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Apr. 26th, 2006 08:20 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sga_flashficTitle: Drifting Away
Word Count: 612
Author: hack_benjamin22
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sheppard/Unknown
Notes: I used all three parts of "Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n Roll", but blink and you'll miss at least one of them.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ Sheppard thought, as he surveyed his tiny cell. This world was supposed to be safe, supposed to be okay. He shouldn’t have trusted the information, should have questioned more, put up a fight. He could feel his thoughts becoming jumbled as whatever they gave him started to saturate his senses.
He could smell that moist, earthly smell that dirt gets when it has just rained. The scent of unwashed bodies and coppery blood also hung in the air, permeating all his senses, rolling in and over and around him like a welcoming friend, but in reality was anything but.
When his captors had first thrown him in the cell he had fallen in some slime that had felt a lot like blood and smelled a lot like blood too. He was trying not to think about it too much. That was the key; take yourself somewhere else, anywhere else, that would be good, nice.
And then he could feel himself letting go and just drifting, his soul tethered by a thin cord, barely there and it was okay, it was good. That was when he started to see things that couldn’t possibly be there, family and friends, colleagues that had died years ago.
All of them coming to speak to him, asking questions, poking and prodding, but he couldn’t understand. But he wished that he could. They spoke to him, kept speaking, the prodding wouldn’t stop and he idly wondered why they were there.
Eventually they too drifted off and he looked around himself. His surroundings looked unfamiliar, odd in way that he couldn’t pinpoint. Wherever he was it was spinning and he closed his eyes and that’s when the pounding started.
It was slow and quiet building up and pouring out, needing to escape. Faster and louder, it wouldn’t stop, so unbelievably loud. He wanted it to stop, but couldn’t open his eyes. And the pounding became a sort of throb that he could feel through his entire body. It gave him an indefinable itch, he wanted to move, to dance, to do something, and yet he could move nothing.
Someone was pulling him away from his unfamiliar little room, he must not have heard them through all the noise, but they were taking him away from it and that was good. Peace was good, nice.
He smiled and opened his eyes, but still couldn’t see anything. He could feel though, and hand tightly gripped around his wrist, tugging sharply, and it was as if he couldn’t stop his own compliance. The hand kept tugging and pulling him, and he was grateful to be away from the noise but he wished they could slow down.
He tried to speak, but his words were lost in his throat, gurgling helplessly, dying slowly as they tried to escape, be free. But it didn’t matter anyway, the hand abruptly left him and he was left alone, so lonely. He wished for the hand to come back to save him, for anything.
The hand returned and with it, many others. They touched and petted, moving, roving, and it felt good, so good. They touched him in places he never knew and when they were done they left him to his peace. And now that the euphoria of the touch was gone he felt so tiny, so lost. And he knew that something was missing, but he couldn’t remember what.
And it hurt, a lot, and in the back of his mind he knew it would hurt others too, if only he could remember who. And his peace was leaving him, floating away on a wind he couldn’t see.
Word Count: 612
Author: hack_benjamin22
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sheppard/Unknown
Notes: I used all three parts of "Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n Roll", but blink and you'll miss at least one of them.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ Sheppard thought, as he surveyed his tiny cell. This world was supposed to be safe, supposed to be okay. He shouldn’t have trusted the information, should have questioned more, put up a fight. He could feel his thoughts becoming jumbled as whatever they gave him started to saturate his senses.
He could smell that moist, earthly smell that dirt gets when it has just rained. The scent of unwashed bodies and coppery blood also hung in the air, permeating all his senses, rolling in and over and around him like a welcoming friend, but in reality was anything but.
When his captors had first thrown him in the cell he had fallen in some slime that had felt a lot like blood and smelled a lot like blood too. He was trying not to think about it too much. That was the key; take yourself somewhere else, anywhere else, that would be good, nice.
And then he could feel himself letting go and just drifting, his soul tethered by a thin cord, barely there and it was okay, it was good. That was when he started to see things that couldn’t possibly be there, family and friends, colleagues that had died years ago.
All of them coming to speak to him, asking questions, poking and prodding, but he couldn’t understand. But he wished that he could. They spoke to him, kept speaking, the prodding wouldn’t stop and he idly wondered why they were there.
Eventually they too drifted off and he looked around himself. His surroundings looked unfamiliar, odd in way that he couldn’t pinpoint. Wherever he was it was spinning and he closed his eyes and that’s when the pounding started.
It was slow and quiet building up and pouring out, needing to escape. Faster and louder, it wouldn’t stop, so unbelievably loud. He wanted it to stop, but couldn’t open his eyes. And the pounding became a sort of throb that he could feel through his entire body. It gave him an indefinable itch, he wanted to move, to dance, to do something, and yet he could move nothing.
Someone was pulling him away from his unfamiliar little room, he must not have heard them through all the noise, but they were taking him away from it and that was good. Peace was good, nice.
He smiled and opened his eyes, but still couldn’t see anything. He could feel though, and hand tightly gripped around his wrist, tugging sharply, and it was as if he couldn’t stop his own compliance. The hand kept tugging and pulling him, and he was grateful to be away from the noise but he wished they could slow down.
He tried to speak, but his words were lost in his throat, gurgling helplessly, dying slowly as they tried to escape, be free. But it didn’t matter anyway, the hand abruptly left him and he was left alone, so lonely. He wished for the hand to come back to save him, for anything.
The hand returned and with it, many others. They touched and petted, moving, roving, and it felt good, so good. They touched him in places he never knew and when they were done they left him to his peace. And now that the euphoria of the touch was gone he felt so tiny, so lost. And he knew that something was missing, but he couldn’t remember what.
And it hurt, a lot, and in the back of his mind he knew it would hurt others too, if only he could remember who. And his peace was leaving him, floating away on a wind he couldn’t see.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-27 12:37 am (UTC)