"In Here..."
Spoilers: Up to the first few eps of Season 7
Author: Keith Duval (Maladetto Lupo)
E-mail: Lobishomen@aol.com, maladettolupo@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters portrayed herein. They are copyright, well, you know. I just thank them for letting me have my way with them.
Summary: Set in the basement of Sunnydale High at the beginning of Season 7, Spike is quite obviously out of his mind.
Distribution: Absolutely, just drop me a line first.
Notes: None, save I hope you enjoy
In here. All in here. All shouting, all screaming, all clawing at my eyes. Fire. Fire behind the eyes, always burning, always scorching. Never turn it off, never turn it down.
"Help me," he says. The one. The me. The man.
"Feed me," it says. The thing, the thing that never sleeps, never stops...never stops screaming for it.
"Damn you," they say. The ones, the them. All of them.
And she. The her. The only one. She doesn't say. Doesn't say anything. Just stares. Just stares and stares, and the staring says more than all the others. "You did," she says. "You did. You hurt. Hurt me."
Just need to breathe. No, don't need to breathe. Dead. Dead, dead, dead as a doornail. Just need to think. Get out into the open air and think things through, reason it out. But a man can't work with all this noise. No, best to stay here. In the dark. In the safe dark...in the quiet dark.
It's calling me again. "William..." It says. Sorry, mate, not here. William is out of his mind at the moment, please leave your name and number after the tone and he'll be sure to ring you when he's sane.
But it's still there. Always there. It wants it, wants it now...won't take no for an answer. Has to, though. Don't want to. Can't. Buzzing, burning, ripping through my brain. Soldier boys done good. Give it rats, though. Rats are small, easy to catch. Like a cat. Cat catches the rat. It doesn't like it. Wants a struggle...wants a fight...wants it warm and red and running like rivers. But blood is blood, and it stays quiet.
Mad, mad, mad as a hatter. No white rabbit here, mate. Just more tumbling down the hole. Tumbling, tumbling, spinning swirling, head pounding, mind racing (mind? What mind?)...Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go...I wanna be sedated.
There's a noise now, a door. Slam, slam, slam, concrete echoes bounce through your brain. Click, click, click, shoes on cold stone. Look up, and she's there. Her. Not the Her in your brain, the one who never stops staring, but the flesh-and-blood her. You know she's real; you can smell her in the air.
But then again, you always could. And maybe she really is just in your head. But does it matter anymore? Just breathe deep, breathe that smell, breathe it in, down to your bones.
They're still there, still screaming...but close your eyes...breathe. In....Out... breathe Her. If only you didn't have think about it...if only you could just....breathe.
Mind your manners, William. Yes, Mum. Always prim and proper, always stand tall, always address a lady with a bow. Naughty boys will get no candy, naughty boys don't deserve sweets. Naughty boys get five across the eyes, dirty, wrong naughty boys get the clack clack clack of wood brought down hard on the knuckles...No Headmaster, never me, Headmaster. It must have been one of the other boys. I'm a good boy, Headmaster...my mum taught me my manners.
Spoilers: Up to the first few eps of Season 7
Author: Keith Duval (Maladetto Lupo)
E-mail: Lobishomen@aol.com, maladettolupo@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters portrayed herein. They are copyright, well, you know. I just thank them for letting me have my way with them.
Summary: Set in the basement of Sunnydale High at the beginning of Season 7, Spike is quite obviously out of his mind.
Distribution: Absolutely, just drop me a line first.
Notes: None, save I hope you enjoy
In here. All in here. All shouting, all screaming, all clawing at my eyes. Fire. Fire behind the eyes, always burning, always scorching. Never turn it off, never turn it down.
"Help me," he says. The one. The me. The man.
"Feed me," it says. The thing, the thing that never sleeps, never stops...never stops screaming for it.
"Damn you," they say. The ones, the them. All of them.
And she. The her. The only one. She doesn't say. Doesn't say anything. Just stares. Just stares and stares, and the staring says more than all the others. "You did," she says. "You did. You hurt. Hurt me."
Just need to breathe. No, don't need to breathe. Dead. Dead, dead, dead as a doornail. Just need to think. Get out into the open air and think things through, reason it out. But a man can't work with all this noise. No, best to stay here. In the dark. In the safe dark...in the quiet dark.
It's calling me again. "William..." It says. Sorry, mate, not here. William is out of his mind at the moment, please leave your name and number after the tone and he'll be sure to ring you when he's sane.
But it's still there. Always there. It wants it, wants it now...won't take no for an answer. Has to, though. Don't want to. Can't. Buzzing, burning, ripping through my brain. Soldier boys done good. Give it rats, though. Rats are small, easy to catch. Like a cat. Cat catches the rat. It doesn't like it. Wants a struggle...wants a fight...wants it warm and red and running like rivers. But blood is blood, and it stays quiet.
Mad, mad, mad as a hatter. No white rabbit here, mate. Just more tumbling down the hole. Tumbling, tumbling, spinning swirling, head pounding, mind racing (mind? What mind?)...Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go...I wanna be sedated.
There's a noise now, a door. Slam, slam, slam, concrete echoes bounce through your brain. Click, click, click, shoes on cold stone. Look up, and she's there. Her. Not the Her in your brain, the one who never stops staring, but the flesh-and-blood her. You know she's real; you can smell her in the air.
But then again, you always could. And maybe she really is just in your head. But does it matter anymore? Just breathe deep, breathe that smell, breathe it in, down to your bones.
They're still there, still screaming...but close your eyes...breathe. In....Out... breathe Her. If only you didn't have think about it...if only you could just....breathe.
Mind your manners, William. Yes, Mum. Always prim and proper, always stand tall, always address a lady with a bow. Naughty boys will get no candy, naughty boys don't deserve sweets. Naughty boys get five across the eyes, dirty, wrong naughty boys get the clack clack clack of wood brought down hard on the knuckles...No Headmaster, never me, Headmaster. It must have been one of the other boys. I'm a good boy, Headmaster...my mum taught me my manners.