In My Time of Dying.
By
Infinitediversity.
Disclaimers: MGM and other big organisations own Stargate: Atlantis, the city, its inhabitants and the whole Stargate universe. I'm just borrowing it for a short amount of time. I'll give them all back…eventually.
-o-O-SGA-O-o-
The impact sent him reeling and his body hit the ground with a thud. The world span and see-sawed and he couldn't tell which way was up. Colours and light kaleidoscoped across his vision. He closed his eyes to ward off the nausea, the darkness a welcome respite.
His chest burned, consuming any breath left in it. It was tight, as though gripped in a vice and he was aware of his breaths being exhaled as wheezes. His world was in each breath; in only the now. The overwhelming pain forced him to remain in the present; he was unable to recall the events that had led him here but also subconsciously knew that his future evaded him. With each shallow inhalation his lungs heaved and ached, desperately trying to feed the insatiable hunger for oxygen, but not getting their fill. It felt like drowning, but there was no water here. The stricken man attempted to sit up but only succeeded in raising his head a few inches off of the ground and aggravating the pain in his torso further.
It set off a racking cough and he clutched his hands to his chest, trying to hold in the pain. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes and he sucked in a shuddering breath attempting to abate his coughing. The pain was making it harder to breathe and he was aware of a warm dampness beneath his hands. A lift of his hand confirmed his suspicions when he spotted the crimson fluid staining his fingertips. His life was trickling and draining away from his body. That thought ripped through him and exasperated his already strained body. Panic propelled his systems into overdrive, his heart pumped like a runaway train and his already overstretched lungs were failing to meet demand. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his hairline and he felt as though he had run a marathon.
This emotion was foreign to him, in his profession he could not afford to panic, it meant a loss of control. Suddenly something kicked in, an instinct born of training washed over him and all became calm like the eye of a storm. The thought of a storm sparked to life a memory, unbidden. A not so distant memory, of a time when he'd been forced to kill, to defend his home. A fresh wave of pain accompanied his recollection of that day, the hurt not only physical. His breath hitched causing him to grimace, snapping him out of his trance.
The sounds of battle reached his ears and for a moment, John Sheppard believed that he was back in the memory. If he was dying he didn't want his final thoughts to be like that, his stubbornness would see to that. Through force of will he made his sluggish mind focus on his friends, his family. Memories of happier times, of sparring with Teyla, jogging and training with Ronon, his witty and sarcastic banters with McKay and of standing on the balcony with Elizabeth. These memories comforted him but at the same time brought to attention the fact that they were not here with him, he was alone. Ultimately he was grateful for this as it meant that they would not share his fate.
A breeze caressed his face, coming into contact with skin slick with perspiration and wafting away with his body heat and causing him to shiver. The cold from the ground seeped through his clothing and added to the bone-deep glacier forming throughout his body. He briefly wondered why he hadn't seen his life flash before his eyes or felt compelled to follow a path down a glowing tunnel. The only sensation Sheppard was aware of was of time slowing down and the mind-numbing exhaustion. The cogs of his flesh machine was grinding down, his heart beat becoming an adagio rhythm, the edges of his vision greying.
His eyes fluttered open, his gaze blinkered towards the sky. The pain-filled cries and sounds of humans in their death throes; where once would have compelled action, reluctantly faded into the background of his consciousness. His focus staggered elsewhere as he became hypnotised by the swaying of the tree branches in the breeze. Shades of green dappled against a clear ice blue sky and sun beams danced and trickled between the wriggling fingers of the trees.
His breathing relaxed and his eyes started to droop, as though entering slumber. He wanted nothing more that to comply with his body's demands and descend into darkness, but a part of him rebelled and continued to fight, a part of him that always would. To fight equalled pain and as he lay there dying it meant that he wasn't dead yet.
-o-SGA-o-
This is my first attempt at fanfiction so please review and let me know if I should continue it or leave it as it is. Ideas and suggestions are always welcome. Thank you.