A/N don't own the turles... (god, how many freakin' times am I gonna hav ta say that?... sob...)

so, this's just a one-shot I wrote, halfway through Angels, I thought I might use it in Cannon Ball, but... whattaya know? I didn't, so I thought I'd upload it...

please read & review!

Darkness

The rope is coarse, some kind of natural fiber, probably- helping to save the planet, or something of the sort, but causing hell on his wrists. He coughs, clearing his throat- for some reason, he keeps nearly choking on his own saliva. Maybe it's because he's thirsty- maybe it's because he can't really swallow. Maybe he's breathing too much.

It doesn't matter. It's too dark anyway. He coughs again- his throat is irritated now. He shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. His body doesn't really hurt, his wrists itch like mad, but otherwise, he just as this bone-aching throb in his right arm, the kind of ache you always get when someone shoves a needle in you.

He supposed, it wasn't surprising then, that his arm ached. Seeing as he had, technically, had a needle shoved in his arm- was it a needle? More like a dart... But a dart is kind of-

He shook his head, maybe whatever had been on the dart-needle- was still in his blood stream, he couldn't keep his thoughts on one thing, they trailed off- most of the time, making little to no sense, even to him.

His eyes were wide against the darkness- trying to make out any vague shape. But he knew, no matter how wide he opened his eyes, nor tried to peer through the thick darkness, he would not be able to distinguish any shapes or forms or walls. But he kept trying anyway.

He would have laughed, but- well... maybe he did. He couldn't remember- he let his mind wander. Wander past the darkness, that almost had a physical form, past the bone-throb in his right arm, past the irritated itch on his wrists caused by the rope- past everything.

Whether he managed to somehow, get himself out of this situation, or his brothers came to rescue him, he would still be in the dark, alone, for a very, very long time.

Or perhaps, it would be only minutes. Time changed when you were on your own in the dark. Seconds dragged on, lasting longer than minutes, and minutes seemed to take longer to pass than hours... And so days trail into weeks, and weeks into months and months in-

There was something strangely hypnotic about his previous thought. He tried to snap out of it. God- he wanted out- he wanted light, wanted- more than anything, to free his wrists from that horrible, nature-friendly rope.

His tongue hurt- but he couldn't remember biting it. How stupid. Here he was, trapped, alone, in the dark, drugged up to the eyeballs, hands tied, and, what? He was worrying about his tongue.

He rolled his eyes, attempting to overcome a yawn- he was tired, so tired- he wasn't sure whether the tiredness was the drugs- or just his own physical- and mental exhaustion.

Didn't matter, sleep was coming- and he had little to gain by sitting here alone in the dark. If he remained awake much longer, with the drugs still in his system, chances are, it would drive him insane.

Besides, maybe- when he woke up, he'd be at home again.

This time, he did laugh bitterly. He laughed- because otherwise, he would have cried.

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I hope ya enjoyed it, nope, I don't know which turtle it is... maybe Leo, but only cos he's my favourite. infact, I'm sick of hurting Leo and putting him through hell, I did enough of that in Angels and CannonBall, so... dunno which turtle it is...

hope ya liked!