Repose Halloween Spooktacular (reposehaunts) wrote in repose, @ 2016-10-24 17:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, ~plot: halloween |
[non-Reveal]
Who: Broken Parts
What: non-Reveal
Warnings/Rating: Injury. Badness. Mental ouch.
It was the stab of sun that brought her back to herself. At some point after he left, her mind just… turned off for a while. When the sun peeked far enough above the horizon that it carved its way through the trees that surrounded her (tucked away from the B&B where it would be hard for anyone to find her at first - he'd done a good job of that), it struck her in the face, drilling its way into her consciousness to bring her back. Her heart began racing the second she became aware of things, truly thumping in her chest with a manic and panicked beat. It thundered behind ribs that couldn't expand very far, making everything even worse with the sense of suffocation. Her head was above ground, but nothing else, and for a moment she felt like she would never be free. The panic gave her enough strength to move one arm (the one whose shoulder wasn't aching sharply with every twinge of tension) and worm her hand above ground, thankful for the fact that the dirt hadn't been packed too tightly.
Even so, only one arm and shoulder was excavated by the time she had to stop, breath burning in her lungs. She'd managed to only partially unearth herself, the adrenaline still flooding her veins not quite enough to overcome her injuries. And when she couldn't dig herself out any farther without rest, she pushed her panic down as much as possible, compartmentalized it and shoved it in a tiny box, and did an inventory of those injuries:
She couldn't see out of one eye, the world oddly flat because of it, and once her hand was free she was able to prod at the swollen mess of it. She knew how bad a shiner could be, how bad her face could swell with one, but she could tell that it would heal. Her shoulder ached, fingers on that hand slightly numb with it (or was it just from being held immobile beneath the dirt?). Her ankle knifed pain up her leg every time she tried flexing her foot, though she could wiggle her toes, and hoped that it was just a sprain. Either way, it would make getting back home a task once she managed to dig herself out. Her mouth and cheeks ached and stung any time she opened her lips too wide, and every touch she made to her face caused her to wince (which in turn made her eye hurt even more). And the skin of her back felt like fire from shoulders to hips.
The only things remaining from her costume - not that it had actually been a costume - were the remnants of lacquer-slick lipgloss, red on cracked lips, and the one strapped shoe that hadn't been pulled off in her awkward struggles - a buckled maryjane. The rest of her outfit - tight jeans, tanktop, hoodie, jacket - were all intact, the injuries all blooming beneath her undamaged clothing.
The sun had moved by the time she could muster up more energy, the morning ticking by in starts and stops. She didn't even know if she was tracking things normally, or if she was checking out from time to time. There were moments when the sun seemed to suddenly be higher than it should have been, and she suspected that meant she was losing time as her thoughts tumbled around. Any time they landed on him... She tried not to focus on that - tried to concentrate on getting herself free - but there was only so much her body and mind could handle at a time.
She made it half out of the ground before she couldn't do any more. Laying there gasping, still in the earth from her waist down, she closed her eyes (tears springing due to the grit of the dirt and bits of leaves) and let go of her mind again, the rush of everything overtaking her and pulling her back down into glaze-eyed oblivion for the moment.