Author's Notes: Saw Pilot, had a migrane, wrote this. Yeah, it sucks. Yeah, it's not as quote-ridden as the way Darien actually told it in the episode... but what else can you do when you're inspired to write? Besides, looking back at the way Darien told us about his first brush with quicksilver madness, it was almost as though he was talking about it in hindsight. So I guess this is what he was thinking in the then and there. Read and review.
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I'm a deep sleeper.
Ask Kevin, and he'll probably tell you about the time when we were kids, and we had these bunk beds. Now these beds were ancient... I mean I swore when then that Napoleon or someone must've slept on them. Well, anyway, I had the top - probably because Kevin was humoring his little brother - and one faithful night, the beds happened to snap. I fell straight down and landed on my wrist, breaking it, and Kev was almost crushed to death... but the thing is, it didn't even wake me up. But right now I'm wide awake in the little room Kevin's letting me use while him and his friends poke and prick and prod me to death... and it's because I'm in pain. So keep in mind, it's gotta be pretty damn bad to wake me up, and trust me it is.
This is like nothing I've ever felt before. It's like what Kev once explained to me migraines are like, but worse. And besides, aren't migraines supposed to be in the front of your head? Well, this one's at the base of my neck and that's where my hand flies as I sit up, my fingers tenderly massaging the flesh there. For a minute I just sit there, hoping if I try and work the ache out with my hands, the pain'll go away... but I'm not that lucky. So, I stand up and move over to the piece of shit sink on the far wall of the room.
Turning the tap on, I let the water run for a couple of seconds as I stare at it dumbly. Christ, if this is what Kevin has to go through whenever he has his migraines, then I hope this is my first and last one. Cause I really don't appreciate the feeling that something's trying to work its claws into the back of my skull. So, I reach down, my hands cupped, and let the water fill them up. Then, I splash it hard over my face and glance up at the mirror to see how bad of a wreck I am. But what I see is worse than anything I could've imagined. My eyes are bloodshot. What the hell?
I run my fingers over my eyes, hoping I'm just imagining it, and when I look back in the mirror they're still that eerie crimson color. For a moment I feel like I'm Doctor Jekyll, and that I've woken up for the first time as Mr. Hyde - because that's how strange the person on the other side of the mirror looks - but I push the thought aside. Reaching for more water, I splash it over my face and let its coolness sink into my skin before rubbing furiously at my eyes again. And when I look in the reflective glass once more, presto-chango, no more red eyes.
Muttering something less than nice under my breath, I crawl back into bed still feeling like hell. Hopefully, when I wake up again the headache'll be gone. But for some reason, I get the sinking feeling that it won't be.
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I'm a deep sleeper.
Ask Kevin, and he'll probably tell you about the time when we were kids, and we had these bunk beds. Now these beds were ancient... I mean I swore when then that Napoleon or someone must've slept on them. Well, anyway, I had the top - probably because Kevin was humoring his little brother - and one faithful night, the beds happened to snap. I fell straight down and landed on my wrist, breaking it, and Kev was almost crushed to death... but the thing is, it didn't even wake me up. But right now I'm wide awake in the little room Kevin's letting me use while him and his friends poke and prick and prod me to death... and it's because I'm in pain. So keep in mind, it's gotta be pretty damn bad to wake me up, and trust me it is.
This is like nothing I've ever felt before. It's like what Kev once explained to me migraines are like, but worse. And besides, aren't migraines supposed to be in the front of your head? Well, this one's at the base of my neck and that's where my hand flies as I sit up, my fingers tenderly massaging the flesh there. For a minute I just sit there, hoping if I try and work the ache out with my hands, the pain'll go away... but I'm not that lucky. So, I stand up and move over to the piece of shit sink on the far wall of the room.
Turning the tap on, I let the water run for a couple of seconds as I stare at it dumbly. Christ, if this is what Kevin has to go through whenever he has his migraines, then I hope this is my first and last one. Cause I really don't appreciate the feeling that something's trying to work its claws into the back of my skull. So, I reach down, my hands cupped, and let the water fill them up. Then, I splash it hard over my face and glance up at the mirror to see how bad of a wreck I am. But what I see is worse than anything I could've imagined. My eyes are bloodshot. What the hell?
I run my fingers over my eyes, hoping I'm just imagining it, and when I look back in the mirror they're still that eerie crimson color. For a moment I feel like I'm Doctor Jekyll, and that I've woken up for the first time as Mr. Hyde - because that's how strange the person on the other side of the mirror looks - but I push the thought aside. Reaching for more water, I splash it over my face and let its coolness sink into my skin before rubbing furiously at my eyes again. And when I look in the reflective glass once more, presto-chango, no more red eyes.
Muttering something less than nice under my breath, I crawl back into bed still feeling like hell. Hopefully, when I wake up again the headache'll be gone. But for some reason, I get the sinking feeling that it won't be.