Post by Casi on Jun 7, 2007 12:34:54 GMT 10
Title: Beginnings
Rating: PG-13 for subject matter
Disclaimer: The devil made me steal the characters, I swear.
Synopsis: William's first day as a vampire
William opened his eyes with a suddenness that took his mind by surprise. He felt like his head was filled with cobwebs and the absolute darkness swam in his vision as though it were alive. He sensed, rather than saw, the dark wood above his head. Damn…he had always loathed such small spaces. He took what he hoped would be a rejuvenating breath and nearly retched. The stench of wet earth and death filled his nostrils, more intense than any scent he’d ever experienced in his entire life…and he had only just last week been forced to visit the lower end. He’d been so certain that the scent of raw sewage in the streets was strong enough to kill him that he’d resorted to covering his face with a lavender scented handkerchief, feeling distinctly foppish. That was nothing compared to the close proximity of rotting…he broke off the thought, fighting panic.
Doing his very best to remain calm, William held his breath and tried to slow his racing heart. Only then did he notice that his heart wasn’t beating. The small amount of control he had on his growing panic slipped through his fingers faster than water. He came very suddenly to the realization that he had been holding his breath for far longer than should have been possible. He gulped in great lungfuls of air, ignoring the heavy, oily consistency as best he could, but it did nothing to alleviate his feelings of entrapment.
And then he knew. His silent heart…his lack of breath…the close darkness that surrounded him and that sickening sweet smell of decay…they all made sense. He was dead…and she had killed him. William let out a wail of agony and grief that reverberated off the wooden sides of his coffin. The sound of his own pain lanced through his head, driving all logic from his mind. He did not stop to ask…if he was dead…how was he still able to move about? He’d certainly never seen a body rise up and walk about, though he had often wished for it. William had a sudden memory of himself as a young boy, rapping his fists smartly against the wood of his father’s coffin, begging him to get up.
William beat his fists against the solid wood barrier above him in a horrid parody of his memories. He smashed blow after blow against the lid of the coffin, knowing, in his unbeating heart, that it was futile. He was beating against the weight of the whole earth. He felt the skin split over two of his knuckles and an audible crunching noise came from his ill placed thumb. The pain was maddening.
Something happened inside William’s brain, and he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Perhaps it was an absured survival instinct, rearing its head at last, when all hope seemed lost. He let out an inhuman growl and the putrid air around him seemed to crackle with energy. He felt like caged lightning. William narrowed his eyes and took careful aim. This time, as his fist made contact, it was the wood that cracked.
Damp soil poured on him, filling his mouth and clogging his nose. Flecks of dirt embedded themselves in his eyes and he tried desperately to wipe them away…but his hands were trapped under the rolling clods. Only the knowledge that he didn’t need the air kept him from gulping the mass into his lungs. He closed his eyes against the onslaught and willed his eyes to stop burning. When they didn’t, a bit of his terror, miraculous, dissolved into, of all things, annoyance. As if it wasn’t all enough…being buried alive…or dead, he still wasn’t entirely sure…having to dig is bloody way out…and now he had dirt in his eyes and he couldn’t even do a thing about it. It was his annoyance that drove him to action, when everything else in his body begged him to simply lay back and accept his fate.
William pushed his arms forward. Now that the initial fall had apparently stopped, the earth seemed a bit more pliable. He began to dig. The conundrum, of course, in his far too busy mind, was how was he supposed to dig exactly when he was moving dirt…with no place to move it to. But logical thinking seemed to have little to do with digging out of one’s own grave. Dragging…pushing…forcing himself to not try to breathe…William made his way slowly through the darkness. His clothing caught on the rough wood edges of his shattered coffin and, for a moment, he feared that he would be stuck after all…regardless of his efforts. One smart tug remedied the situation and he moved on, leaving fabric and a bit of skin behind.
When his hand broke the surface of the grave, and he felt the cool air on his skin, he nearly froze up at the shock. For a long, dark moment, he stayed exactly as he was: roughly vertical…encased in dirt tighter than any worm. And then, because there was simply nothing else for him to logically do, he pushed himself out into the night.
Exhausted, disgustingly dirty, and with the stink of the grave clinging to his clothing, he escaped his confinement tumbling down into the waiting arms of his murderess. He clamped his eyes tightly shut, trembling aftershock, too fatigued to fight the cool, thin arms that embraced him. She smelled of death too…but not the stink of the graves. Hers was a different, almost heady scent. William found himself absentmindedly picturing an animal he’d once seen in the London zoo. The panther…great black cat watching him with slanted eyes from the dark enclosure.
“Be still, love,” she whispered silkily into his ear. “I’m so sorry I had to be so naughty…leaving you in the dark and the quiet…but it’s always the best. Now you are born into the night…like the devil you were meant to be.” Her voice rasped and growled and she planted a tender kiss on his dirt-smeared forehead. “Oh what horrible things you are meant to do…”
Rating: PG-13 for subject matter
Disclaimer: The devil made me steal the characters, I swear.
