[pic]P2:
The boys' vision slowly swirled, taunting him. As the almost unrecognisable, fractured figures began to take form, an ultimate sea of nausea overrode Trunks. He lurched forward suddenly, his rasping breath racking the air hoarsely. In his feeble attempts to break the neat of darkness that engulfed him, Trunks was sure he felt hand lay themselves firmly upon his weak, frail body.
The Dr. had been sterilizing syringes, their flimsy forms held upward to the artificial light spurting forth from the doomed ceiling. He had not thought to ask questions when the youth had been bought in to him, he had just done his job as a Doctor. And why should he do otherwise? Besides, it was far to dangerous to play those sort of games hear, especially if you planed to live the full extent of your life.
The boy had looked quite innocent, with a sweet face and pretty complexion, even more so on awakening.
True, he had not expected the young boy to regain conciseness so soon. When they had brought him in, he appeared to have experienced a rough time. It had been extremely apparent around the throat area, which had been indented with large, strong strokes across his soft, lean skin. Just like finger marks. Never the less, he had asked no questions, not one. And now he had begun to regret it.
The boy thrashed violently about, the vicious convulsions vibrating up his spine, shaking his small, frail body horrifically. The doctor strained forward from his current position; parked comfortably on his cushioned chair, stationed at his desk. Being extremely unfit was no gift either, and he was not as young as he used to be. I'm getting to old for this, He persuaded himself, and anyway, he was no athletic marshal arts champion. He had to start looking after himself.
As he neared the boy, the doctors' thoughts drawled to an end. No use crying over spilt milk, nor relentlessly wasted years.
…………………………………………………..
Trunks lifted his head, revealing a pair of startlingly blue eyes. He gazed about himself with astounded awe. He was surrounded by numerous applications of all different, twisted, deformed frames.
A hunched figure lay just within trunks' view, bustling about in some cramped corner. Maybe he could be of some help; at least he'll know where I am, he thought, turning the idea about in his mind, musing upon it. Trunks quickly shut his eyes, practically plastering one eyelid to the other.
The artificial light seemed to singe his skin, seemed to burn his eyes. Even when he closed his eyes, when he clamped them shut tight, he still felt the intense heat. Never had the boy seen lights so bright before. Nausea swept over his frail body, and trunks was faintly aware of the sent of burning flesh lingering in the air.
Fingers gently teetered about his left ear, softly stroking the tender, cool flesh above his earlobe.
The doctor had advanced forward corsesly, petty fears thickly binding each stride forward. Most sajins were dangerous, half-breed or not. But he had looked so innocent, how could he be dangerous?
As the doctor's hand softly skirted the silk-soft flesh of the youth's ear, trunks' eyes snapped gracefully open, like the wings of a butterfly. As his eyelashes parted, it seemed as tough the air about the pair rippled, vibrating with contempt. The doctor was conscious only of one sound; the air was thickly embroided with the heavy fluttering of a hundred million butterfly wings. The sound never faltered, never defected. It was as if they were caught in another dimension. The moment seemed to last forever, an eternity. The boy pondered faintly, or as far as possible; It was as if time had no boundaries, no limits, non at all.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
The boys' vision slowly swirled, taunting him. As the almost unrecognisable, fractured figures began to take form, an ultimate sea of nausea overrode Trunks. He lurched forward suddenly, his rasping breath racking the air hoarsely. In his feeble attempts to break the neat of darkness that engulfed him, Trunks was sure he felt hand lay themselves firmly upon his weak, frail body.
The Dr. had been sterilizing syringes, their flimsy forms held upward to the artificial light spurting forth from the doomed ceiling. He had not thought to ask questions when the youth had been bought in to him, he had just done his job as a Doctor. And why should he do otherwise? Besides, it was far to dangerous to play those sort of games hear, especially if you planed to live the full extent of your life.
The boy had looked quite innocent, with a sweet face and pretty complexion, even more so on awakening.
True, he had not expected the young boy to regain conciseness so soon. When they had brought him in, he appeared to have experienced a rough time. It had been extremely apparent around the throat area, which had been indented with large, strong strokes across his soft, lean skin. Just like finger marks. Never the less, he had asked no questions, not one. And now he had begun to regret it.
The boy thrashed violently about, the vicious convulsions vibrating up his spine, shaking his small, frail body horrifically. The doctor strained forward from his current position; parked comfortably on his cushioned chair, stationed at his desk. Being extremely unfit was no gift either, and he was not as young as he used to be. I'm getting to old for this, He persuaded himself, and anyway, he was no athletic marshal arts champion. He had to start looking after himself.
As he neared the boy, the doctors' thoughts drawled to an end. No use crying over spilt milk, nor relentlessly wasted years.
…………………………………………………..
Trunks lifted his head, revealing a pair of startlingly blue eyes. He gazed about himself with astounded awe. He was surrounded by numerous applications of all different, twisted, deformed frames.
A hunched figure lay just within trunks' view, bustling about in some cramped corner. Maybe he could be of some help; at least he'll know where I am, he thought, turning the idea about in his mind, musing upon it. Trunks quickly shut his eyes, practically plastering one eyelid to the other.
The artificial light seemed to singe his skin, seemed to burn his eyes. Even when he closed his eyes, when he clamped them shut tight, he still felt the intense heat. Never had the boy seen lights so bright before. Nausea swept over his frail body, and trunks was faintly aware of the sent of burning flesh lingering in the air.
Fingers gently teetered about his left ear, softly stroking the tender, cool flesh above his earlobe.
The doctor had advanced forward corsesly, petty fears thickly binding each stride forward. Most sajins were dangerous, half-breed or not. But he had looked so innocent, how could he be dangerous?
As the doctor's hand softly skirted the silk-soft flesh of the youth's ear, trunks' eyes snapped gracefully open, like the wings of a butterfly. As his eyelashes parted, it seemed as tough the air about the pair rippled, vibrating with contempt. The doctor was conscious only of one sound; the air was thickly embroided with the heavy fluttering of a hundred million butterfly wings. The sound never faltered, never defected. It was as if they were caught in another dimension. The moment seemed to last forever, an eternity. The boy pondered faintly, or as far as possible; It was as if time had no boundaries, no limits, non at all.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..