Disclaimer: Well, it's called fanfiction so you but one and one together, 'kay?
Spoilers: Playing with Fire
NOTE: This is a response to Teanna's Sound Challenge (writing sound - a challenge: sound.gatefiction.com) - even though it closed in February.
NOTE2: I haven't seen the episode yet - obviously - so everything in this story is merely speculation. I just had a vision when I was visiting Teanna's site and I had to write it. Now, excuse me, I have to get back to my busy schoolwork. See you all in a while with updates to my WIPs.
The explosion screamed. It screamed fire. Heat. Destruction. Death. It wept and it bewailed. It blew him to the ground, washing over him, brushing him aside as if he was merely a little piece of dust standing on its way. It didn't care about hurting him, burning his flesh nor knocking him cold. It only cared about being set free.
The sirens wailed, their blue note penetrating the cold desert night. The endless crying of the fire alarm, still on after what had seemed like hours, flew round and round above his still body, the sound yet so distant within the chaos. The panicked pleas of the injured and the shocked shouts of the helpers were heard all over the yard and even in the building. None of these noises were heard by him.
The only sound he heard was the dull humming in his ears. The impenetrable, terrifying silence.
He could handle the now thudding pain on his back. He could handle the taste of salty blood in his mouth and the sight of it dripping slowly, drop by drop, to the floor from what must've been his forehead. He could handle the fact that he wasn't able to move his body enough to rise up. He could handle the heat that hovered over him and made the tiles pressing against his cheek feel cool. He didn't think about these things.
He thought about the silence, the muteness of the space around. It surrounded his head like a heavy blanket, shielding him from the outside. He could feel someone running by, apparently not seeing him, as the tiles vibrated beneath his skin; he could see the shattered lab all around, the scraps of metal and dirt; he could smell the smoke, the burning of the acrid smelling chemicals, as it crept to his nose; he could taste the bitter taste of adrenaline through the blood. But he didn't feel himself a part of it all. It was like watching the chaos through his bedroom window or on a video screen. He felt like an intruder in somebody else's head.
He felt as if he weren't even there.
His breath came in shallow gasps, sending waves of pain all around his ribcage as his lungs expanded, but he hardly even noticed. The only world consuming his mind at that moment was the narrow view he had at the cold, gray tiles and the bottom of the torn out, fractured and shattered glass door, and the silence. He knew nothing about the outside world, the panic nor the chaos. He didn't hear the crying of the girl from the front desk as she wept on the front yard, leaning against a tire of a police car, shaken but not really hurt; he didn't acknowledge the worried shouts that Warrick Brown yelled into the mauled hallways in search for him; he didn't hear the sirens wailing in the night. He just lay on the floor and stared at the tiles, listening to the muteness.
At that moment, he felt peaceful as he waited for help to come.