AN: So, it's been a while, and I couldn't decide on a prompt. Therefore I decided to write a scene from a bunch of them into one-shots. Perfect! So have fun reading my ideas.
I own nothing
And Warning: This turned into a pretty depressing one-shot sorry. Mentions of torture but nothing gruesome. Psychological torture.
Number 1 - Not Caring
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Sobs mingled irritatingly with thegrating sound of the clock. The tiny splash of tears hitting the ground echoed through the room as so many did at the same time. His hands muffled the annoying mantra, but still it bullied itself into his eardrums. Over and over again.
Tick. Sob. Tick. Splash. Tick. Sob. Splash. Tick. Tick. Tick. His mouth was moving. He supposed the words were being formed. Air was tickling his throat and his mouth was moving. Obvious. But nothing. No sound. No words could be heard. Only the consuming mantra of clock sounds and crying. Over and over and over again. It was going to make him go crazy eventually. Raving and insane. That's his legacy, and imprint on life for a few years only to turning into Uther. How ironic.
Tick. Tick. Sob. Splash. Nononono. Tick tick. Tick Tick. Splash. Sob. Splash. Sob. Tick Tick Tick. The sobs were familiar yet foreign. A sob he thought he should know so well, yet he had never heard it. It was ridiculous really. He wouldn't even rise from his ball of covered ears in the corner. He wouldn't even investigate the person. No, no the friend. It had to be a friend. How else would he know them? Tick. Tick. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up.
It was getting brighter. He could probably see into the room now, if only he would open his eyes. But for now he would try and limit his sight to the pink light filtering through his eyelids. If only, if only. He knew the sound. He could hear the sobs in every place he had ever been, but there was no face. No name. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Nothing huh. Just like him. Falling into the unknowing world of forgotteness. After all, why else would he still be here for if not for forgetfulness? The light has grown darker and lighter so many times he lost count, so someone must have come by now.
If only they had decided you were worth it. Nononono. They would come. They would help him. He knew it. He could feel it in his just, filling him like a hopeful, warm stew. But hope never got anyone anywhere.
Tick. Screams. Sob. Tick. Splash. Nononono. Scream. Sob. Sob. Sob. Sob. Splash... Tick. Sobs had evolved into screams, shattering whatever thought he had left. Horrendous screams that he was sure even Morgana had flinched during. They called out his name, begging him to stop hurting them. He tried to open his mouth, to tell them that he wasn't. That he meant no harm. He hadn't even moved. But his voice still did not echo like he wanted it to. It merely stayed by its owner as if protecting like a guard dog. But that didn't matter anyway. There was no way to help them now. Now, after all he had done for them, he was helpless. Helpless to hear Gwen sob and scream at him. Helpless to hear Gwaine shun him as he bellowed in pain. Helpless to hear Mother whisper how disappointed she was in me in my ear. How he had forsaken her, left her to live with the wolves alone. After all that she had done for him. How he was not worth having the blood of Balinor or any other decent person in the world. His blood was only good for criminals and savages, for they are the only ones who would look him in the eye.
Merlin had never shouted at his mother. Never. Not until that day. Not until she had insulted everything that he had hoped could be true. Not until the only person that mattered ripped it all away. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing mattered once his new life was gone. Nothing mattered inside his farm boy life of tending crops and damaging property.
But that didn't matter now.
Screaming filled the days, only to be followed by the harsh thwack of leather hitting flesh. They screamed out his name. Gwen, Freya, Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, Gaius, Leon, Percival, Elyan, Mordred, Morgana, Balinor, Will. Everyone. They cursed him. They promised to burn him. Will went into excruciating detail as to what was going to happen to him once he got his hands on him. Arthur promised to tie him high on the pyre, so he burned slower. Merlin shouted his innocence. Shouted until his voice grew hoarse and sobs echoed through the room.
Sob. Sob. Sob.
It took a few days to realize that the screams and sobs had dissolved into nothing. It hadn't been his fault, hunger and thirst was making him dizzy and sleepy. But he should have noticed. He should have noticed a lot of things. Millions of things. How Morgana wasn't the evil one here. How he had been hurting more than helping. How he had ruined the routine of Camelot with his innocence. How he had ruined it all, and now he was here in this tower. In this godforsaken tower that his captors had put him in. Who? Who? Who?
No answer. But that didn't surprise him anymore.
He supposed he would just have to find out.
They found him days later. In the burning wreckage of his own doing. He had only been aiming for the door, but maybe if he had cared he would have only hit the door. He could have gotten out. He could have found out who had done this to him. He could have found help for himself. He could have known that they were all fine. He could have. But he simply didn't care enough anymore.
AN: I don't really know what happened. That was quite depressing, but it kind of evolved into itself from the first sentence. I probably could have helped it, but I honestly couldn't bother.