The Ghosts
Aug. 16th, 2011 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowTitle: The Ghosts [pending something better]
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Tegre
Status: Complete but likely still rough
Rating: R for this one. You'll see why.
Summary: In the darkness of your mind, what will you find? What ghosts are following you?
Prompt: "walking with ghosts"
Author's Notes: Next time I say "Oh I can't write creepy imagery that easily!", smack me upside the head. Because this is... Yep. Kind of an experiment to see what I could do. Fun times!
---
It was bitterly cold, and yet Tegre could not see his breath as he panted -- could not see anything, in fact, not himself when he looked down, not his hand no matter how close he held it up to his face. He could not really feel himself sitting -- or so he assumed he was sitting, that was what he thought, what made sense. It was hard to confirm, though, and when he felt for the ground, he felt nothing there.
He stood up anyway, or figured he did; he felt no rush of air, just this feeling that yes, he had gotten up and was now standing in the darkness. He looked around but everything looked the same, and yet he was compelled to walk to his right -- commanding feet he could not see or feel to move, but still getting the sense that he was walking somewhere.
The quiet got into his skin, and that he could feel, blatantly in the dark featureless place. He felt his entire body crawl like bugs under his skin, creeping out to sense anything at all. Something was out there. He could tell. His soldier instincts screamed out for him to find a good defense and to get his weapon and to prepare for... For what?
Tegre froze and looked around. He thought that the bugs were coming out of him now, popping out through the pores on his skin and then skittering across him, looking for a vantage point. He could almost hear them chattering, scratched impulsively at one arm -- and jerked back when he felt a slimy squirming mass, rather than the flies he thought they were. He flailed his arms but could still feel those things -- leaches? Maggots? He could not see them; he could only imagine -- on and in him, probing, searching...
"Tegre."
He jumped at the voice, and never did come back down. He just floated upward, looking around, and then finally thought he saw a tiny light. It floated toward him hazily, molding into a human. And then he groaned, the sound echoing around him.
"Momma--"
"Tegre." Her voice croaked and cracked, the word shattering upon hitting the expanse around them. He thought it sounded like broken glass, or maybe even a gunshot. It didn't matter; the humanoid was forming her, this sickly pale creature. He could see straight through where the eye sockets should be, and the dark traveled along the skin until leaving little streaks near her blue lips. The blue and purple bruises, following the pattern of a sturdy rope, seemed to pulsate on her neck.
He tried to back up but found that of course, he could not move; there was nothing to walk on.
"Why didn't you stop me?" She snapped her neck awkwardly; when her lips moved he saw nothing but darkness in her mouth, no teeth or sense.
"I--"
"Oh you were so young, Tegre." She got her head to snap the right way that time, upright on her spine, and held out her arms -- her hands decayed at the fingers until only bone was left. "My child. You were so quiet, always."
"I'm sorry." He swallowed roughly, and even that echoed. He could not tear his eyes from his mother as she approached him, and brushed her fingers against his cheek, leaving little white scratches.
"You remind me of someone. You always did." She looked up, exposing the necklace of bruises beating against her skin. "Me."
He stared at her then, watching her smile sadly, looking back into him. "I... I don't..."
"Why didn't you stop me?" She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing, the bone digging into his skin. "Couldn't you hear me?"
"No." He didn't want to say that. He wasn't sure how he did. "I mean, I--"
"You couldn't hear your own mother?" She removed her hands and backed up, snapping her head again, staring. "Oh, well. Your father didn't hear me either. And you are his son." And then she grinned bitterly, that black expanse almost spreading throughout her face.
Tegre's eyes widened. "Wait! I didn't mean that... I..."
And then with a horrible snapping sound, a giant noose materialized and snatched up his mother, leaving her hanging before his eyes. He watched as she shrunk, and then the bathroom popped piece-by-piece into place -- the shower, with the ceiling beam where she had tied the rope, the sink, the toilet. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked down to find that his hands -- the hands of a little boy -- were coated in blood.
