Fic: Madness Is
Title: Madness Is (1/1)
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack Harkness
Warnings: None - just angst.
Word Count: 502
Madness Is
Madness is hunger.
Hunger for the rush and thirst for the pain,
craving the silver-shine of the moon and the
blaze
of the sun,
racing their light into Eternity.
When Jack Harkness opened his eyes, his pupils were tiny pin-pricks in an ocean of distant blue. Even in his memories he was addicted; even his body still believed he might be transported back to that stark and wonderful light.
Yet - invariably - he saw only blackness.
He tried to curse but had no breath, lungs starved and burning and panicked. Hot blades of suffocation jabbed jaggedly inside his chest; his skull was buzzing, his brain screaming-
His pupils dilated at an unnatural rate, but as they did he was able to pull in a sharp and desperate breath. The oxygen seemed to fan the fire in his lungs, but he forced himself to hold it; close his eyes; let it out. Drag in another breath. Breathe.
A few more breaths, a few more sharp and fiery pains, and he could speak again. He swore loudly, bellowed it, just to hear the emotive and passionate echo fill the empty room. His fingers and toes were filled with sharp and vengeful needles. His head still buzzed but his vision was clearing. He almost wished it wouldn't.
Jack stared blankly at the ceiling as the cracks and cobwebs came into focus. He could feel the blood returning to his limbs and regarded this with a kind of detached satisfaction.
He didn't sleep now, not as such; not as he used to, with that blissful sinking feeling that gave him a world beyond the universe. Now he just drifted, on the fringe, trapped in purgatory until morning came - or until the memories became too much. Until the voices took over.
Often he returned to himself to find his physical body shutting down. With the threat of death gone, his survival instincts were waning. This time he had stopped breathing.
Madness is hearing things
that aren't there. Voices and
echoes
of those things you sorely miss
- of the people you sorely miss.
He pulled in another deep and rebellious breath. He let it out a moment later, exhaling slowly as he tried to summon the willpower to move. It was almost dawn; his internal clock, at least, was still running. He cursed again - quiet this time - and rose to his feet. The world swayed. He wished it would fade and let him fall into oblivion.
Jack dragged a palm over his tired face, through his thick and tousled hair. There was a mirror, but he didn't look into it. Instead he climbed up into the Hub, walked among the work stations and tried hard to bury his thoughts - and his emotions - as far down as they would go.
Madness is
isolation
fear
passion
desperation
abandonment-
-but most of all, Jack Harkness thought as he sat down behind his twenty-first century desk; most of all, it's the hope that sanity will come back for you and grant redemption.
End.
[mood|
mellow]
[music| Electric Light Orchestra]
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack Harkness
Warnings: None - just angst.
Word Count: 502
Madness Is
Madness is hunger.
Hunger for the rush and thirst for the pain,
craving the silver-shine of the moon and the
blaze
of the sun,
racing their light into Eternity.
When Jack Harkness opened his eyes, his pupils were tiny pin-pricks in an ocean of distant blue. Even in his memories he was addicted; even his body still believed he might be transported back to that stark and wonderful light.
Yet - invariably - he saw only blackness.
He tried to curse but had no breath, lungs starved and burning and panicked. Hot blades of suffocation jabbed jaggedly inside his chest; his skull was buzzing, his brain screaming-
His pupils dilated at an unnatural rate, but as they did he was able to pull in a sharp and desperate breath. The oxygen seemed to fan the fire in his lungs, but he forced himself to hold it; close his eyes; let it out. Drag in another breath. Breathe.
A few more breaths, a few more sharp and fiery pains, and he could speak again. He swore loudly, bellowed it, just to hear the emotive and passionate echo fill the empty room. His fingers and toes were filled with sharp and vengeful needles. His head still buzzed but his vision was clearing. He almost wished it wouldn't.
Jack stared blankly at the ceiling as the cracks and cobwebs came into focus. He could feel the blood returning to his limbs and regarded this with a kind of detached satisfaction.
He didn't sleep now, not as such; not as he used to, with that blissful sinking feeling that gave him a world beyond the universe. Now he just drifted, on the fringe, trapped in purgatory until morning came - or until the memories became too much. Until the voices took over.
Often he returned to himself to find his physical body shutting down. With the threat of death gone, his survival instincts were waning. This time he had stopped breathing.
Madness is hearing things
that aren't there. Voices and
echoes
of those things you sorely miss
- of the people you sorely miss.
He pulled in another deep and rebellious breath. He let it out a moment later, exhaling slowly as he tried to summon the willpower to move. It was almost dawn; his internal clock, at least, was still running. He cursed again - quiet this time - and rose to his feet. The world swayed. He wished it would fade and let him fall into oblivion.
Jack dragged a palm over his tired face, through his thick and tousled hair. There was a mirror, but he didn't look into it. Instead he climbed up into the Hub, walked among the work stations and tried hard to bury his thoughts - and his emotions - as far down as they would go.
Madness is
isolation
fear
passion
desperation
abandonment-
-but most of all, Jack Harkness thought as he sat down behind his twenty-first century desk; most of all, it's the hope that sanity will come back for you and grant redemption.
End.
[mood|
mellow]
[music| Electric Light Orchestra]