I apologize for how long it has been since I last updated this but I have been working from morning to morning to get this thing done. I'm exhausted but happy to finally have this chapter done. And don't worry I skipped ahead and worked on the next few chapters so they will come pretty quick. I want to thank everyone who commented with out you I wouldn't have continued this story. I've blabbered on enough.
Enjoy.
Chapter Three
Walking been walking for a while
How long? No idea.
Gaze wonders about taking in the landscape sucked dry, brown with a slit tint of pink on the surface.
Sun sits high in the sky, the earth somewhere between dead and dying.
Sweat dripped wet and slick off his forehead as his hand rubbed over his eyes.
Where the ground ended and the sky began, he could not quite articulate.
Walks with a lost sense of direction, hard to tell one thing from the other, everything looks maddeningly similar.
Pace quickens as does his increasing frustration, until it ignites itself into a blinding rage.
He begins to run…
Eyes closed, fists tight
Lungs scream as feet begin to burn
Sweat evaporating into cloudless skies, thirsty for the slightest bit of moisture.
Teeth grind, damaging enamel
Hand squeezes leg, tight
Pain reaching unbelievable heights
Knees buckle under gravity's ever increasing weight
Pace slows as time passes
Sweat a long lost blissful dream
Eyes weary barely open
Legs drag across the dirt
Body folds over itself collapsing
Face slaps the simmering sand with a thud
Breath labored turn into ragged pants
Heart beat, a hammer against his ears,
Vision fads
Time in bits now swirling around him under his feet, over his head a mixture of lights some flashing, most staying in place winking at him from time to time. Each one exhibiting its own distinct colour.
Lids lift open, surroundings gradually come into focus, he weakly raises his chin an inch or so off the ground. Could feel the sand sticking to his face.
With a grunt, he pushes himself up with his hands; he can feel the sand nestled between his fingers as they claw into the dirt. Eyes held tightly shut, open.
A warm liquid drips down his face as he looks out into nothing raising his head up.
Then, wincing greatly, he began gradually pulling himself up into a sitting position.
Places both hands on his right leg, his arm muscles constrict as he carefully, lifts his leg off the ground. His face contorts into an agonized cringe as he leans forward and places his leg back down. Air quickly escapes his nostrils in an audible exhale before he grinds his knuckles into his thigh. The next step would be a challenge without a cane. Quickly he shoves his left leg forward before the right collapsed from under him. Total distance one foot, he had a long way to go.
As he continued to take his first precarious steps forward his thoughts drifted aimlessly about not concentrating on any subject in particular.
By the fifth foot or so his tolerance was weaning low, a hand rubbed over his forehead, thumb resting at the temple.
Balance was leaving him as his limp began to drift to the right.
He stops walking.
Blood drips from his hands continuing to slide down to the tips of his fingers, before falling mercifully to his feet.
He watched the velvet stained liquid gradually dissolve away then continued on.
Each step echoed for there was no sign of life for miles. Traveling dust winds thrust into his face, coating him with a thin layer of sand.
The sun beams down into his eyes, his face squints, stinging his burnt cheeks.
Chest aches with the intake of yet another wheezed breath by lungs weak and long deprived of moisture. The slight breeze uselessly warm almost burning.
As he walked dirt flicks up at his ankles, at this point he would starve for anything resembling grass.
Even the air is arid with cloudless skies devoid of moisture. The soil long deprived of precipitation crackles beneath his feet with each step.
The soles of his shoes worn until completely disintegrated, what remained of them discarded of for lack of purpose.
Eyes close, the mirage of water to tempting to bear as an unmerciful heat burns at his skin. Tongue tastes of dirt; to swallow feels like rubbing two pieces of sand paper together. He glided his tongue over crackled lips incrusted with dried blood. The boiling sand beneath him blistered the bottoms of his feet. Even through closed lids the sun's glare was brutal to withstand. Oddly enough, he had no yearning for water, one of the ironic effects of dehydration, a sudden distaste for liquids.
Head light, body heavy as if weighed down by shackles.
Eyes raise somberly upward towards some epiphanic force though are left with no response.
Head hung; shoulders sagged as sweat ran through his hair, clinging to the ends until it drips off, staining the ground for a short while.
