Post by Vyn on May 9, 2009 20:09:02 GMT -5
Characters: Imre and Shashi, mention of Poe and Parzifal
Timeline: Shortly after discovering Shashi, Imre is roughly 17.
Word Count: 1738
Warning!!!: Heavy Self Mutilation, Some Foul Language
Freedom was wonderful at first. Seventeen and curious about everything, Imre decided to explore and travel and to find everything. Poe didn't mind, she was busy sulking through her opium dens, and Parzifal was busy being a scholar. Everything was good.
Then he found Shashi. He was a wonderful pelt hanging on a tree, damn and alone and right on the borders of home where no one would find him. It felt like the sort of thing that was just meant for him. So he took him home and quickly became friends with his little bunny, at least he thought they were friends. Shashi didn't agree with this assessment of friendship, but that meant little to Imre now that he had someone to talk to no matter where he went.
His very own ghost just like him!
And then he made him into a tote... and Shashi wasn't really happy for a long time, he didn't talk much during that little episode, but at least Imre could take him places without people frowning and fussing over rabbits.
So it was, after a recent conquest in the restricted book section, that Imre discovered the little blank paper that would change his life.
Waking up was a nightmare, Shashi was hysterical with amusement but Imre couldn't open his mouth... Not to express his horror, not to ask Shashi to stop... He just stared into the mirror and wondered over and over again how a piece of paper had done this to him. Paper... One of the things he loved most in the world... and it had done this to him! It was like a freakish nightmare, except that he just never woke up.
Days and days would pass and the only thing that would change was his increasing hunger.
So he took to reading more than he had ever read before. He found solace in the land of his books, solace in his wonderful distraction. And slowly but surely he adapted to the silence, and Shashi adapted to his weird new face like he adapted to being Imre's bag and everything was normal again. Alone in his little one-room shack, he went through book after book, and Shashi made fully certain that Imre was well aware of how bored he was to simply sit and watch the faceless freak read.
He devoured libraries in that first month.
And then, to his utter joy, it opened at last. The mask just, retracted and he was back to his same old everything. Eating had never been so wonderful, ever, and he happily devoured whatever he still had while prattling cheerfully to Shashi. Nothing had happened, everything was normal again and he was free.
And then, just as quickly as it had opened, it suddenly resealed.
The shock of the mask appearing the first time was nothing in comparison to the mask resealing. Freedom had been a tease, a horrible and cruel mockery of the world. Something so cruel and cutting that not even Shashi could've thought it up. This time he cried, and the tears leaked through the paper mask as the silence rang like klaxon bells all around him. He could only talk to himself for so long, the never-ending monologue with Shashi's snide remarks in the background and then, as time passed, not even Shashi spoke to break the silence -- or perhaps Imre had just stopped bothering to listen.
Eventually the tears stopped and Imre wandered around the house, a zombie in his routine tasks... Needing to be busy, needing to move... but not wanting to go out, or fly, or read...
He had nothing in his miserable little world, nothing but his own thoughts and that atrocious, sickening silence.
Even the hunger, which had been so pointed at first, eventually faded and was forgotten in the useless and passing time. The mask opened once while he was lost in his little world of misery and silence, but he was too far gone to even recognize that familiar sensation of freedom. Even the return of hunger, begging and needy, could not awake him from his delusion.
Nothing managed to really break the silence, nothing like the sound of his voice, or the voice of another solid person... Not that anyone would've wanted to look at his horrible face just then.
The floor creaked, a useless monotony of his feet shuffle-hop walking across the old floor boards.
The clock ticked, a useless passing of time.
And then, all at once, sound came back. Imre was staring into the mirror again, watching his face in abject horror as the writing adjusted to a new shade of horrendous and bland prose. He loved prose, but why did his face mock him relentlessly with just how bad it was? In the background he slowly realized Shashi was talking.
"What are you thinking, Imre?" The ghost couldn't help but notice a sudden change in the crow's demeanor. He'd gone from a zombie-like sulk to standing straight, even his feathers had puffed out. He looked angry, he looked ready to do something stupid.