"Tegre!" This voice was behind him, gruff and angry and slurred, and Tegre whirled around expecting to find his father as he had that day -- hungover, tired and angry at being woken up by wailing.
Instead he found his father with a bullet wound through his chest, blood seeping through the shirt and congealing at the wound. His eyes were equally red, as were his lips, where blood still occasionally bubbled out, especially when he spoke. His father staggered forward, pointing a finger at him, shouting, the spatter hitting Tegre's shirt.
"You useless boy! Slaughtering the one person who cared for you! Am I cattle to you?" He had reached Tegre by now, and the blood showered over Tegre's face and neck as his father shouted. "Wait until I outlive my usefulness for you and Cassandra and then dispose of me! That's how it is, isn't it!"
"W-Wha--?" But his father shoved him back, leaving red hand prints on his shirt. He slipped on the slick bathroom floor and fell hip first, and heard the bone shatter.
"First it was your mother! You got sick of her fucking fast! And then me, after all I did for you! I couldn't get you to honour your family name for years, and then when you finally understand, you write me out of your life! Who's next? Your sister?" For a brief instant he saw her, eyes wide in horror, a bullet through her forehead. "Do you understand how much we gave you?"
"O-Of--"
"Of course not!" And with that, as Tegre watched with wide eyes, his father reached into the bullet wound and extracted his heart, pulsating and pouring blood onto the bathroom tile. He threw it into Tegre's lap; shaking Tegre lifted it and watched as maggots crept through the muscle and traveled onto his hands. "There it is then! It gave everything for you! And this is how you repay me! How you repay her!"
Tegre's followed his father's finger to his mother swinging on her rope. He sensed her gaze on him, staring, and swore he saw a few tears fall from her nonexistent eyes. Shaking, tears streaming down his own cheeks, Tegre looked back to his father's angry stare.
"Please." He stood up and brought the heart back over, deflated as the maggots spread all over his arms. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I was just so scared, it was all a mistake, please--"
"A worthless excuse." His father spat blood into his face, then smacked the heart out of his hands, where it quivered and finally sunk into the floor. "Fine then. Don't take your prize. You don't deserve it. Not my pride, not my love."
And with that his father turned around and walked away. Sobbing, crying out frantically, Tegre tried to get to his feet and chase after him -- but his thigh was destroyed and useless, and instead he slipped and smashed face-first into the bloodied tile.
"Don't worry." He looked up, to see his mother beside him, the rope still around her neck. "Maybe I forgive you. You are so much like me. Maybe you're just as foolish."
And then she kissed him on the forehead, and he felt cold seep into him, spreading through his body, until he found nothing but the darkness -- and was grateful for it.
~~~
The doctors and nurses weren't sure what to do. The patient had been crying, tossing, and wailing in his sleep for the past ten minutes, but nothing they did woke him up. They looked over his charts, they knew who he was -- Tegre, former Tegre Soner, recent graduate from the prestigious Salridge Academy, border patrol until he apparently collapsed upon encountering the former foreign advisor of the Eramen Nation.
The foreign advisor claimed he started muttering about his mother. The doctors noticed he did a lot more screaming and crying about his mother. The family refused to say much about her, nor about Tegre at all for that matter.
They all concluded there was nothing they could do. The doctor watched as Tegre curled up, tears streaming down his face, at least finally silent. He looked at the list of medications that the psychiatrist had recommended after a five minute evaluation, muttering something about "Tegre's ghosts". Then he sighed, and left the room, closing the door as quietly as he could, in a desperate attempt to provide the former soldier some sort of peace.
And in his mind, Tegre heard nothing but the darkness.
Genre: Fantasy
The Troops: Tegre
Status: Complete but likely still rough
Rating: R for this one. You'll see why.
Summary: In the darkness of your mind, what will you find? What ghosts are following you?
