Challenge #06: Dead as a Doornail
Title: Impact
Word Count: 412
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Vivid gore descriptions
Summary: Phoenix was just pushed off a building. He wasn't supposed to live, yet he did.
The crack of his bones on the pavement was more sickening than the feeling of impact. The impact, the impact felt like nothing. The impact felt like a cessation of pain, like he was floating in everything all at once and the world was moving fast, so fast that none of the details mattered. Somewhere distantly he knew that it should hurt, that logically a body could not be flung off of a building and not be in pain, yet in the moment he didn’t feel it. Everything felt kind of soft and soupy. Like everything was gonna be okay. It was kind of cold but he felt tired. Enter the blackness of the void.
The next time he opened up his eyes he definitely felt the pain. It was like the previous floating feeling was just the universe winding up for the big punch. Every inch of him screaming with shooting, broken glass feelings that lanced all over whenever he made the smallest movement. Red hot shooting needles, shards digging under his skin, and the awful crimson taste of bone and blood in his mouth. Something crunchy was in his mouth and he dimly realize that might be teeth.
Someone was talking to him but the bright lances of pain were too much. Way too much. Fed back like static feedback into a giant scream and all the sound faded away into the scream. Sounded like electronic feedback.
How the fuck did he get here? How did he get from being on top of the world, soft lips upon his as their enemies burned around them, corona radiata of euphoria to this sick, shooting needles of broken bones and blood, falling from a building, hands on his shoulders pushing him backwards as he tumbled into the black?
It was too much. Blackness swallowed him up in the space of a blink.
Came to again in a place where time didn’t exist. No windows, some grey metal walls bedecked with posters and neon. The world pulsed and the light hurt. The light fucking hurt. He groaned weakly. Phoenix knew he should be dead. He wasn’t. Synth-psyche knew that he wouldn’t be that fucking lucky. Tubes dangled out of his arms, down his throat. He tried to vomit and a wet squelch went down the tube.
That was all he was now, tubes and wires and pain. That was all he could be for the moment. It was almost zen in a way. Just be. No thoughts.
Word Count: 412
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Vivid gore descriptions
Summary: Phoenix was just pushed off a building. He wasn't supposed to live, yet he did.
The crack of his bones on the pavement was more sickening than the feeling of impact. The impact, the impact felt like nothing. The impact felt like a cessation of pain, like he was floating in everything all at once and the world was moving fast, so fast that none of the details mattered. Somewhere distantly he knew that it should hurt, that logically a body could not be flung off of a building and not be in pain, yet in the moment he didn’t feel it. Everything felt kind of soft and soupy. Like everything was gonna be okay. It was kind of cold but he felt tired. Enter the blackness of the void.
The next time he opened up his eyes he definitely felt the pain. It was like the previous floating feeling was just the universe winding up for the big punch. Every inch of him screaming with shooting, broken glass feelings that lanced all over whenever he made the smallest movement. Red hot shooting needles, shards digging under his skin, and the awful crimson taste of bone and blood in his mouth. Something crunchy was in his mouth and he dimly realize that might be teeth.
Someone was talking to him but the bright lances of pain were too much. Way too much. Fed back like static feedback into a giant scream and all the sound faded away into the scream. Sounded like electronic feedback.
How the fuck did he get here? How did he get from being on top of the world, soft lips upon his as their enemies burned around them, corona radiata of euphoria to this sick, shooting needles of broken bones and blood, falling from a building, hands on his shoulders pushing him backwards as he tumbled into the black?
It was too much. Blackness swallowed him up in the space of a blink.
Came to again in a place where time didn’t exist. No windows, some grey metal walls bedecked with posters and neon. The world pulsed and the light hurt. The light fucking hurt. He groaned weakly. Phoenix knew he should be dead. He wasn’t. Synth-psyche knew that he wouldn’t be that fucking lucky. Tubes dangled out of his arms, down his throat. He tried to vomit and a wet squelch went down the tube.
That was all he was now, tubes and wires and pain. That was all he could be for the moment. It was almost zen in a way. Just be. No thoughts.