Weekly Duel Thing
Consciousness slid slowly back into mind, a tattered pilot stepping back into his wrecked cockpit to survey the damage. How long had it been this time? An hour? Two? Seven? A day? A week? Doesn't matter. Damage first, time second. Forcing his neck to bend, he surveyed what remained of his body and immediately choked back a flood of bile. Last he'd seen it'd only been one leg, but now everything below his midriff had been stripped to the bone and covered with a reddish-brown flaky substance, which writhed lightly under his gaze, and, as he watched, converted another sliver of his belly into... whatever it was.
To begin with, he tried to push himself upright, but a brushfire of pain swept up from nerves still holding out in his ravaged legs and gently convinced him that this might not be a good idea. He shifted his gaze to his pushing hand and saw with somewhat resigned horror that the Rust had begun stripping away his fingertips. Defeated, he lay back on the icy steel and let it happen, shuddering each time a sliver of rib was uncovered. A thought slid through his head, bypassed pain-addled and sleep-stunned logic and glided straight through to action. If he was going to die and get the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing, wouldn't it make sense to get a head start on the highlights?
Without a further thought, his head dropped back, glancing off the floor and straight into the pits of Memory, to his childhood, before the Draft, before the Rust and what came with it, when he'd been but a stripling in his father's yard, sliding through a gap in the fence to run through the orchard and gorge himself on the sweet fruits. Even now he could still feel his father's strokes burning across his buttocks, which had seemed to make the haul all the sweeter...
Wait.
It'd been long enough. He shouldn't have any sensation below the waist at all. Once more he raised his head and looked down, and was pleasantly surprised to see a rosy pinkness where moments ago all had been rust-brown and crawling. Tentatively, he closed his eyes and pulled up another memory, this time of his first kiss, under the second moon of his thirteenth year. Reopening his eyes, joy blossomed through his soul as he saw the Rust undoing its last stint of work. Thought after thought flooded his mind, each bringing back a joyous memory and an inch of flesh until he sprang to his feet and dashed off down the corridor in search of others.
To begin with, he tried to push himself upright, but a brushfire of pain swept up from nerves still holding out in his ravaged legs and gently convinced him that this might not be a good idea. He shifted his gaze to his pushing hand and saw with somewhat resigned horror that the Rust had begun stripping away his fingertips. Defeated, he lay back on the icy steel and let it happen, shuddering each time a sliver of rib was uncovered. A thought slid through his head, bypassed pain-addled and sleep-stunned logic and glided straight through to action. If he was going to die and get the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing, wouldn't it make sense to get a head start on the highlights?
Without a further thought, his head dropped back, glancing off the floor and straight into the pits of Memory, to his childhood, before the Draft, before the Rust and what came with it, when he'd been but a stripling in his father's yard, sliding through a gap in the fence to run through the orchard and gorge himself on the sweet fruits. Even now he could still feel his father's strokes burning across his buttocks, which had seemed to make the haul all the sweeter...
Wait.
It'd been long enough. He shouldn't have any sensation below the waist at all. Once more he raised his head and looked down, and was pleasantly surprised to see a rosy pinkness where moments ago all had been rust-brown and crawling. Tentatively, he closed his eyes and pulled up another memory, this time of his first kiss, under the second moon of his thirteenth year. Reopening his eyes, joy blossomed through his soul as he saw the Rust undoing its last stint of work. Thought after thought flooded his mind, each bringing back a joyous memory and an inch of flesh until he sprang to his feet and dashed off down the corridor in search of others.