Prompt: "walking with ghosts"
Author's Notes: Next time I say "Oh I can't write creepy imagery that easily!", smack me upside the head. Because this is... Yep. Kind of an experiment to see what I could do. Fun times!
---
It was bitterly cold, and yet Tegre could not see his breath as he panted -- could not see anything, in fact, not himself when he looked down, not his hand no matter how close he held it up to his face. He could not really feel himself sitting -- or so he assumed he was sitting, that was what he thought, what made sense. It was hard to confirm, though, and when he felt for the ground, he felt nothing there.
He stood up anyway, or figured he did; he felt no rush of air, just this feeling that yes, he had gotten up and was now standing in the darkness. He looked around but everything looked the same, and yet he was compelled to walk to his right -- commanding feet he could not see or feel to move, but still getting the sense that he was walking somewhere.
The quiet got into his skin, and that he could feel, blatantly in the dark featureless place. He felt his entire body crawl like bugs under his skin, creeping out to sense anything at all. Something was out there. He could tell. His soldier instincts screamed out for him to find a good defense and to get his weapon and to prepare for... For what?
Tegre froze and looked around. He thought that the bugs were coming out of him now, popping out through the pores on his skin and then skittering across him, looking for a vantage point. He could almost hear them chattering, scratched impulsively at one arm -- and jerked back when he felt a slimy squirming mass, rather than the flies he thought they were. He flailed his arms but could still feel those things -- leaches? Maggots? He could not see them; he could only imagine -- on and in him, probing, searching...
"Tegre."
He jumped at the voice, and never did come back down. He just floated upward, looking around, and then finally thought he saw a tiny light. It floated toward him hazily, molding into a human. And then he groaned, the sound echoing around him.
"Momma--"
"Tegre." Her voice croaked and cracked, the word shattering upon hitting the expanse around them. He thought it sounded like broken glass, or maybe even a gunshot. It didn't matter; the humanoid was forming her, this sickly pale creature. He could see straight through where the eye sockets should be, and the dark traveled along the skin until leaving little streaks near her blue lips. The blue and purple bruises, following the pattern of a sturdy rope, seemed to pulsate on her neck.
He tried to back up but found that of course, he could not move; there was nothing to walk on.
"Why didn't you stop me?" She snapped her neck awkwardly; when her lips moved he saw nothing but darkness in her mouth, no teeth or sense.
"I--"
"Oh you were so young, Tegre." She got her head to snap the right way that time, upright on her spine, and held out her arms -- her hands decayed at the fingers until only bone was left. "My child. You were so quiet, always."
"I'm sorry." He swallowed roughly, and even that echoed. He could not tear his eyes from his mother as she approached him, and brushed her fingers against his cheek, leaving little white scratches.
"You remind me of someone. You always did." She looked up, exposing the necklace of bruises beating against her skin. "Me."
He stared at her then, watching her smile sadly, looking back into him. "I... I don't..."
"Why didn't you stop me?" She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing, the bone digging into his skin. "Couldn't you hear me?"
"No." He didn't want to say that. He wasn't sure how he did. "I mean, I--"
"You couldn't hear your own mother?" She removed her hands and backed up, snapping her head again, staring. "Oh, well. Your father didn't hear me either. And you are his son." And then she grinned bitterly, that black expanse almost spreading throughout her face.
Tegre's eyes widened. "Wait! I didn't mean that... I..."
And then with a horrible snapping sound, a giant noose materialized and snatched up his mother, leaving her hanging before his eyes. He watched as she shrunk, and then the bathroom popped piece-by-piece into place -- the shower, with the ceiling beam where she had tied the rope, the sink, the toilet. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked down to find that his hands -- the hands of a little boy -- were coated in blood.
"Tegre!" This voice was behind him, gruff and angry and slurred, and Tegre whirled around expecting to find his father as he had that day -- hungover, tired and angry at being woken up by wailing.
