Friday, June 13

Shane's head hit the glass coffee table twice before it shattered violently, littering the carpet with glittering shrapnel. the hand interwoven in his hair, clenching painfully against his scalp pulled him back up, only to throw him against the green plush sofa. Shane tried to move his own hands, to try and soften the oncoming blows, but they wouldn't even twitch for him, as if they'd given up already, packed their bags and flown away. He couldn't open his eyes, if not for the fear of the encounter then for the severe swelling that was pushing and pulsating around them, creating red and golden sparks behind his eyelids. There was blood in his mouth, he could feel the ironically metallic tasting liquid slosh out over his burning lips. there was no urgency to empty his mouth though, much like his hands and eyes and everything else, it was lethargic. he was also sure that if he tried to spit it out a fair few teeth would follow suit, their little white suits stained the passionate colour of roses. he tried to think of the flowers, but they shook and shifted with each blow. at some stage the impacts stopped reaching him, whether he had blacked out or whether they had actually ceased he was unsure, all he knew is that he could finally hold the fragile petals in his hands without them turning to dust. It was peacefully quiet. He looked up from his hands and saw a majestic field of sunshine and vibrant colour, and a dog. Strangely a dog, surprisingly a dog, and it was running towards him, it's long yellow mane flowing like waves across it's back.
"Shane," whispered the dog, "Shane"
Shane didn't answer, just marveled at the wonder of a talking dog. He reached for it, but as he touched it's brilliant coat a shock rung through his body, once and then twice. the dog disappeared, colour vanished, everything became a confusing mesh of blinding white and consuming black.
"Shane" he heard again, which out of everything stunned him slightly, as the dog was gone.
A terrific pain tore through his chest, clawing it's way up his windpipe, riping at his throat and out his mouth. His eyes flickered as much as they could under the weight of the swelling as his body coughed and spluttered, lightly splattering blood over the eerily white surround. A blur of non-white crossed his vision and he heard his name again and again. he tried to open his mouth, but his jaw refused. his attempted to move his hand, but nothing came of it, nothing came of any of his attempts to communicate outside himself. So he lay there, conscious, bleeding and alone, surrounded by souls working to save his life.

sorry i haven't written for a while... well i have, but they never get finished and just hang out in the drafts folder. hope you are well.


Blogger Sandy said...

you have expressed the pain ,haven't you.
sory but can u explain me 'oncoming blows' coming from?

1:46 pm, June 15, 2008  
Blogger Frances bo bancess said...

ah... just someone else, anyone else really... it's Shane-centric, didn't think to give the abuser a name or a face... if i try to write out the whole scene it usually loses detail and wanders off focus, so it's pretty narrow sighted. like the horses with the eye flaps, so they don't get scared or distracted from the world around while they're working. lol.

4:39 pm, June 15, 2008  
Blogger Frances bo bancess said...

i just read the sentence and it's a bit ambiguous, by "they wouldn't even twitch for him" i mean his hands... i don't know how well that was conveyed...

4:40 pm, June 15, 2008  

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