This is just a little drabble that got stuck in my head.
Thank you to my wonderful friend doublelily for giving this a quick once over before I posted it.
I don't own anything Torchwood.
He didn't know which way was up or down anymore; although he could definitely feel the gravity. Life was a constant battle between confusion and despair. He couldn't eat. If he did, the contents could almost immediately be felt fighting their way back up his esophagus. When he managed to quiet his tormented thoughts long enough to sleep, the brief hour or two was plagued by visions of blood and metal. Living was anguish but he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. It didn't escape his sense of irony that the only reason he had for living was his biggest source of pain. Jack.