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kittydesade) wrote2006-05-02 03:50 pm
kittydesade) wrote2006-05-02 03:50 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Title: Boys Will Be Boys
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: Paul Morlock
Prompt: Broken
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most. Inspired by some of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
weallscream's most excellent entries.
Paul takes a breath, lets it out, and rises to the surface. His hands wrap around the metal edges of his tank but not too tight, or the glass will break. He's learned that one the hard way.
Impressions.
Light and dark are sharp. The haze is gone, as is the green glow, as is the stinging in his eyes when he opens them. Sound is no longer muted. His mouth no longer tastes of soap, salt, and filth. He tries not to piss in the water but sometimes he can't help it.
Knife quick, he hauls himself out of the tank and over the side, dropping bare, wet feet to cold tile floor with a little smacking sound. First he teeters, then he crouches, then he stands straight. His hands flex for a second and then he closes his eyes as familiar, welcome cloth sinks around him. He doesn't like being naked.
Paul looks around. As the water turns the air from green to pale gray his face changes. Fearful and cowering to simpering predator.
He shows teeth, and rolls his shoulders back.
Paul bounces a little on the balls of his naked feet as he walks circles around the room. What to do today. He could sink his meaty little fingers into Stegman's mind, stir up the paranoia, the megalomania. Tastes of babies. He opens his mouth and clacks together pointed teeth around blackened gums. He screams.
One or two more bounces and he crashes through the doors, running down the same hallway in which he's chased so many others. He couldn't tell what he's running from now but he's definitely running from, not to. He imagines he hears feet behind him, and sometimes they're shod in surgical slippers and sometimes they end in four inch claws. Sometimes it's doggy feet clack clacking on the cement.
He skids around a corner and hits the wall, pressing into the corner with his back to the tile and stucco and shakes his head side to side. Bashes his temple from side to side against the wall. Don't want to. Don't want to. Don't want to.
"Please…" he whispers, whimpers, but it doesn't work. "Please, I don't want to go back there. I don't want to go back."
His eyes are wide in the reflection of the glasses. Tears don't move them.
It's all lies, of course. Grown ups lie. Kids lie. Little girls with big toys and the mangy fleabag furball lies. Worst of the lot. Paul closes his eyes and bangs his head against the wall until the shadow goes away and he can smile again.
Paul's moods change as often as the luck in Kingdom Hospital. He'd just as soon bite your hand off as kiss your fingertips. The best thing to do with Paul is to stay away from him altogether, stay out of Swedenborgian space, if you can. Paul's broken glass edges are so sharp that he might just cut himself. He'd much rather cut you.
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: Paul Morlock
Prompt: Broken
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most. Inspired by some of
weallscream's most excellent entries.Paul takes a breath, lets it out, and rises to the surface. His hands wrap around the metal edges of his tank but not too tight, or the glass will break. He's learned that one the hard way.
Impressions.
Light and dark are sharp. The haze is gone, as is the green glow, as is the stinging in his eyes when he opens them. Sound is no longer muted. His mouth no longer tastes of soap, salt, and filth. He tries not to piss in the water but sometimes he can't help it.
Knife quick, he hauls himself out of the tank and over the side, dropping bare, wet feet to cold tile floor with a little smacking sound. First he teeters, then he crouches, then he stands straight. His hands flex for a second and then he closes his eyes as familiar, welcome cloth sinks around him. He doesn't like being naked.
Paul looks around. As the water turns the air from green to pale gray his face changes. Fearful and cowering to simpering predator.
He shows teeth, and rolls his shoulders back.
Paul bounces a little on the balls of his naked feet as he walks circles around the room. What to do today. He could sink his meaty little fingers into Stegman's mind, stir up the paranoia, the megalomania. Tastes of babies. He opens his mouth and clacks together pointed teeth around blackened gums. He screams.
One or two more bounces and he crashes through the doors, running down the same hallway in which he's chased so many others. He couldn't tell what he's running from now but he's definitely running from, not to. He imagines he hears feet behind him, and sometimes they're shod in surgical slippers and sometimes they end in four inch claws. Sometimes it's doggy feet clack clacking on the cement.
He skids around a corner and hits the wall, pressing into the corner with his back to the tile and stucco and shakes his head side to side. Bashes his temple from side to side against the wall. Don't want to. Don't want to. Don't want to.
"Please…" he whispers, whimpers, but it doesn't work. "Please, I don't want to go back there. I don't want to go back."
His eyes are wide in the reflection of the glasses. Tears don't move them.
It's all lies, of course. Grown ups lie. Kids lie. Little girls with big toys and the mangy fleabag furball lies. Worst of the lot. Paul closes his eyes and bangs his head against the wall until the shadow goes away and he can smile again.
Paul's moods change as often as the luck in Kingdom Hospital. He'd just as soon bite your hand off as kiss your fingertips. The best thing to do with Paul is to stay away from him altogether, stay out of Swedenborgian space, if you can. Paul's broken glass edges are so sharp that he might just cut himself. He'd much rather cut you.