Imre didn't look at Shashi, he just kept staring into the mirror as he read and re-read the prose over and over and over again. Finally he lifted a wing, touching his face and feeling the terrible papery hide that covered his mouth and eyes. His body shook. He wanted it off.
Shashi's expression twisted into one of a cruel sort of glee, his eyes lighting up as he floated closer. He donned his best, most condescendingly sympathetic voice he could muster: "Aww... poor baby. You want that mask off don't you?"
Imre twitched, confirmation. Silence was bad enough, but to have his own face mock him with pathetic prose. He, lover of books, of literature, of writing in all forms... And he was trapped with this! He couldn't, he wouldn't, sit back and wear it anymore... He had to do something...
Shashi had to do everything in his power to keep from grinning as he watched the bird's reaction. He'd been trying to prod the freak bird into this all along, but now he was finally listening! Perfect! "It'd be easier if you had no mask. Wouldn't it? You could get all those pretty girls..." Another twitch, he'd hit a soft spot. Good. "Just take the damned thing off. It's not that hard. Just do it, don't think."
The snap inside the bird was almost audible.
The black suit changed to white in an instant and the bird's feathers finally unruffled as his whole body went tense. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go on, it's not that hard. Just get a knife. Do it."
The words reverberated in his head like an echo in an empty cave. Ringing over and over, like the mockery of his mask's prose. Don't think, just do it. Fine. Without a thought, without consideration, the bird threw himself into the mirror that had been taunting him all alone and felt the glass shatter against his weight as shards flew everywhere.
The largest one crashed onto the floor next to his foot, sharp and gleaming.
Fuck knives.
Imre shook like a leaf caught in a hurricane, but his talon was steady as he snared the sharp blade of glass and without thinking, always without thinking, he slashed the sharp edge through that horrible, offending prose. The rage was numbing, it pushed his hand even as the pain of cutting off his own face became more and more real. The momentum drove him through inches and inches, pain staking leveling off the paper edges even as tears began to flood down his cheeks and his stomach began to churn, too empty to actually vomit, and then his beak was fully free, his face was fully free and the pain! Oh suits, the pain hit in full force.
The glass dropped from his talon as he doubled over and screamed. He couldn't think of anything else to do, he couldn't think. The white hot pain, the pain of cutting at his own face.
When the screams subsided, the shaking and the sickness didn't. The bile rose in his mouth a few times, but never managed to escape, but the tears gushed in an endless flow. "Oh suits... Oh suits..." The bird could talk again, his voice was comforting to his own ears but not even that comfort could stem the horrible pain. But oh his face was clear, he was free... Slowly the anguish of pain rolled into a horrible sort of laughter.
Shashi was laughing too, and his laughter was turning more and more sadistic as he watched the bird. Oooh, the paper was growing back, that was priceless! As the delusional bird laughed, he was completely oblivious to the paper creeping back into place!
As Shashi's laughter grew, Imre slowly opened his eyes, searching for the ghost and instead his eyes grazed the fractured mirror and the reflection within it. "No no!" Imre's shriek was jarring. Within the millions of tiny fractures that was the mirror, Imre saw the mask reclaiming his face. "NO!" Instantly he had the glass back in his talon, uncaring that it cut at his foot as he assaulted his face once more. Angry, determined, utterly panicked.
No matter how much he fought, no matter how many times he tore through that mask and the agonizing pain of removing it, it kept coming back. Over and over again until he could take it no more, until the agony won and his mind shut down.
There was nothing he could do, no way to free himself.
From white to black, and the Torque half had nothing to do but accept the reality. Cursed, bound, trapped... It was just another aspect of being part Torquehelm. There was no other answer.
Slowly the shard dropped, and his body sank to the floor, head against the wall as he felt the mask cover everything once again. Just ten minutes and it was all just as it had been before he'd started, horrible prose and all. Everything had been in vain.
"Tough luck." Shashi didn't sound too entirely concerned.
He sat there for a couple of hours, just staring into the blank wall as he let the pain truly consume him. The throbbing lasted for hours and hours, a roar at first but then slowly it dimmed to a dull throb and from there into a monotonous aching. Imre could handle that. Slowly he lifted up from the wall. There was a lot of mess to be cleaned up, his foot and the glass shards... It'd take a while to get his little shack into order.
