[Geist] Questions without answers

[sotongeistooc.livejournal.com]

 

A demon in the darkness. Fire and flame and searing heat, burning and roasting flesh. Screams in the night, strangled sounds as vocal chords crisped to black, the molten flow pouring through mouths, melting straight through the jaws. Smoke and the scent of pork crackling. Running, dragging, panting, a moment hung forever in mid-air as gravity took hold. Cold, cold sea water, sharp needles of icy chill penetrating clothes welded to the body. Sea weed and brine clogging throat and nostrils, limbs gripping the barnacle-coated pier edge, lacerating skin, shredding fingertips.

Music. Violin music, haunting and deliberate, over and over, over and over, over and over.

The stab wound in his stomach, still pumping out something more than blood, oozing with some kind of unholy viscous slime.

The unending filling of missing something. The gnawing doubt in his mind that something deep, important, vital, had been irrevocably torn from his soul.

Something beyond the amnesia and missing memories – it was more penetrating than that. The death of a loved one, maybe? Or his own death? He couldn’t remember.

All he had was the room of curious objects. The violin, old and ancient, which he knew how to play, though couldn't remember any lessons. The Euros in his wallet. Was he a foreigner to these shores? What was his name real? Who were they, the people he had watched die?

Why the hell was there a vicious, evil-looking dagger taped to the toilet cistern in his hotel room?

Why, with that wound so deep, black and bloody, was he still alive, and apparently unharmed?

And why had that man, who had appeared out of the gloom with the trenchcoat goon, turned into ­a flock of birds?

He picked up the violin, and once more began to play. For some reason, he knew his life depended on it.

 

Comments

[nikoliborsh.livejournal.com]

Nothing about Simon drinking with him in the bar :-(

[sotongeistooc.livejournal.com]

No, because that wasn't _serious mental trauma_.

Actually, if he was drinking with you, it might have been.

[nikoliborsh.livejournal.com]

Guffaw, guffaw!