I've always thought it a bit strange that Shepard doesn't even blink at the fact that she died, then was resurrected. She just struts on as usual, to me that's just a bit, unrealistic. So this is Shepard, a few days after being back on the Normandy.
I like to write pretentious crap, it fills my soul with glee!
I'd like to share that with you guys and see if you like it as much as I do.
Don't know if this will be disturbing or not, it's hard for me to imagine what other people will think about these types of things. Well, this is a one-shot where Shepard wakes up from a nightmare, have fun!
Hot, boiling, raging inferno, there's no escaping it anymore. She push him through the door. First a shudder, an explosion of bright blazing light, the ground disappears from under her,how did she get so light, like a feather drifting through the wind. With a last ditch effort she press the button that will lead to her doom, but he is safe, that's all that matters. Another rumble, it's far too bright, too much red, yellow and blue. Everything is spiraling, tilting, complete chaos.
The smoldering flames lick at her many limbs, hot, blazing, scorching, the very air molten sulfur through her parched throat. She's wading in an ocean of seething acid, burning her very soul. She can't tell if it's her own painful shrieks blaring like hot iron in her mind. Impossible to tell up from down, left from right. There's only one way of out this hellfire, her mind screams for release that doesn't want to come 'please just let me die, it's enough now, LET ME DIE!'
Her eyes see red even as she flies up from bed, cold sweat drizzle down her face and back, drenching her from head to toe. Pulse raging like a rushing stampede through her temples, heart beating like a drum solo against her rib cage. The fish-tank with its eerie blue light, brighten the otherwise huge dark chamber where she's trapped. Her fingers travel like claws from scalp to face, digging ridges of pain that somehow lessen the turmoil. The stinging pain a proof that she exists, if she can feel then she must be alive. Exhaustion burden her limbs as she crawls out of the bed, into the shower, cold, freezing water splash over her back, drenching the clothes she refused to remove. Her rattling teeth and gooseflesh covered skin finally convince her that the inferno was tamed. She halts in front of the bleak mirror baring the truth of her disposition. With a hesitant, almost tender motion her finger slide along the crimson fissure that shine like burning embers on her pale cheek.
'Lies are the fools salvation, just look at yourself, how could you be real, alive? You died in that blazing purgatory, transformed to a bed of ashes. Those bleeding scars speak the truth you wish to deny, that you're simply a demon wearing her skin'
The fish-tank hiss and bubble in a steady tune, stars fly by in the immense, black void outside the skylight. She curls up against the headrest with a soft pillow in her lap, hugging it tightly as if it were the only anchor to this world. The water from her drenched clothes seep into the fabric around her, a safety net that will prevent her from falling into that nightmare riddled hell hole. Her whole being screams of exhaustion and grief, but she will never relent, anything is better than that inky, endless abyss.
"keep it together, keep it together, keep it together, you're weak, pathetic, disgusting, get your shit together, keep it together, keep it together, keep it together, keep it together"
Silent whispers that echo against the cold metal walls in her isolated prison...