Timeline: Shortly after discovering Shashi, Imre is roughly 17.
Word Count: 1738
Warning!!!: Heavy Self Mutilation, Some Foul Language
Freedom was wonderful at first. Seventeen and curious about everything, Imre decided to explore and travel and to find everything. Poe didn't mind, she was busy sulking through her opium dens, and Parzifal was busy being a scholar. Everything was good.
Then he found Shashi. He was a wonderful pelt hanging on a tree, damn and alone and right on the borders of home where no one would find him. It felt like the sort of thing that was just meant for him. So he took him home and quickly became friends with his little bunny, at least he thought they were friends. Shashi didn't agree with this assessment of friendship, but that meant little to Imre now that he had someone to talk to no matter where he went.
His very own ghost just like him!
And then he made him into a tote... and Shashi wasn't really happy for a long time, he didn't talk much during that little episode, but at least Imre could take him places without people frowning and fussing over rabbits.
So it was, after a recent conquest in the restricted book section, that Imre discovered the little blank paper that would change his life.
Waking up was a nightmare, Shashi was hysterical with amusement but Imre couldn't open his mouth... Not to express his horror, not to ask Shashi to stop... He just stared into the mirror and wondered over and over again how a piece of paper had done this to him. Paper... One of the things he loved most in the world... and it had done this to him! It was like a freakish nightmare, except that he just never woke up.
Days and days would pass and the only thing that would change was his increasing hunger.
So he took to reading more than he had ever read before. He found solace in the land of his books, solace in his wonderful distraction. And slowly but surely he adapted to the silence, and Shashi adapted to his weird new face like he adapted to being Imre's bag and everything was normal again. Alone in his little one-room shack, he went through book after book, and Shashi made fully certain that Imre was well aware of how bored he was to simply sit and watch the faceless freak read.
He devoured libraries in that first month.
And then, to his utter joy, it opened at last. The mask just, retracted and he was back to his same old everything. Eating had never been so wonderful, ever, and he happily devoured whatever he still had while prattling cheerfully to Shashi. Nothing had happened, everything was normal again and he was free.
And then, just as quickly as it had opened, it suddenly resealed.
The shock of the mask appearing the first time was nothing in comparison to the mask resealing. Freedom had been a tease, a horrible and cruel mockery of the world. Something so cruel and cutting that not even Shashi could've thought it up. This time he cried, and the tears leaked through the paper mask as the silence rang like klaxon bells all around him. He could only talk to himself for so long, the never-ending monologue with Shashi's snide remarks in the background and then, as time passed, not even Shashi spoke to break the silence -- or perhaps Imre had just stopped bothering to listen.
Eventually the tears stopped and Imre wandered around the house, a zombie in his routine tasks... Needing to be busy, needing to move... but not wanting to go out, or fly, or read...
He had nothing in his miserable little world, nothing but his own thoughts and that atrocious, sickening silence.
Even the hunger, which had been so pointed at first, eventually faded and was forgotten in the useless and passing time. The mask opened once while he was lost in his little world of misery and silence, but he was too far gone to even recognize that familiar sensation of freedom. Even the return of hunger, begging and needy, could not awake him from his delusion.
Nothing managed to really break the silence, nothing like the sound of his voice, or the voice of another solid person... Not that anyone would've wanted to look at his horrible face just then.
The floor creaked, a useless monotony of his feet shuffle-hop walking across the old floor boards.
The clock ticked, a useless passing of time.
And then, all at once, sound came back. Imre was staring into the mirror again, watching his face in abject horror as the writing adjusted to a new shade of horrendous and bland prose. He loved prose, but why did his face mock him relentlessly with just how bad it was? In the background he slowly realized Shashi was talking.
"What are you thinking, Imre?" The ghost couldn't help but notice a sudden change in the crow's demeanor. He'd gone from a zombie-like sulk to standing straight, even his feathers had puffed out. He looked angry, he looked ready to do something stupid.
Imre didn't look at Shashi, he just kept staring into the mirror as he read and re-read the prose over and over and over again. Finally he lifted a wing, touching his face and feeling the terrible papery hide that covered his mouth and eyes. His body shook. He wanted it off.
