"He panted heavily, trying his best to keep himself from screaming. The medicine cabinet had been overturned and lay collapsed on the floor. He reached through the broken glass door and grabbed all the sedatives he could find."
Crushing. Crushing everything, dragging the oxygen from his lungs, sand flying into his eyes, blind, blind, the light, where was the light? His hands are burning, lantern oil and shattered glass sending him stumbling into the wall, gasping and clutching at the splintered remains of the candle. There's nothing he can do, he's...
"Don't say it Daniel."
His own voice is agonizingly loud in the silence, and he can feel his hands knotting in his matted hair, trying to pull the ringing from his ears. He gropes forward blindly, the cascade of rocks still unsteady and rolling, and he trips over them, crashing into the boulders face-first, gritty tears streaking down his chin.
"Help..." he croaks, hoarse and desperate. "Please..."
He grips the closest rock with cracked nails, fingers slipping as it tumbles from his grasp, pinning his hand beneath it. Something cracks, mirrored a hundred times in the shifting rubble and he chokes on a scream, pain, terror, frustration, weakened flailing, scrabbling at the rocks. He's running out of air and, panicked, kicks at the stone, dislodging it and sending creaking movement to the cavern ceiling. The creaking begins to groan, and his eyes widen impossibly, straining to see the rocks crashing towards him. He presses into the sandstone, closer, closer, tasting salt, but not close enough, the rocks are closing in, too fast, too heavy, he's sobbing as the cavern collapses around him, swift and painful and dark.
A stalactite has come loose, breaking through the flying debris and burying itself between his ribs. Thick black blood pools in his throat, and he can't breathe, much less scream, and this is it, he's drowning and bleeding and half-mad with fear...
His eyes fly open and he gasps for breath, blankets wrapped around his legs, arm pinned under his back, broken glass scattered across the floor. He kicks out desperately, only tangling himself further, arm cradled to his heaving chest. He can still taste his own blood on his tongue and he crawls forward, unable to keep from whining as the splinters of glass slide into his palms.
He fumbles with the cabinet latch, metal clicking worthlessly against his fingernails. Vision warping, he pushes past the wooden frame, thoughts entirely reflex in his fading consciousness. All he can focus on is bitter, opium-scented relief, choking down too much laudanum and wishing for silence.
Hello everyone. I've recently finished playing Amnesia, and found the loading screen quotes to be particularly interesting and inspiring. Each chapter in this story is going to be an unconnected short story based around one of the quotes. However, I'm really going to need some help on this one. If anyone has a particular quote they would like to see me use, don't be shy! I'm really aiming to have this be an entirely audience-driven fic. Also, if you have an idea of a story behind a quote, I may be able to incorporate that as well. My specialty is horror/angst, but I'm willing to try new things as well. Paint the suggestions, cut the quotes, cut the screens, watch the ideas spill, LET IT COME!