Legs shook, he bit his lip attempting to remain up right through dizzying pain. Sight begins to cloud up, difficult to discern one thing from another. Body begins to numb, his feet tingle, fingers of cotton, mind feels groggy, his surroundings start to haze over.
House falls onto his knees, body held up by trembling arms, his hands take on most of the weight.
Grains of sand dig into the skin of his fingers.
House's ribs ache as his breathing becomes heavy and exhausted.
Eventually, his arms give way, his chin scraps the rocky surface as his torso smacks against the ground, knocking the air out of his chest.
Gasping, he turns himself over and tries to lean forward to increase the circulation of air in his chest. Takes him a while to recover though after multiple deep inhalations he eventually does so. Hand still clutching his chest, he uses the other to estimate the damage the fall had done to his face. Removing his hand from his moist chin, he glared at he red that covered his fingers. Rubbing the blood off his fingers with his thumb. Hair resting back against the dirt, he decides to turn back on his stomach. He couldn't stop now.
Crawling stubbornly, he uses his arms to pull his body forward with one arm then the other.
The tough earth rasped at his elbows, grated the tops of his feet. The dirt ground ruff against his skin leaving it bloodied and thin. Eyes roll lazily back, he shakes his head roughly to remain awake, can't seem to regain focus. Vision blurs going in and out of focus; can feel the slight twitch in his thigh, from a failure to hydrate.
Cheek stained red, the blood that had once trickled down his face now scorched dry. The rough earth cut at his knees like chalk against cement, his breath thick in his chest, air thin. With a sloth like composure he continued dragging limbs along, his arms draped loosely to his sides. Stomach bellows and rumbles in a stiffening ache displeased with being ignored for so long a time.
A shiver, quick vibration; he lets out a shaky breath, as a dizzying heat strikes him down.
The whistle of the wind sang in his ears; breeze uselessly warm shakes his hair. Feels nice
Exhausted, he rested his cheek on the impervious shale and grits that lay beneath him. Knees so shredded he could barely move them.
Arms, one resting at his right, the other extended outwards, fingers near his face. With blurred eyes, he stared at his hand, his nails were dirt, fingers callused, palms red and knuckles scraped.
Lids half open he barely registers the sound of buzzing. A dragonfly whisks over his head, his eyes hazily follow the movement.
The creature landed on his arm, he felt legs move up his arm, he shifted painfully to get a good look at the dragonfly. The wings were a soft shade of blue, while the body had a dark purple pigmentation. This reminded him of the flowers his mother use to plant in her garden were of a similar colour. As he continued to stare his features were calm, eyes softened. As the dragonfly fluttered up to his nose, his lips rose into a soft smile for he was reminded of a simpler time, one absent of pain. Eventually, the dragonfly flew away, he watched it go, and was reminded, those times had long since passed.
The wind caressed his cheek, ruffled his hair, he lets his eyes close, resolve slipping away. Being half conscious the ground beneath him felt soft, the whistle of wind a lulling lullaby.
He wanted to stay awake, he wanted to fight the good fight as he always had but, it turns out you can't always get what you want.
Eyes burst open, body jerks up with a gasp.
Chest rose and fell with low pants.
Once he realized where he was he calmed down some.
His head rested back against the cushion, air emptying from his lungs in a deep exhales, then refilled once more as his breathing went back to its usual rhythm.
The tension in his body lifted, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched itself, his muscles relaxed. Resting two fingers on his neck, he felt his pulse steady and opened his eyes to a dim room. Running a hand down his thigh, rubbing it some, he let his lids lower until they were only half open.
Swallowing lightly, he arches his back, pushing his palm into his dented muscle. Eyes fall tight with grimace then loosen with a sigh from his lips.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he wipes a thin layer of sweat off his brow. Then lies back down, shoulders hitting the ottoman comfortably. Eye lids flutter gently to a closed, he was tired and having them open hurt his head. Placing a hand on his head, he rubbed his temple in a circular motion.
Next chapter Wilson enters the story! I love writing him and House; they are a lot of fun.
((Thx for the comments Harper Penn, , CacauHousemaniaca and all who commented. I really appreciate it.))
*Oh, I saw Hugh Laurie in concert as Sunday! He was simply amazing, his voice, jokes and piano playing were all wonderful. *