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Oct. 28th, 2005 12:18 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: Danse de la Morte - un quartet
R, 1685 words
Warnings: character death
Summary: Dance of death in four parts. Unnamed POV
Authors Notes: I blame Dickinson. And those of you who had that weird cough in the comments of my last fic (you know who you are), take some cough medicine, get a mug of tea, and curl up under a blanket and wait for the weekend. :)
Danse de la Morte - un quartet
-une-
I heard a fly buzz when I died, the first time. Struck down with one sharp pain that bit me through the spine. I remember falling but not
hitting the ground. That was when I died, the first time. But they (my colleagues and paramedics) brought me back to life, told me it wasn’t my time to go yet. In a way they were right, I was supposed to find out the bullet a fleeing suspect fired into me shattered two vertebrae and severed my spinal cord first. I died right then and there, not physically but the me I had been passed on in a hail of bullets and leaking spinal fluid. I could never walk again, but that wasn’t all. No, I had severe internal injuries as well; blood leaking out of places it should have stayed, filling my abdomen. Inoperable they said too much damage to my body all ready; I would die within minutes on the operating table if I even made it beyond the anesthesia. I was told they could only make me comfortable; hope was no longer an option neither was a miracle. So they pumped me full of morphine (for pain I could not feel) and placed me in a private room and asked if I wanted a chaplain. I declined, there are enough people waiting in chairs praying for me, one more wouldn’t really make a difference.
So with everyone around me, some touching places I could no longer feel, they cried. I would have too, but I was already drowning in blood, no point in drowning in my own tears. I struggled to breathe, sucking in oxygen in ever decreasing amounts of breath. The blood was beginning to cover my lungs, compress them to the point that breathing would be fruitless and my heart would stop. Speaking was beginning to prove difficult (I could taste the copper tang in the back of my throat). I spoke softly, not at length, but taking precious minutes because I slipping beneath the waters even further. There were instructions to give for I had not gotten around to drafting a will (not wise I realize) but I need certain things to be done. And when my words finally failed me, I laid back against the pillow with their hands in mine and counted, counted until I died. As I died the second time I heard a beep, loud and high pitched and then…
-deux-
The eyes around had wrung them dry, not that they would have cried if they could. Rats don’t cry, nor would they for a human which would only serve as their next meal if someone didn’t find me first. If they found me. There was no Plexiglas box for my coffin, no dirt for my cage; only four foot high spires of rebar driven into cement. It was a stupid mistake how I got here, one misstep, one slip and I fell, startled. The feel of the rebar piercing my stomach, just under my ribs, and through my shoulder was a shock. Feeling it slide through my flesh, muscle, and organs to exit at odd angles disturbed me, unnerved me. Hanging there suspended on the metal made me panic and struggle, which sent me sliding down inch by inch until I rested on the floor. The shift which I felt every centimeter of the away made me throw up, I tasted the tang of acid and blood and I cried. I had no light, no center, only the rats knew I was there and they came smelling the blood. Their little claws dug into my skin as their sharp teeth ripped away other bits of flesh. I couldn’t move without horrific waves of pain deluging me with each shift of muscle and bone. I could not knock the rats away, so I had to wait until they taken their fill.
I don’t know how much time passed before they retreated; I wouldn’t have moved my arm even if I could. So I lay in the dark listening to their little feet scurry back and forth and the occasional squeak as they fought with one another. But it gave me time to think. This was not how I imagined dying, impaled on rebar at a scene I had gone back to alone to double check something. Dying in the line of duty was always a possibility; it wasn’t unlikely but not as likely as a cop dying in the line of duty. Of course no one ever figured on dying at a scene either, guess I got to be the pioneer. Wish I had pioneered something else, like how much longer could my friend and I keep flirting before someone was thrown over a bench in the lab and fucked within an inch of their life. Or how many new and interesting ways could I nonverbally communicate ‘shut up and fuck me already’. That I would have much rather pioneered than dying by impalement. My body had long since chilled and I struggled to remain conscious when Death arrived. I wanted it to come quickly, but like everything else it crept over me slowly before stealing me away.
-trois-
I willed my keepsakes – signed away what portion of me be assignable. Left the list in the bedside drawer where someone would know to find it. I made certain every one of my friends and family got something, I would be dead (and no longer have use for it). They could keep it or pitch it, I could expect no less of the people I had left without a word. I had packed up my things one night and drove away, no word, no note, no nothing to denote my leaving. I didn’t tell them I had cancer either, that I would have been leaving them anyways. I had no words to give, to share with them that cancer I had no warning about was stealing my life and I was Stage IV. Medical science could do precious little for me, and I had little time in which only to get sick and die. I did not want them to witness that, watch my body turn traitor and me fade away. So I made an appointment, got a one way ticket and flew far away to a hospice in the middle of the country to pass away alone.
