Limbo (one-shot, Mick, PG-13)
Posted: Tue Jan 20, 2009 12:18 am
Title: Limbo
Author: redwinter101
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: This was the first Moonlight story I wrote. And I thought at the time it would be the only one. Mmmm. See how that worked out?
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--- Limbo ---
The sun casting its first shadow into the corner of the room signalled the start of the fourth day. As the stake was driven into his chest his first reaction had been wounded pride that someone had got the drop on him. But he had not foreseen how long he would remain here and now he was in the grip of full-blown panic as the reality of his situation set in. Four days. No-one knew where he was; the building was derelict; no-one was coming.
He screamed, soundlessly. As if by force of will alone, he could move enough air over his paralysed vocal cords to get the sound out. But the stake had done its job and the scream continued, unheard.
Mick thought he had known fear but this was something new. In his immobile state every sense was heightened and he struggled under the onslaught - the constant scratching of unknown beasts beneath the floorboards; the pain that gripped his thigh where he had fallen awkwardly; the dripping tap in some far-off room that echoed like a klaxon; the stench of his own decay.
The thin layer of dust that had already started to settle over him was becoming more than an irritation; it stung his eyes, tickled his nose and tasted rank in his mouth.
His gorge rose as another wave of fear shot through him. He had to keep it together. He had to keep it together. He repeated it over and over like a mantra, killing time, killing terror.
God, if only he could close his eyes.
The irony of his predicament was not lost on him. He had finally achieved a state of body that matched his state of soul. Feeling everything but having control over nothing, fixed in time while all around him continued on.
They should have found him by now.
Perhaps his attacker had covered his tracks too well; this had to be deliberate, personal, there was too much knowledge for it to be a random assault; his unknown assailant had torture in mind. He had tried to figure out who and why, but his concentration was shot. Or perhaps he just had too many enemies to narrow the field. He knew his mind was starting to slip and, desperate for focus, he tried re-counting the ceiling tiles that were within his field of vision but kept losing count when he reached the grimy corner, obscured by decades of cooking oil and cobwebs.
No-one was coming.
He had heard tales of vampires who had remained staked for centuries but had always laughed them off as tall stories intended to scare and enthral in equal measure. Now, the very real possibility that he could lie here undiscovered for years, his soul rotting and mind disintegrating while his body remained untouched, overwhelmed him. He wondered how long it would be before he succumbed to insanity.
As a child he had been terrified by tales of Limbo, the first circle of Hell, the place where the final judgement of fate was awaited, the fear of eternal damnation lodged in him so deeply by the force of his upbringing. If this was just the first circle.
Thoughts of childhood brought a flood of memories - his parents, so loving and so unknowable. Old friends and girlfriends, old joys, old sorrows. Of course this train of thought eventually led him back to Beth. She would not be dislodged from his mind without a fight and he didn't have the will even to try. Their last parting had been so bitter, so filled with regret. He hated to think that Beth's last memory of him would be so stark. "If you hate what you are so much, then why do you go on living?" she had asked and he wished he had told her the truth that he could only now, here, alone and helpless, admit to himself. That immortality might release you from death, but the fear of death remained. He was afraid to die. He let the memories flow and imagined a different future for them - without vampires, without pain, without fear.
His flight of fancy was interrupted by the fly that had given up investigating the upper reaches of the room and was now paying closer attention to the prone body on the floor. It landed on his cheek, briefly, then was off again, only to return to the same spot a moment later. This dance continued long into the evening and Mick longed for tears. The immortal Mick St. John reduced to this by a fly. The fates were indeed capricious.
Author: redwinter101
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: This was the first Moonlight story I wrote. And I thought at the time it would be the only one. Mmmm. See how that worked out?
*************************************************************************************************************************************
--- Limbo ---
The sun casting its first shadow into the corner of the room signalled the start of the fourth day. As the stake was driven into his chest his first reaction had been wounded pride that someone had got the drop on him. But he had not foreseen how long he would remain here and now he was in the grip of full-blown panic as the reality of his situation set in. Four days. No-one knew where he was; the building was derelict; no-one was coming.
He screamed, soundlessly. As if by force of will alone, he could move enough air over his paralysed vocal cords to get the sound out. But the stake had done its job and the scream continued, unheard.
Mick thought he had known fear but this was something new. In his immobile state every sense was heightened and he struggled under the onslaught - the constant scratching of unknown beasts beneath the floorboards; the pain that gripped his thigh where he had fallen awkwardly; the dripping tap in some far-off room that echoed like a klaxon; the stench of his own decay.
The thin layer of dust that had already started to settle over him was becoming more than an irritation; it stung his eyes, tickled his nose and tasted rank in his mouth.
His gorge rose as another wave of fear shot through him. He had to keep it together. He had to keep it together. He repeated it over and over like a mantra, killing time, killing terror.
God, if only he could close his eyes.
The irony of his predicament was not lost on him. He had finally achieved a state of body that matched his state of soul. Feeling everything but having control over nothing, fixed in time while all around him continued on.
They should have found him by now.
Perhaps his attacker had covered his tracks too well; this had to be deliberate, personal, there was too much knowledge for it to be a random assault; his unknown assailant had torture in mind. He had tried to figure out who and why, but his concentration was shot. Or perhaps he just had too many enemies to narrow the field. He knew his mind was starting to slip and, desperate for focus, he tried re-counting the ceiling tiles that were within his field of vision but kept losing count when he reached the grimy corner, obscured by decades of cooking oil and cobwebs.
No-one was coming.
He had heard tales of vampires who had remained staked for centuries but had always laughed them off as tall stories intended to scare and enthral in equal measure. Now, the very real possibility that he could lie here undiscovered for years, his soul rotting and mind disintegrating while his body remained untouched, overwhelmed him. He wondered how long it would be before he succumbed to insanity.
As a child he had been terrified by tales of Limbo, the first circle of Hell, the place where the final judgement of fate was awaited, the fear of eternal damnation lodged in him so deeply by the force of his upbringing. If this was just the first circle.
Thoughts of childhood brought a flood of memories - his parents, so loving and so unknowable. Old friends and girlfriends, old joys, old sorrows. Of course this train of thought eventually led him back to Beth. She would not be dislodged from his mind without a fight and he didn't have the will even to try. Their last parting had been so bitter, so filled with regret. He hated to think that Beth's last memory of him would be so stark. "If you hate what you are so much, then why do you go on living?" she had asked and he wished he had told her the truth that he could only now, here, alone and helpless, admit to himself. That immortality might release you from death, but the fear of death remained. He was afraid to die. He let the memories flow and imagined a different future for them - without vampires, without pain, without fear.
His flight of fancy was interrupted by the fly that had given up investigating the upper reaches of the room and was now paying closer attention to the prone body on the floor. It landed on his cheek, briefly, then was off again, only to return to the same spot a moment later. This dance continued long into the evening and Mick longed for tears. The immortal Mick St. John reduced to this by a fly. The fates were indeed capricious.
Staked and just left there. Hey how did he get out? 