[prompt] Poisoned
Writing Fix has a prompt generator, and it gave me "a huge city square", "a thief", and "your character drinks something poisonous". This is 324 words long, real short, and just starts getting into the story. Say hi to nameless character Ben everybody.
He thinks that he’s never felt anything this unbearable before. The pain wracks his body in waves, in spikes, like someone trying to force metal shards down his stomach and digestive track. Stumbling, he almost smashes into a wall in an effort to stand upright. His legs are failing him, sweat’s rivering off his face and neck, and it’s suddenly a million times harder to breathe. It’s like his body has forgotten how.
What is it, he thinks desperately, forcing his body take another step, then another- what’s sliding its way through his veins, rendering him more helpless by the second? What’s happened, what’s got him like this, what’s killing him-
Get it out, he thinks clearly as he sinks to his knees, get it out.
He forces himself to vomit, bile and partially digested food flooding out of his mouth and triggering another gag reflex. It’s such a strong, acrid taste that he can’t tell if there’s anything unnatural coming out, or if the poison was even something he ingested. For all he knows, it could have been airborne, or something like a dart, or…
He crawls, heaving until nothing comes out, away from the first puddle of sick and sits back again the alley’s brick wall, shaking violently all over. He can barely lift his hand to wipe his mouth. His vision starts to cloud and double and he blinks fiercely, clinging desperately to consciousness. It can’t end like this… The words are dull as they ricochet almost silently around his skull. It’s dark. It’s cold. He gets one last glimpse of his surroundings, the people gathered to watch him, starting to call out, to walk towards him, to… to…
And then nothing.
------------------
When he wakes up, he’s got the vague feeling he should be dead.
He’s not. He wishes he were, though. The pain’s gone from unbearable to excruciating.
“Blood pressure’s coming back up. Think he’s coming out of it.”
He thinks that he’s never felt anything this unbearable before. The pain wracks his body in waves, in spikes, like someone trying to force metal shards down his stomach and digestive track. Stumbling, he almost smashes into a wall in an effort to stand upright. His legs are failing him, sweat’s rivering off his face and neck, and it’s suddenly a million times harder to breathe. It’s like his body has forgotten how.
What is it, he thinks desperately, forcing his body take another step, then another- what’s sliding its way through his veins, rendering him more helpless by the second? What’s happened, what’s got him like this, what’s killing him-
Get it out, he thinks clearly as he sinks to his knees, get it out.
He forces himself to vomit, bile and partially digested food flooding out of his mouth and triggering another gag reflex. It’s such a strong, acrid taste that he can’t tell if there’s anything unnatural coming out, or if the poison was even something he ingested. For all he knows, it could have been airborne, or something like a dart, or…
He crawls, heaving until nothing comes out, away from the first puddle of sick and sits back again the alley’s brick wall, shaking violently all over. He can barely lift his hand to wipe his mouth. His vision starts to cloud and double and he blinks fiercely, clinging desperately to consciousness. It can’t end like this… The words are dull as they ricochet almost silently around his skull. It’s dark. It’s cold. He gets one last glimpse of his surroundings, the people gathered to watch him, starting to call out, to walk towards him, to… to…
And then nothing.
------------------
When he wakes up, he’s got the vague feeling he should be dead.
He’s not. He wishes he were, though. The pain’s gone from unbearable to excruciating.
“Blood pressure’s coming back up. Think he’s coming out of it.”