Adel Fiddler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deadwhisperer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
accordancy2012-06-10 09:47 am
deadwhisperer) wrote in accordancy2012-06-10 09:47 am
Entry tags:
Bounty; $010
[ Tick. Tick. Tick. Toc-tick. Tick. Toc. Tick. Tick. Tick...
For a long time it's the only sound he can hear: a carefully kept timepiece. Always three careful stroke before a hiccup in between, and then it sorts itself out to begin the cycle anew. It's an endless mantra, and for a long time it soothes him; keeps him blissfully sunk in the waters of unknowing and unfeeling. There's nothing here--not even himself. At least not in the way he knows himself to be which is...what, again? Maybe it doesn't matter. It's a needless worry, a drifting care that sinks further in the oblivion in which he rests.
He's not sure how much time he spends like this, drifting and slumbering and...waiting? Yes, he's waiting for something. What it is is beyond his comprehension, but slowly it dawns on him that he's been waiting for something this whole time. That's why he's here, isn't it? Why others come here? It's an in-between for...what? The thought slips again, and he lets the nothingness wash over him.
He's waiting. He. Who is he?
I'm me, of course. But who is "me"? Who am I waiting for?
That's right--it isn't a "something." It's a "who." There's someone he's waiting for, someone who's been sleeping a long time. Someone who's been waiting just like he has...
Who is he again?
If I sleep too long will I miss them? he wonders, but the thought is idle and lacks the comprehending emotion that goes with inquiry. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick.
The tempo's changed. Does that mean something? Is something different now? Part of him says yes, and it's only belatedly that he realizes what that sensation feels like; remembers what it's like. Remembering...that's who he's waiting for isn't it? Someone he remembers. Or doesn't, right now. But it's someone he will remember, someone familiar to him in a way that no one else could be. For the first time in his slumber he stirs. The world around him is changing now; shifting from the endless oblivion into something less...fluid. There're no words he can remember to describe it, only that it goes from feeling blissful and empty to a pressure that seems to be slowly weighing down upon him.
It's uncomfortable compared to the dreamless slumber. Crushing also--it's like his chest is slowly being constricted, his limbs squeezed. There's an ache in his chest and the waters around him no longer lie still. What's wrong with him?? It feels like everything's crushing down on him, like he's being forced rapidly upward and his chest and lungs burn so badly-- ]
Ghh--aaaah! Haaa, a-aaah, haaa--!
[ Breathing. He needs to breathe--the realization hits him like a sack of bricks. He's sucking in breath after breath of ragged air, and it feels almost uncomfortable compared to...before? What was before? What's now? And then he's...coughing? Yes, that's what it is--he's coughing loudly and wetly, rolling over onto his side and trying to make sense of everything.
There's solidity beneath him; something tangible and soft but it feels so rough on his clumsy, unpractised hands that he can't even get a grip on it. He tries to crack his eyes open and at first, everything is a blur of colour and he can't make sense of any of it. Reds, golds, dark greens and blacks--everything comes together to paint a smudged picture his mind doesn't recognize and it's horrendously disorienting.
Where is he? What's going on?? He tries to push himself up and finds that suddenly, his body feels feather-light. For a brief second he's floating--and then he hits another solid surface much harder than the...bed? Yes, he was on a bed--so this must be the floor then. God, everything aches.... It feels like he hasn't used his body in weeks. Maybe even longer than that, he thinks belatedly as he struggles to push himself upright. The more he moves the more stiffness begins to leave his limbs, until it's only the ache in his joints and the fog in his head keeping him from standing perfectly upright.
He needs to get out of here, he thinks--needs to find...who? Is he looking for someone? he can barely remember as he stumbles forward, out of the room and into the Tower's halls. ]
For a long time it's the only sound he can hear: a carefully kept timepiece. Always three careful stroke before a hiccup in between, and then it sorts itself out to begin the cycle anew. It's an endless mantra, and for a long time it soothes him; keeps him blissfully sunk in the waters of unknowing and unfeeling. There's nothing here--not even himself. At least not in the way he knows himself to be which is...what, again? Maybe it doesn't matter. It's a needless worry, a drifting care that sinks further in the oblivion in which he rests.
He's not sure how much time he spends like this, drifting and slumbering and...waiting? Yes, he's waiting for something. What it is is beyond his comprehension, but slowly it dawns on him that he's been waiting for something this whole time. That's why he's here, isn't it? Why others come here? It's an in-between for...what? The thought slips again, and he lets the nothingness wash over him.
He's waiting. He. Who is he?
I'm me, of course. But who is "me"? Who am I waiting for?
That's right--it isn't a "something." It's a "who." There's someone he's waiting for, someone who's been sleeping a long time. Someone who's been waiting just like he has...
Who is he again?
If I sleep too long will I miss them? he wonders, but the thought is idle and lacks the comprehending emotion that goes with inquiry. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick.
The tempo's changed. Does that mean something? Is something different now? Part of him says yes, and it's only belatedly that he realizes what that sensation feels like; remembers what it's like. Remembering...that's who he's waiting for isn't it? Someone he remembers. Or doesn't, right now. But it's someone he will remember, someone familiar to him in a way that no one else could be. For the first time in his slumber he stirs. The world around him is changing now; shifting from the endless oblivion into something less...fluid. There're no words he can remember to describe it, only that it goes from feeling blissful and empty to a pressure that seems to be slowly weighing down upon him.
It's uncomfortable compared to the dreamless slumber. Crushing also--it's like his chest is slowly being constricted, his limbs squeezed. There's an ache in his chest and the waters around him no longer lie still. What's wrong with him?? It feels like everything's crushing down on him, like he's being forced rapidly upward and his chest and lungs burn so badly-- ]
Ghh--aaaah! Haaa, a-aaah, haaa--!
[ Breathing. He needs to breathe--the realization hits him like a sack of bricks. He's sucking in breath after breath of ragged air, and it feels almost uncomfortable compared to...before? What was before? What's now? And then he's...coughing? Yes, that's what it is--he's coughing loudly and wetly, rolling over onto his side and trying to make sense of everything.
There's solidity beneath him; something tangible and soft but it feels so rough on his clumsy, unpractised hands that he can't even get a grip on it. He tries to crack his eyes open and at first, everything is a blur of colour and he can't make sense of any of it. Reds, golds, dark greens and blacks--everything comes together to paint a smudged picture his mind doesn't recognize and it's horrendously disorienting.
Where is he? What's going on?? He tries to push himself up and finds that suddenly, his body feels feather-light. For a brief second he's floating--and then he hits another solid surface much harder than the...bed? Yes, he was on a bed--so this must be the floor then. God, everything aches.... It feels like he hasn't used his body in weeks. Maybe even longer than that, he thinks belatedly as he struggles to push himself upright. The more he moves the more stiffness begins to leave his limbs, until it's only the ache in his joints and the fog in his head keeping him from standing perfectly upright.
He needs to get out of here, he thinks--needs to find...who? Is he looking for someone? he can barely remember as he stumbles forward, out of the room and into the Tower's halls. ]
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no subject
Once there, she shoulders open the door with his legs, and heads to his bed. Not looking at the books and furniture and anything that might remind her of Matt.
And then she's just... dumping him onto the bed, and dragging the covers out from under him so she can cover him up]