Ashton Anchors (zweimalgebissen) wrote in marinasylum, @ 2011-03-06 20:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | ashton anchors, conrad weller |
[ Closed ]
Wake up, calls the voice in his dreams. His dreams are haunted by people whose faces are blurred and stretched; their names slipping on and off his tongue before he can learn them. Time passes swiftly, rushing past him like a freight train, the cars painted with scenes so crisp and vivid that a mere glimpse of his mind's eye transposes them to memory... and yet he can't fully grasp the context of the images because they are but a blur.
Ashton calls out, but his voice cannot be heard over the roar of the train -- it isn't a mechanical sound, that of metal grinding against metal, but rather the cacophony of the past few years of his life blaring at a high volume and with great high speed. He covers his ears, but it isn't enough to keep the sound from penetrating deep into his mind, the vibrations threatening to shatter every bone in his body.
Occasionally, a few words - a name, or a phrase - pierces through the noise to ring clearly. Each time he hears it, he turns and looks, and the briefest silhouette of a person can be seen against the background. There are a number of them. Dozens. Each time, the voice that finds him is different.
"There you are!" A man his age, a happy-go-lucky type, glad to see him. A new friend.
"Thank you..." A young girl. Several, actually; their voices overlap. They are tired, but their appreciation is genuine. Was he close to them?
"Try to keep up." An older voice. Stoic, not taunting but rather encouraging improvement. A mentor.
"We will do what we can." "We will never let harm come to him." Ashton knows those voices the most. He chokes up, falling to his knees. No. Not them. He can't take being without them again. They were a burden, yes. That much was always clear. But they became his allies. His comrades.
His... friends. They were all his friends, and now they were gone. Ashton knew that when he opened his eyes, he would be without them. And so he scrambled to his feet, his cry wordless as he launches himself forward, feet clearing the edge of the platform and his hands reaching out to the past and present and future he wants to keep. If only he can grab hold. If only---
--
[ His hands clutch the mattress as he bolts upright, and though he means to yell, all that comes out is a loud, choked cough. ] Wh-- [ More coughing. Ashton looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings and covers his mouth. What was going on? Where is he? How did he get here? ]