There were few questions asked when I arrived, just a glance at my medical records and was shown to a room. Denoted only by a first name and patient number thanks to some understanding medical staff. Within a day and a half I stopped eating (I couldn’t keep it down anyways), they gave me an IV instead for minimal amounts of fluids and nutrients to keep me from starving and dehydrating. I could not move from bed shortly after that, the pain too much and body losing control of functions. I had them take me outside onto the porch wheeled in a bed (I could not support myself to sit up) to feel the sun one final time. When I had my fill they brought me back to little room and closed the drapes (I did not want to see what I could not have). Bathed in fluorescent light I lay as my body and its faculties ceased. It started with my bladder and bowels, the nurses changed me like a baby (the first time I cried). Then my feet and hands lost all sensation and all command over them failed. My skin turned sallow, I could see the veins beneath once vibrant flesh in stark contrast. After that within a day or so (time ceased passing and stretched into one long moment) my kidneys shut down followed by my liver. They put me on a ventilator once my lungs terminated working, my heart (weak as it was) kept going. I could only watch as machines gave me oxygen and nurses flittered past in their routines. I could feel my heart slowing, I was just waiting for the inevitable stop which didn’t want to come. I made one last decision; everything else had ceased and fell to decay. So I closed my eyes and decided to die.
-quatre-
With blue uncertain stumbling buzz I awoke from sleep. You were cuddled beside me like you were trying to steal my body heat. With a kiss I woke you, but your eyes did not stay focused for long. You smiled and your gaze drifted away looking to some unseen place. “It’s almost time” you murmured caressing my cheek softly like when we were young. Quickly I rose, as fast as a decrepit body could, and gathered the things we had planned so long ago: a comb for our hair, suits and shoes, wills on the dresser against our wedding picture (how handsome we had looked), and music to listen to as we drifted away.
I dressed you first with great precision and care; I didn’t have to but considered it my last great honour. You stood and mirrored the process on me, combing my hair with your fingers and reminiscing on how it used to look back in the day. We anointed ourselves with cologne and felt memories flooding back of our first night together when we worked at the lab. I put on the music (The Way You Look Tonight) and asked for one last dance. Holding you in my arms it felt like I was going back to the very first time we did this, tears came to my eyes and I buried my face in your shoulder to hide. But you would have none of it, wiped my tears away and told me “There’s no reason to cry”. I closed my eyes and melted into your embrace breathing in the scents of you and me. When the song stopped and began to repeat you nodded and smiled. Softly we kissed familiar and slow. We curled up on the bed, embracing tenderly as we closed our eyes and smiled, we always knew it would be together that we died.
R, 1685 words
Warnings: character death
Summary: Dance of death in four parts. Unnamed POV
Authors Notes: I blame Dickinson. And those of you who had that weird cough in the comments of my last fic (you know who you are), take some cough medicine, get a mug of tea, and curl up under a blanket and wait for the weekend. :)
Danse de la Morte - un quartet
-une-
I heard a fly buzz when I died, the first time. Struck down with one sharp pain that bit me through the spine. I remember falling but not
hitting the ground. That was when I died, the first time. But they (my colleagues and paramedics) brought me back to life, told me it wasn’t my time to go yet. In a way they were right, I was supposed to find out the bullet a fleeing suspect fired into me shattered two vertebrae and severed my spinal cord first. I died right then and there, not physically but the me I had been passed on in a hail of bullets and leaking spinal fluid. I could never walk again, but that wasn’t all. No, I had severe internal injuries as well; blood leaking out of places it should have stayed, filling my abdomen. Inoperable they said too much damage to my body all ready; I would die within minutes on the operating table if I even made it beyond the anesthesia. I was told they could only make me comfortable; hope was no longer an option neither was a miracle. So they pumped me full of morphine (for pain I could not feel) and placed me in a private room and asked if I wanted a chaplain. I declined, there are enough people waiting in chairs praying for me, one more wouldn’t really make a difference.
So with everyone around me, some touching places I could no longer feel, they cried. I would have too, but I was already drowning in blood, no point in drowning in my own tears. I struggled to breathe, sucking in oxygen in ever decreasing amounts of breath. The blood was beginning to cover my lungs, compress them to the point that breathing would be fruitless and my heart would stop. Speaking was beginning to prove difficult (I could taste the copper tang in the back of my throat). I spoke softly, not at length, but taking precious minutes because I slipping beneath the waters even further. There were instructions to give for I had not gotten around to drafting a will (not wise I realize) but I need certain things to be done. And when my words finally failed me, I laid back against the pillow with their hands in mine and counted, counted until I died. As I died the second time I heard a beep, loud and high pitched and then…
-deux-
The eyes around had wrung them dry, not that they would have cried if they could. Rats don’t cry, nor would they for a human which would only serve as their next meal if someone didn’t find me first. If they found me. There was no Plexiglas box for my coffin, no dirt for my cage; only four foot high spires of rebar driven into cement. It was a stupid mistake how I got here, one misstep, one slip and I fell, startled. The feel of the rebar piercing my stomach, just under my ribs, and through my shoulder was a shock. Feeling it slide through my flesh, muscle, and organs to exit at odd angles disturbed me, unnerved me. Hanging there suspended on the metal made me panic and struggle, which sent me sliding down inch by inch until I rested on the floor. The shift which I felt every centimeter of the away made me throw up, I tasted the tang of acid and blood and I cried. I had no light, no center, only the rats knew I was there and they came smelling the blood. Their little claws dug into my skin as their sharp teeth ripped away other bits of flesh. I couldn’t move without horrific waves of pain deluging me with each shift of muscle and bone. I could not knock the rats away, so I had to wait until they taken their fill.
