A/N: You think I own these characters? You need help. They are all the property of Philip Pullman.
Tullio pressed himself harder against the wall, flapping his hands in mad gestures. The white things, smoky and mist-like, were attacking him. The air around them reeked of such malevolence that it made him nauseated. Tullio gasped and tried to hit them harder, trying to breathe.
They reminded him of magpies. Those horrible, blue-black magpies that lived only to taunt poor souls. Tullio recalled once seeing a large grey cat in the streets being bombarded by magpies. An evil cat. All cats were demons. The cat had deserved it.
But he didn't.
He tried to keep his mind busy. Distract himself. Make the Specters go away. He pressed his hands against the stones in the wall, trying to absorb the coolness of them. There was comfort in the way they fitted together. One...two...he felt them, pounding his fingers against the rock. They were brown, like coffee with cream mixed in. The brown colour of milk chocolate.
He licked his lips, straining to recall the taste of hot cocoa. The smell of sea-salt. The taste of herbed foccacia bread. The call of albatrosses. The sound of his mother's voice and his father's laugh. Trying to hold on to everything that was Cittagazze, everything he had known.
This had happened to his parents. He had watched them slip away as the Specters swooped down on them. Tullio had clawed at his father's hand until he had drawn blood. But still his father wouldn't answer his calls.
Tullio felt sick suddenly. He brushed his cheek up against the wall, trying to soak into it and disappear. It was brown like the sauce his mother used to pour over spaghetti. The rich, dark meat sauce that Tullio used to smear over his cheeks when he was younger. It had a special spice in it. It was something that tasted like oregano, but a bit saltier.
Someone was grabbing his arm. He brushed it away, mistaking it for a Specter. Those terrifying things were pounding down on again, white and blurry. He couldn't see the stone through them, which alarmed him. The shimmer that they possessed distracted him.
He made a fist with his other hand and hit the Specters. He wanted the smooth handle of the knife back in his palm. He wanted to feel the surge of power he had when he brandished it. The strength he possessed as he had cut down the Specters with it.
Five...six...cut down the Specters. He fought through the white mist, gasping and pressing his hand against the wall. Seven...seven...seven...he couldn't find the eighth block in the wall.
Something hot was spreading up his shoulders and into his throat. His heart was being ripped apart; his lungs were on fire! A sick, low rushing filled his eyes, and all he could see was the cloudy forms of the Specters.
The white smoke was in his mouth, sucking at his life. He felt something slip away, and for a moment was confused. He couldn't feel the stone anymore. It was as if his soul was gone. All his memories of Cittagazze, of sunsets over the ocean, of primavera on the terrace, left him. There never had been anything there, really. There had been nothing to life. There was nothing to live or try for. Nothing to wake up to. Nothing to fight for.
INothing./I
Somewhere beyond the silence that had deafened Tullio, a girl's voice was screaming.
"We'll kill you! You done this to Tullio! We gonna kill you, all right!"
But Tullio couldn't hear her. He was already empty.
Tullio pressed himself harder against the wall, flapping his hands in mad gestures. The white things, smoky and mist-like, were attacking him. The air around them reeked of such malevolence that it made him nauseated. Tullio gasped and tried to hit them harder, trying to breathe.
They reminded him of magpies. Those horrible, blue-black magpies that lived only to taunt poor souls. Tullio recalled once seeing a large grey cat in the streets being bombarded by magpies. An evil cat. All cats were demons. The cat had deserved it.
But he didn't.
He tried to keep his mind busy. Distract himself. Make the Specters go away. He pressed his hands against the stones in the wall, trying to absorb the coolness of them. There was comfort in the way they fitted together. One...two...he felt them, pounding his fingers against the rock. They were brown, like coffee with cream mixed in. The brown colour of milk chocolate.
He licked his lips, straining to recall the taste of hot cocoa. The smell of sea-salt. The taste of herbed foccacia bread. The call of albatrosses. The sound of his mother's voice and his father's laugh. Trying to hold on to everything that was Cittagazze, everything he had known.
This had happened to his parents. He had watched them slip away as the Specters swooped down on them. Tullio had clawed at his father's hand until he had drawn blood. But still his father wouldn't answer his calls.
Tullio felt sick suddenly. He brushed his cheek up against the wall, trying to soak into it and disappear. It was brown like the sauce his mother used to pour over spaghetti. The rich, dark meat sauce that Tullio used to smear over his cheeks when he was younger. It had a special spice in it. It was something that tasted like oregano, but a bit saltier.
Someone was grabbing his arm. He brushed it away, mistaking it for a Specter. Those terrifying things were pounding down on again, white and blurry. He couldn't see the stone through them, which alarmed him. The shimmer that they possessed distracted him.
He made a fist with his other hand and hit the Specters. He wanted the smooth handle of the knife back in his palm. He wanted to feel the surge of power he had when he brandished it. The strength he possessed as he had cut down the Specters with it.
Five...six...cut down the Specters. He fought through the white mist, gasping and pressing his hand against the wall. Seven...seven...seven...he couldn't find the eighth block in the wall.
Something hot was spreading up his shoulders and into his throat. His heart was being ripped apart; his lungs were on fire! A sick, low rushing filled his eyes, and all he could see was the cloudy forms of the Specters.
The white smoke was in his mouth, sucking at his life. He felt something slip away, and for a moment was confused. He couldn't feel the stone anymore. It was as if his soul was gone. All his memories of Cittagazze, of sunsets over the ocean, of primavera on the terrace, left him. There never had been anything there, really. There had been nothing to life. There was nothing to live or try for. Nothing to wake up to. Nothing to fight for.
INothing./I
Somewhere beyond the silence that had deafened Tullio, a girl's voice was screaming.
"We'll kill you! You done this to Tullio! We gonna kill you, all right!"
But Tullio couldn't hear her. He was already empty.