Instead he found his father with a bullet wound through his chest, blood seeping through the shirt and congealing at the wound. His eyes were equally red, as were his lips, where blood still occasionally bubbled out, especially when he spoke. His father staggered forward, pointing a finger at him, shouting, the spatter hitting Tegre's shirt.
"You useless boy! Slaughtering the one person who cared for you! Am I cattle to you?" He had reached Tegre by now, and the blood showered over Tegre's face and neck as his father shouted. "Wait until I outlive my usefulness for you and Cassandra and then dispose of me! That's how it is, isn't it!"
"W-Wha--?" But his father shoved him back, leaving red hand prints on his shirt. He slipped on the slick bathroom floor and fell hip first, and heard the bone shatter.
"First it was your mother! You got sick of her fucking fast! And then me, after all I did for you! I couldn't get you to honour your family name for years, and then when you finally understand, you write me out of your life! Who's next? Your sister?" For a brief instant he saw her, eyes wide in horror, a bullet through her forehead. "Do you understand how much we gave you?"
"O-Of--"
"Of course not!" And with that, as Tegre watched with wide eyes, his father reached into the bullet wound and extracted his heart, pulsating and pouring blood onto the bathroom tile. He threw it into Tegre's lap; shaking Tegre lifted it and watched as maggots crept through the muscle and traveled onto his hands. "There it is then! It gave everything for you! And this is how you repay me! How you repay her!"
Tegre's followed his father's finger to his mother swinging on her rope. He sensed her gaze on him, staring, and swore he saw a few tears fall from her nonexistent eyes. Shaking, tears streaming down his own cheeks, Tegre looked back to his father's angry stare.
"Please." He stood up and brought the heart back over, deflated as the maggots spread all over his arms. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I was just so scared, it was all a mistake, please--"
"A worthless excuse." His father spat blood into his face, then smacked the heart out of his hands, where it quivered and finally sunk into the floor. "Fine then. Don't take your prize. You don't deserve it. Not my pride, not my love."
And with that his father turned around and walked away. Sobbing, crying out frantically, Tegre tried to get to his feet and chase after him -- but his thigh was destroyed and useless, and instead he slipped and smashed face-first into the bloodied tile.
"Don't worry." He looked up, to see his mother beside him, the rope still around her neck. "Maybe I forgive you. You are so much like me. Maybe you're just as foolish."
And then she kissed him on the forehead, and he felt cold seep into him, spreading through his body, until he found nothing but the darkness -- and was grateful for it.
~~~
The doctors and nurses weren't sure what to do. The patient had been crying, tossing, and wailing in his sleep for the past ten minutes, but nothing they did woke him up. They looked over his charts, they knew who he was -- Tegre, former Tegre Soner, recent graduate from the prestigious Salridge Academy, border patrol until he apparently collapsed upon encountering the former foreign advisor of the Eramen Nation.
The foreign advisor claimed he started muttering about his mother. The doctors noticed he did a lot more screaming and crying about his mother. The family refused to say much about her, nor about Tegre at all for that matter.
They all concluded there was nothing they could do. The doctor watched as Tegre curled up, tears streaming down his face, at least finally silent. He looked at the list of medications that the psychiatrist had recommended after a five minute evaluation, muttering something about "Tegre's ghosts". Then he sighed, and left the room, closing the door as quietly as he could, in a desperate attempt to provide the former soldier some sort of peace.
And in his mind, Tegre heard nothing but the darkness.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-08 08:02 pm (UTC)Two things: there are a few word repetitions. Unfortunately I didn't think to keep track of them. Also, in the second part, instead of starting with nebulous ~doctors and nurses~, I'd simply write it from the doctor's perspective.
And my final comment: ouch.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-22 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-17 09:54 pm (UTC)Some really beautiful descriptive phrasing here, and dark imagery handled very well. Love it!
no subject
Date: 2011-10-17 10:15 pm (UTC)