Well Im just testing out writing about someone in a lot of pain. Dont know why. Dont think Im too good at it. Thought I'd do this through the eyes of Logan's son. Actually it could be his daughter if I want it to be. This is just a test so I probably wont continue this.
Disclaimer: I dont own x-men.
By the way I'm making this up as I go along Shaun. Yeah, I'm talking to you Shaun.
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Black bubbles, rising slowly through black water. They hit me, sending me spinning through the abyss like a feather in the wind. Their sides are greasy, feeling like blood. The pain is intense.
Wires wrap about my waist. They are thick and sticky, like intestines would be, and they move with a life of their own. Thinner cords entwine around my arms, bringing them back so that they are behind my head. Even smaller ropes pierce the skin around my palm and wrist, and burrow deep into my flesh.
How am I not dead yet? There is no air to breath nor food to eat. I have been in this place for weeks, possibly months, and yet still the relief of death is forbidden. Surely even the pain should have killed me?
I sense someone is having a lot of fun out of this.
There is a change in the water. It is being drained, flowing out in a cold torrent about my feet. Soon it is all gone and I hang there. I have no energy to stand, so the cords and wires hold me up, even if they do rip out the centers of my hands in doing so. My lungs once again taste the air. They choke out a lot of water. Then I'm sick, and it runs in a black river down my chest.
"Chin up boy." The voice is cold, tinted with a fine English accent and undeniably mad. More wires slide under my chin and force it backwards, untill it is as far as it will go, almost on my back. A sharp pain slides into my exposed kneck. A minute later I pass out.
Disclaimer: I dont own x-men.
By the way I'm making this up as I go along Shaun. Yeah, I'm talking to you Shaun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Black bubbles, rising slowly through black water. They hit me, sending me spinning through the abyss like a feather in the wind. Their sides are greasy, feeling like blood. The pain is intense.
Wires wrap about my waist. They are thick and sticky, like intestines would be, and they move with a life of their own. Thinner cords entwine around my arms, bringing them back so that they are behind my head. Even smaller ropes pierce the skin around my palm and wrist, and burrow deep into my flesh.
How am I not dead yet? There is no air to breath nor food to eat. I have been in this place for weeks, possibly months, and yet still the relief of death is forbidden. Surely even the pain should have killed me?
I sense someone is having a lot of fun out of this.
There is a change in the water. It is being drained, flowing out in a cold torrent about my feet. Soon it is all gone and I hang there. I have no energy to stand, so the cords and wires hold me up, even if they do rip out the centers of my hands in doing so. My lungs once again taste the air. They choke out a lot of water. Then I'm sick, and it runs in a black river down my chest.
"Chin up boy." The voice is cold, tinted with a fine English accent and undeniably mad. More wires slide under my chin and force it backwards, untill it is as far as it will go, almost on my back. A sharp pain slides into my exposed kneck. A minute later I pass out.