Shashi's expression twisted into one of a cruel sort of glee, his eyes lighting up as he floated closer. He donned his best, most condescendingly sympathetic voice he could muster: "Aww... poor baby. You want that mask off don't you?"
Imre twitched, confirmation. Silence was bad enough, but to have his own face mock him with pathetic prose. He, lover of books, of literature, of writing in all forms... And he was trapped with this! He couldn't, he wouldn't, sit back and wear it anymore... He had to do something...
Shashi had to do everything in his power to keep from grinning as he watched the bird's reaction. He'd been trying to prod the freak bird into this all along, but now he was finally listening! Perfect! "It'd be easier if you had no mask. Wouldn't it? You could get all those pretty girls..." Another twitch, he'd hit a soft spot. Good. "Just take the damned thing off. It's not that hard. Just do it, don't think."
The snap inside the bird was almost audible.
The black suit changed to white in an instant and the bird's feathers finally unruffled as his whole body went tense. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go on, it's not that hard. Just get a knife. Do it."
The words reverberated in his head like an echo in an empty cave. Ringing over and over, like the mockery of his mask's prose. Don't think, just do it. Fine. Without a thought, without consideration, the bird threw himself into the mirror that had been taunting him all alone and felt the glass shatter against his weight as shards flew everywhere.
The largest one crashed onto the floor next to his foot, sharp and gleaming.
Fuck knives.
Imre shook like a leaf caught in a hurricane, but his talon was steady as he snared the sharp blade of glass and without thinking, always without thinking, he slashed the sharp edge through that horrible, offending prose. The rage was numbing, it pushed his hand even as the pain of cutting off his own face became more and more real. The momentum drove him through inches and inches, pain staking leveling off the paper edges even as tears began to flood down his cheeks and his stomach began to churn, too empty to actually vomit, and then his beak was fully free, his face was fully free and the pain! Oh suits, the pain hit in full force.
The glass dropped from his talon as he doubled over and screamed. He couldn't think of anything else to do, he couldn't think. The white hot pain, the pain of cutting at his own face.
When the screams subsided, the shaking and the sickness didn't. The bile rose in his mouth a few times, but never managed to escape, but the tears gushed in an endless flow. "Oh suits... Oh suits..." The bird could talk again, his voice was comforting to his own ears but not even that comfort could stem the horrible pain. But oh his face was clear, he was free... Slowly the anguish of pain rolled into a horrible sort of laughter.
Shashi was laughing too, and his laughter was turning more and more sadistic as he watched the bird. Oooh, the paper was growing back, that was priceless! As the delusional bird laughed, he was completely oblivious to the paper creeping back into place!
As Shashi's laughter grew, Imre slowly opened his eyes, searching for the ghost and instead his eyes grazed the fractured mirror and the reflection within it. "No no!" Imre's shriek was jarring. Within the millions of tiny fractures that was the mirror, Imre saw the mask reclaiming his face. "NO!" Instantly he had the glass back in his talon, uncaring that it cut at his foot as he assaulted his face once more. Angry, determined, utterly panicked.
No matter how much he fought, no matter how many times he tore through that mask and the agonizing pain of removing it, it kept coming back. Over and over again until he could take it no more, until the agony won and his mind shut down.
There was nothing he could do, no way to free himself.
From white to black, and the Torque half had nothing to do but accept the reality. Cursed, bound, trapped... It was just another aspect of being part Torquehelm. There was no other answer.
Slowly the shard dropped, and his body sank to the floor, head against the wall as he felt the mask cover everything once again. Just ten minutes and it was all just as it had been before he'd started, horrible prose and all. Everything had been in vain.
"Tough luck." Shashi didn't sound too entirely concerned.
He sat there for a couple of hours, just staring into the blank wall as he let the pain truly consume him. The throbbing lasted for hours and hours, a roar at first but then slowly it dimmed to a dull throb and from there into a monotonous aching. Imre could handle that. Slowly he lifted up from the wall. There was a lot of mess to be cleaned up, his foot and the glass shards... It'd take a while to get his little shack into order.
