[LOST] Weekender and Conflict...so to speak

[hardwired.livejournal.com]

Three metres in length. Some sort of leather. Metal on the tip which has some sort of poison.

No matter the user the energy of its motion is translated into a speed at the tip end greater than six hundred miles per hour, breaking the sound barrier.

This causes the crack, which is drowned out by the scream.

To me, it sounds like the scream is someone else’s. But I know it's mine. I stopped really feeling it with my thinking mind an hour ago. I am aware that I am bleeding and dying. I am also aware that they won’t let me die, instead they will tend my wounds and wait, and start again.

Their faces always change, but the eyes are the same. The cold stern one with eyes of green. The Animal, The Pretty poisoner. The Torturer, her piercing blue eyes giving an indication of the pleasure she has had in my pain.

They come from time to time. They speak and ask and cajole. I am offered pleasure, food, and a respite from pain. They don't seem to understand why I won’t give in.

The woman they speak of says she needs a soldier. A killer. That it is to be me, and that I am powerless to resist.

My skin is not longer my own. It changes, and I don't like it. This place is not Afghanistan. It is somewhere else.

Am I in hell?

I want to give up. So I turn, and beg to be let free, and I tell them I give up.

I wake up, not with a start, but with a scare. I don't move fast. Get my bearings.

She is still asleep, wrapped around my torso.

My delta tattoo above her head is highlighted in the moonlight.

Her warmth is comforting, and I feel a sense of peace. Comfort I had not felt for a while.

But I had to move. Duty pressed at me. I had to drive, and leave. But for one moment I took my peace from the room, and got dressed, and left.

I wish I had never left that room.

14/02/11

"Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor. "