This is the first drabble I've ever written. I can't say I'm very fond of it, but I thought I'd use it as a way of sliding into a new fanfiction. Branch out. Enjoy and review. Thanks for reading. Bella.
The voice is just beyond my reach but very insistent. It buzzes constantly in my ears. There is no gender and it is so deep it sounded at least half animal.
"I can help you."
It is a strange, disorientating feeling, dying. I can no longer feel my body. My brain is itching. Light keeps fading in and out on the back of my eyelids. I have registered some sort of burning charring away at my humanity.
"I can help us both..."
My memories are already blurring at the edges. I can remember fields, lots of fields, already beginning to bloom with this years harvests. And small houses, comfortably big enough for the families that resided there within thatch and stone. Little threads of streams, clean and clear, trickling over stone. Mountain ranges tipped ivory with snow and hillsides rising to block beautiful sunsets, teaming with leaping wildlife and bushy trees sprouting to the heavens.
"...if you will let me."
Burning.
"I am Lantash."
Fire.
"I am Tok'Ra."
Hell.
"With your permission..."
Searing pain.
"...I can heal us both..."
I can barely still hear him, and I am sure it is a 'him' now. The last of my senses is leaving me.
"...but this is a decision you will have to live with."
Dear deity, what happened to my family? What is left of it?
"We would be together for the foreseeable future."
My mother, my dear sweet mother?
"A very long time."
My father, unfortunately I remember his fate, fallen defending the defenceless.
"I must live within you to survive in return."
And my sister, my fading mind cannot think about her. I focus on the voice. Any thought takes excruciating effort.
"We would spend our years together fighting my enemy."
I can feel my lungs seizing and burning, straining, as a sudden bout of consciousness takes me. I recall taking a fiery hit to my side but the area is frozen and numb. I feel as if my limbs are being nibbled at by sharp, rodent teeth.
"Who is now our enemy."
I want to open my eyes to see who was speaking at that but my eyelids are clamped shut, as if cooling embers lay atop them.
"I will only continue if you consent."
Enemy.
"I will only take a willing host."
Revenge. Does anything even remain of my peaceful people?
"There is nothing for you here now."
If I trust this voice, I may be the only one left. My gut aches as it whispers the distinct possibility.
"We have not much time left."
Fear.
"What is your answer?"
Sharing my body. The very concept is alien to me but I cannot focus on it, cannot pin it down.
"You must answer swiftly."
My mouth is dry. My throat cemented with gravel.
Effort.
Strain.
Rasping.
Hissing.
Through my own pale, dead lips.
"Yes."