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needfireSome more Spike Connor, as ever thanks to Edibbea.
“No, that’s wrong, not gonna fit there, if I make it fit well might see the picture a little clearer ...If I could just SEE, but no, that would be too easy, wouldn’t be a puzzle then, 'twould be something else altogether and I would have to start all over, all progress lost...”
Leaning his face on the window, Connor watched the rain that had been falling for days create patterns on the glass. The scent of rot wafted past, and he turned his head to look at the creature in the corner as it created strangely complicated arrangements and sculptures from junk and the corpses of the rodents that were its food source. It had been deranged for over a week, the last vision seemingly taking the last of its wits. When Connor had attempted to remove the decomposing carcasses it had screamed at him, going as far as showing its demon face and fighting back when he tried to use force.
It had never turned its demon face on Connor before. It had never raised its hand to him. He would have persevered, but the weeping was so human, the sound lost and unlike anything he had ever heard. He had given the corpses back and turned away, listening to it mumble through sobs as it rearranged the bodies into place.
He had withstood worse stenches in Quartoth.
Watching the rain, he worried that the creature might never return its wits. The stab of lonely hurt at the thought was ignored; the fact that he worried at all disguised under the need for a coherent speaker to impart the visions.
Deciding to chance the weather, he made his way to the door, glancing at it before he went. Perhaps he would find some books or a TV when he was out.
Looking at the mess in the corner Connor rocked back and forth, waiting to see if it would wake up. He had tried to feed it but it wouldn’t swallow and the blood had run to join with the rest on the floor.
He couldn’t help but notice that the demon bled as red as he did.
It had laughed at him.
He had gone to find the television in the only place he knew, but he had been caught. When he returned it had looked at him and laughed.
He only wanted its silence; after days of madness the laughter had been too much. Now he found the silence terrifying.
Biting his fist he continued to rock, hoping that tomorrow it would speak.
He was going to be a champion
“No, that’s wrong, not gonna fit there, if I make it fit well might see the picture a little clearer ...If I could just SEE, but no, that would be too easy, wouldn’t be a puzzle then, 'twould be something else altogether and I would have to start all over, all progress lost...”
Leaning his face on the window, Connor watched the rain that had been falling for days create patterns on the glass. The scent of rot wafted past, and he turned his head to look at the creature in the corner as it created strangely complicated arrangements and sculptures from junk and the corpses of the rodents that were its food source. It had been deranged for over a week, the last vision seemingly taking the last of its wits. When Connor had attempted to remove the decomposing carcasses it had screamed at him, going as far as showing its demon face and fighting back when he tried to use force.
It had never turned its demon face on Connor before. It had never raised its hand to him. He would have persevered, but the weeping was so human, the sound lost and unlike anything he had ever heard. He had given the corpses back and turned away, listening to it mumble through sobs as it rearranged the bodies into place.
He had withstood worse stenches in Quartoth.
Watching the rain, he worried that the creature might never return its wits. The stab of lonely hurt at the thought was ignored; the fact that he worried at all disguised under the need for a coherent speaker to impart the visions.
Deciding to chance the weather, he made his way to the door, glancing at it before he went. Perhaps he would find some books or a TV when he was out.
Looking at the mess in the corner Connor rocked back and forth, waiting to see if it would wake up. He had tried to feed it but it wouldn’t swallow and the blood had run to join with the rest on the floor.
He couldn’t help but notice that the demon bled as red as he did.
It had laughed at him.
He had gone to find the television in the only place he knew, but he had been caught. When he returned it had looked at him and laughed.
He only wanted its silence; after days of madness the laughter had been too much. Now he found the silence terrifying.
Biting his fist he continued to rock, hoping that tomorrow it would speak.
He was going to be a champion
