My first attempt at writing River! This is set during the series, there's no particular point but I'd say its during 'Objects in Space'.

Disclaimer: Joss is God. I merely worship his greatness.

Riddles In The Dark

There is a room.

There is a chair.

There is a girl.

Stuck in a doll's body with needles in her wrists, she wants to show them her dancer's feet, but they are hobbled. Limp, useless. They take her where she doesn't want, to roads she should not travel. Pictures, spectres in the dark. A flash of pride when this one finished medical school. Gives out potions like a god. Plays with a brilliant powder at home with his wife, it looks like sugar but how can it be when he snorts it up his nose?

This one is nervous. Sees a monster in her face. Reaches forward. Stops. No touching.

This one is familiar. Something like home in his voice. Doesn't understand what he sees, but he undoes the hobbles anyway. She dances.

There is a room.

There is a ship.

The spectres haunt her steps, but they are different now. Words carried on the breeze. They surround her; call her a name (but is it really hers?). She tries to make out their faces from the blur, find the words that match the person (like memory games in school), but the static is powerful and swallows them up like a hungry beast.

This one was a soldier. His voice is a military bark. Thoughts stained with blood and dirt. The dancer moves away because it hurts too much.

This one is a trickstress. Her golden words are a spell, laden with promise. Seductive wishes whispered on satin sheets. The dancer sorts the lies from the truths but there are too many of both.

This one is a healer. Metal sings beneath her palms. The dancer is calmer here.

This one is a bird. Rides the wind like a hawk, spinning and dipping but always coming up straight. He touches another and soars; his voice becomes a gale against her mind. The dancer leans forward, and tries to understand.

This one is an assassin. Death is her shadow, even when she tries to drown out the sound. Quiets down only when she flies with the bird. The dancer envies her.

This one is a bear. His thoughts are hot and violent, surrounding her like a fog. Bullets cut through it but never reach their target, because he doesn't want them to. The dancer does not fear him.

This one is a mystery.

This one is a brother. He waves needles in her face and swears it's for the best, that he only wants to help her. The dancer wishes she could tell him what she needs.

The voices reaching a screaming point and she tries to dance them out, stay away from their horrors, the riddles in the dark. Screams bleed into her ears and she feels it, the white noise, the buzzing (all the time, all the time, why won't it go away?). Wants to claw open her head to pull the screams out one by one.

Hamlet had Claudius and Jekyll had Hyde, so whom does she have to blame?

makeitstopmakeitstopsweetgodmakeitstopi'lldoanythingmakeitstop-

There is a room.

There is a gun.

It's quiet.