked upward, to attempt a focus on the loud crackle, but found it near impossible. He sighed and made to shake his head with little to no success.
His body felt heavy. So heavy infact, he couldn't move, couldn't sit, couldn't stand. His legs had no feeling them at all, every try to move them as before failing with effort-filled huffs. He had no clue what situation he was in, but boy, he did not like it one bit.
The distant sounds of crackling and creaking beams seemed to be progressively drawing closer, accompanying the blurred luminense of a warm hue. Crackling... Heat... Orange... It was only at that point he released what the three pulled together would mean.
Fire.
The Smash Manor was on fire.
The actuality of the situation caused his mind to revert into a state of panic, furnaces of thinking becoming stoked with wood. However much he wanted to move, though, he woudn't be granted such a thing. The frigid body he lay in refused to move in the slightest, the male only able to gain a twitch from his fingers ever so often.
He was...
No.
A little more effort was needed is all. His eyes flicked around to see if anyone - anything - had been caught in the same situation as he. To the far left a Mr. Sandbag lay with his torso completely ripped apart by a beam and its splinters, sand spilling everywhere. It's usual blank and indifferent expression had reverted to that of horror which even churned the stomach of its spectator. He had been made for injuries but... for all its service, it didn't deserve an end like that. No-one did.
He tore himself away from the scene with a silent prayer, wishing for his end to be somewhat less gruesome. Or not even to be here, if anything. He had guessed by now that a beam was planted firmly over his torso by the blocky object in the corner of his vision and the fact of a crimson pool surrounding his midriff.
He hadn't a chance to survive through this, he thought. Everyone able to make it out would be congregating outside, worrying themselves over their belongings or fellow contestants. He wondered if his lover was crying for him, bawling his name into the night air with remorse. He had yet to witness his partner shed a tear but...
A creak came from above brashly.
His last moments were of fire and ice.
Yeeeeeah, I'm never gonna make up those three I owe.
This one makes no sense at all, I just went along with whatever I had. Even if it was this bad.
I like the idea but my execution - Could use with improving. Highly.
---
Cold. He was so very, very cold.
A chill coursed its way through his body and seemed to leave as it reached his head.
He couldn't remember for the life him the reason for his laying upon the hard floor, but the faint glow of orange in the hall ahead probably had a little partcipation. His eyes flicked upward, to attempt a focus on the loud crackle, but found it near impossible. He sighed and made to shake his head with little to no success.
His body felt heavy. So heavy infact, he couldn't move, couldn't sit, couldn't stand. His legs had no feeling them at all, every try to move them as before failing with effort-filled huffs. He had no clue what situation he was in, but boy, he did not like it one bit.
The distant sounds of crackling and creaking beams seemed to be progressively drawing closer, accompanying the blurred luminense of a warm hue. Crackling... Heat... Orange... It was only at that point he released what the three pulled together would mean.
Fire.
The Smash Manor was on fire.
The actuality of the situation caused his mind to revert into a state of panic, furnaces of thinking becoming stoked with wood. However much he wanted to move, though, he woudn't be granted such a thing. The frigid body he lay in refused to move in the slightest, the male only able to gain a twitch from his fingers ever so often.
He was...
No.
A little more effort was needed is all. His eyes flicked around to see if anyone - anything - had been caught in the same situation as he. To the far left a Mr. Sandbag lay with his torso completely ripped apart by a beam and its splinters, sand spilling everywhere. It's usual blank and indifferent expression had reverted to that of horror which even churned the stomach of its spectator. He had been made for injuries but... for all its service, it didn't deserve an end like that. No-one did.
He tore himself away from the scene with a silent prayer, wishing for his end to be somewhat less gruesome. Or not even to be here, if anything. He had guessed by now that a beam was planted firmly over his torso by the blocky object in the corner of his vision and the fact of a crimson pool surrounding his midriff.
He hadn't a chance to survive through this, he thought. Everyone able to make it out would be congregating outside, worrying themselves over their belongings or fellow contestants. He wondered if his lover was crying for him, bawling his name into the night air with remorse. He had yet to witness his partner shed a tear but...
A creak came from above brashly.
His last moments were of fire and ice.