tooteal: (tomo - put'em up)
[personal profile] tooteal
I did end up writing, but I'm not sure what it is. I had one of those urges to beat up a character or something. I don't know.

Title: Untitled
Rating: PG(-13)
Warnings: xD; Umn...aftermath of violence?

The first thing he noticed was pins and needles dancing along his spine, it hurt. Just like the rest of him. The cold held off most of the pain, but still he knew where he was hurt though not how badly. They'd come late at night while he was walking home, to punish him for disillusioning the people with his pictures of the truth. A short and harsh laugh tore his raw throat, he had still won. He was still alive. He would not give up this battle.

Eyes opening for the first time, one not working the way it should. Broken fingers made an inquisitive search of the area feeling clotted blood and swollen flesh. More twinges of pain racing to his brain from just those few movements. Quickly he started blocking it out, knowing the only way he'd be able to get help was to block it and become unfeeling. With his remaining sight he looked over his battered body; bruises and cuts covering the majority though his knee was worst than the rest. Briefly his mind flitted to memories of his childhood, a match with a curly-haired boy that had ruined that knee before.

Along with those memories came the fire he needed, anger still from that match long ago arose and gave him strength to move. Shaky arms pushed the heavy weight of his body upward, still it cried in pain and agony. He ignored it. Focusing on objects was hard, almost impossible, yet he found his camera a few paces away. Broken. Shattered. Another laugh, longer and maniacally as he rose to an awkward stand. Tears slid out and down his face with the wind blowing harshly through the dim alley. He stilled, feeling no comfort of his hair on his neck. Again trembling fingers made their way to inquire, finding long strands gone. A memory. Left in his mind with the short locks beginning to implant themselves on top.

Gone was the laugh. Replaced with a heart-heavy sob. Almost. Almost they had broken him. Slowly the sadness and pain turned and changed into anger and the drive for revenge. Changing. Changing again to the strength he needed to move, thoughts and plans of revenge getting pushed back to simmer and cool. Right now he needed help, and revenge always tasted better after time and thought went into the plans. A step. Another. It hurt, oh god it hurt. More pain from his back and legs, thoughts denying how far they went. Stiffness had begun to set in, freezing up his body with the help of the cold winter wind. It was snowing as he stepped out into the lighter streets. He didn't make it far before he simply fell again, impartial bodies moving around him, un-helping.

And the artist in him couldn't believe, here was the perfect picture opportunity. And yet he was without a camera, and without a shot. Again the crazy laughter rose through his voiceless throat, scaring a few from walking near. He rose and walked on, leaving pain and anger behind, walked on into a form. Waking from his laughing stupor the remaining blue eye looked up with fire his body could barely contain anymore. Kind black eyes looked down at him, in them shock and horror at what had been done, yet understanding for what he had done. No words between them, just a warm blanket covering his battered form and air beneath his feet as he was carried to the nearest clinic. He knew. His savior. And he would make them pay.

fin

lol I dunno.
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