I don’t know how much time passed before they retreated; I wouldn’t have moved my arm even if I could. So I lay in the dark listening to their little feet scurry back and forth and the occasional squeak as they fought with one another. But it gave me time to think. This was not how I imagined dying, impaled on rebar at a scene I had gone back to alone to double check something. Dying in the line of duty was always a possibility; it wasn’t unlikely but not as likely as a cop dying in the line of duty. Of course no one ever figured on dying at a scene either, guess I got to be the pioneer. Wish I had pioneered something else, like how much longer could my friend and I keep flirting before someone was thrown over a bench in the lab and fucked within an inch of their life. Or how many new and interesting ways could I nonverbally communicate ‘shut up and fuck me already’. That I would have much rather pioneered than dying by impalement. My body had long since chilled and I struggled to remain conscious when Death arrived. I wanted it to come quickly, but like everything else it crept over me slowly before stealing me away.
-trois-
I willed my keepsakes – signed away what portion of me be assignable. Left the list in the bedside drawer where someone would know to find it. I made certain every one of my friends and family got something, I would be dead (and no longer have use for it). They could keep it or pitch it, I could expect no less of the people I had left without a word. I had packed up my things one night and drove away, no word, no note, no nothing to denote my leaving. I didn’t tell them I had cancer either, that I would have been leaving them anyways. I had no words to give, to share with them that cancer I had no warning about was stealing my life and I was Stage IV. Medical science could do precious little for me, and I had little time in which only to get sick and die. I did not want them to witness that, watch my body turn traitor and me fade away. So I made an appointment, got a one way ticket and flew far away to a hospice in the middle of the country to pass away alone.
There were few questions asked when I arrived, just a glance at my medical records and was shown to a room. Denoted only by a first name and patient number thanks to some understanding medical staff. Within a day and a half I stopped eating (I couldn’t keep it down anyways), they gave me an IV instead for minimal amounts of fluids and nutrients to keep me from starving and dehydrating. I could not move from bed shortly after that, the pain too much and body losing control of functions. I had them take me outside onto the porch wheeled in a bed (I could not support myself to sit up) to feel the sun one final time. When I had my fill they brought me back to little room and closed the drapes (I did not want to see what I could not have). Bathed in fluorescent light I lay as my body and its faculties ceased. It started with my bladder and bowels, the nurses changed me like a baby (the first time I cried). Then my feet and hands lost all sensation and all command over them failed. My skin turned sallow, I could see the veins beneath once vibrant flesh in stark contrast. After that within a day or so (time ceased passing and stretched into one long moment) my kidneys shut down followed by my liver. They put me on a ventilator once my lungs terminated working, my heart (weak as it was) kept going. I could only watch as machines gave me oxygen and nurses flittered past in their routines. I could feel my heart slowing, I was just waiting for the inevitable stop which didn’t want to come. I made one last decision; everything else had ceased and fell to decay. So I closed my eyes and decided to die.
-quatre-
With blue uncertain stumbling buzz I awoke from sleep. You were cuddled beside me like you were trying to steal my body heat. With a kiss I woke you, but your eyes did not stay focused for long. You smiled and your gaze drifted away looking to some unseen place. “It’s almost time” you murmured caressing my cheek softly like when we were young. Quickly I rose, as fast as a decrepit body could, and gathered the things we had planned so long ago: a comb for our hair, suits and shoes, wills on the dresser against our wedding picture (how handsome we had looked), and music to listen to as we drifted away.
I dressed you first with great precision and care; I didn’t have to but considered it my last great honour. You stood and mirrored the process on me, combing my hair with your fingers and reminiscing on how it used to look back in the day. We anointed ourselves with cologne and felt memories flooding back of our first night together when we worked at the lab. I put on the music (The Way You Look Tonight) and asked for one last dance. Holding you in my arms it felt like I was going back to the very first time we did this, tears came to my eyes and I buried my face in your shoulder to hide. But you would have none of it, wiped my tears away and told me “There’s no reason to cry”. I closed my eyes and melted into your embrace breathing in the scents of you and me. When the song stopped and began to repeat you nodded and smiled. Softly we kissed familiar and slow. We curled up on the bed, embracing tenderly as we closed our eyes and smiled, we always knew it would be together that we died.
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