Synopsis: William's first day as a vampire
William opened his eyes with a suddenness that took his mind by surprise. He felt like his head was filled with cobwebs and the absolute darkness swam in his vision as though it were alive. He sensed, rather than saw, the dark wood above his head. Damn…he had always loathed such small spaces. He took what he hoped would be a rejuvenating breath and nearly retched. The stench of wet earth and death filled his nostrils, more intense than any scent he’d ever experienced in his entire life…and he had only just last week been forced to visit the lower end. He’d been so certain that the scent of raw sewage in the streets was strong enough to kill him that he’d resorted to covering his face with a lavender scented handkerchief, feeling distinctly foppish. That was nothing compared to the close proximity of rotting…he broke off the thought, fighting panic.
Doing his very best to remain calm, William held his breath and tried to slow his racing heart. Only then did he notice that his heart wasn’t beating. The small amount of control he had on his growing panic slipped through his fingers faster than water. He came very suddenly to the realization that he had been holding his breath for far longer than should have been possible. He gulped in great lungfuls of air, ignoring the heavy, oily consistency as best he could, but it did nothing to alleviate his feelings of entrapment.
And then he knew. His silent heart…his lack of breath…the close darkness that surrounded him and that sickening sweet smell of decay…they all made sense. He was dead…and she had killed him. William let out a wail of agony and grief that reverberated off the wooden sides of his coffin. The sound of his own pain lanced through his head, driving all logic from his mind. He did not stop to ask…if he was dead…how was he still able to move about? He’d certainly never seen a body rise up and walk about, though he had often wished for it. William had a sudden memory of himself as a young boy, rapping his fists smartly against the wood of his father’s coffin, begging him to get up.
William beat his fists against the solid wood barrier above him in a horrid parody of his memories. He smashed blow after blow against the lid of the coffin, knowing, in his unbeating heart, that it was futile. He was beating against the weight of the whole earth. He felt the skin split over two of his knuckles and an audible crunching noise came from his ill placed thumb. The pain was maddening.
Something happened inside William’s brain, and he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Perhaps it was an absured survival instinct, rearing its head at last, when all hope seemed lost. He let out an inhuman growl and the putrid air around him seemed to crackle with energy. He felt like caged lightning. William narrowed his eyes and took careful aim. This time, as his fist made contact, it was the wood that cracked.
Damp soil poured on him, filling his mouth and clogging his nose. Flecks of dirt embedded themselves in his eyes and he tried desperately to wipe them away…but his hands were trapped under the rolling clods. Only the knowledge that he didn’t need the air kept him from gulping the mass into his lungs. He closed his eyes against the onslaught and willed his eyes to stop burning. When they didn’t, a bit of his terror, miraculous, dissolved into, of all things, annoyance. As if it wasn’t all enough…being buried alive…or dead, he still wasn’t entirely sure…having to dig is bloody way out…and now he had dirt in his eyes and he couldn’t even do a thing about it. It was his annoyance that drove him to action, when everything else in his body begged him to simply lay back and accept his fate.
William pushed his arms forward. Now that the initial fall had apparently stopped, the earth seemed a bit more pliable. He began to dig. The conundrum, of course, in his far too busy mind, was how was he supposed to dig exactly when he was moving dirt…with no place to move it to. But logical thinking seemed to have little to do with digging out of one’s own grave. Dragging…pushing…forcing himself to not try to breathe…William made his way slowly through the darkness. His clothing caught on the rough wood edges of his shattered coffin and, for a moment, he feared that he would be stuck after all…regardless of his efforts. One smart tug remedied the situation and he moved on, leaving fabric and a bit of skin behind.
When his hand broke the surface of the grave, and he felt the cool air on his skin, he nearly froze up at the shock. For a long, dark moment, he stayed exactly as he was: roughly vertical…encased in dirt tighter than any worm. And then, because there was simply nothing else for him to logically do, he pushed himself out into the night.
Exhausted, disgustingly dirty, and with the stink of the grave clinging to his clothing, he escaped his confinement tumbling down into the waiting arms of his murderess. He clamped his eyes tightly shut, trembling aftershock, too fatigued to fight the cool, thin arms that embraced him. She smelled of death too…but not the stink of the graves. Hers was a different, almost heady scent. William found himself absentmindedly picturing an animal he’d once seen in the London zoo. The panther…great black cat watching him with slanted eyes from the dark enclosure.
“Be still, love,” she whispered silkily into his ear. “I’m so sorry I had to be so naughty…leaving you in the dark and the quiet…but it’s always the best. Now you are born into the night…like the devil you were meant to be.” Her voice rasped and growled and she planted a tender kiss on his dirt-smeared forehead. “Oh what horrible things you are meant to do…”