Dante "Inferno" Zaragoza - Death'll find you... (xolotl) wrote in repose, @ 2019-12-19 22:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, dante zaragoza |
[Narrative: Dante Zaragoza - Static]
Who: Dante
What: Stat…..tic.
When: Dec 20th - 3am.
Where: Dante’s house.
Ratings/Warnings: References to: Mental health breakdown, trauma, ptsd
Bad. Bad….. badbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbabdbadbadbad Her head had been going bad for the last week. More than a week. Tuesday? Was it last Tuesday? She couldn’t remember anymore. Why couldn’t she remember? She always remembered….. System error. It had started with feeling a little down. That was okay. Dante knew how to handle herself when she got sad. After all, she’d been dealing with depression since she was 16 and lost her leg and her future and had to deal with all the rumors and victim-blaming that came from her incident. It was easy to push aside the feelings though with so much work to do. Then there were the ‘hiccups’. The moments where she’d forget what she was doing for a second, the seconds where the next step in the process would evade her. It wasn’t the worst. She could handle it. Dante didn’t like it - never liked it since her memory was never like this… except during these times - but she could handle it. Dante had to slow down a little to handle it, had to think things through a little more, but she could handle it. Or at least she could keep telling herself she could handle it. Then came the stutters. The instances where her mind worked normally for a while and then would sputter out like a car engine dying suddenly and her whole system just… Stopped. Her muscles stiffened or even froze up when it got to the worst stages, her brain kept trying to… to… Restart? It was like restarting. And then after a few seconds - maybe a minute - she’d be able to get herself going again, her body moving, her brain desperately grasping at everything she’d been trying to do and unable to process moments before. Her brain rebooted - it felt like rebooting, this was why she’d never be human - and things went fine again… Until the next sputter and stall. That wasn’t the worst of it though. The last stage was… was…. The Blue Screen of Death. The automatic system reboot. Static - Hector knew that term - was bad. Static was a Blue Screen of Death followed by an immediate forced system reboot and her attempting to get her mind and body working right - in safe mode - for a couple days before being able to get her system up and running normally again. Static was puking her guts out. Static was not feeling as if she was connected to her body. Static was fear. Static was panic. Static was flashbacks. Static was being unable to control her movements to look normal. Static was phantom pain. Static was not feeling hunger, not feeling cold, not feeling thirst and all of that making her even sicker. Static was sickness. Illness. Static was proof that she was a pathetic piece of crap that would never get her shit together. Static was proof she wasn’t human. Static was - once she could get her body moving during the worst of it - moving like a malfunctioning fucking robot. Static was her head being too loud, having too many cell signals, not being able to keep data and communication device signals and talk and chatter and videos and noise - the noise, too much noise - out. Static was curling into a ball on the floor of her living room sobbing and rocking back and forth as hands clutched at her head. Static was not feeling her body. Static was crying. Static was wanting to scream and being physically incapable of making the sound. Static was trying to feel her body, to be in it, to be connected to it… and failing. Static was pulling any signal her technopathy could catch - cell, phone, car, radio, other - into her head if she wanted it or not. Static was... Static was lost control. Static was her body’s revolt against her mind and her mind telling her ‘no, stop, this is enough, we need to defrag the hard drive. NOW’. Static was when she pushed too hard, too much. Too much work, too much looking for Spider, too much trying to help others, too much spreading herself hair thin and yet still trying to pour more of herself out for others from her bone dry flask. Static was her torture, her own personal hell. Static was begging in Spanish for it to be done. For the Static to be over. But with the life she had? Dante was fairly certain Static was what she - deserved - brought upon herself. |