Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade or any of its characters, merchandise, TV rights, ect… (I think you get the point.)
Summery
ONE SHOT - In the darkness you cower, the sound of your terror consuming even the pounding or your frantic heart. (Tala)
Like all of my work this is just something that happened to float through the empty void inside my head. Like it or hate it please R and R as honest opinions are always welcomed, as are random acts of worship.
Lamb: This is just something for me to do as a way to keep my hand in when it comes to writing description, without putting a load of pressure on myself which is what I've been doing lately. I dedicate this first, for want of a better word, drabble to my Squish, as I was inspired to write this after reading some of her work.
And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal,
I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming,
Am I too lost to be saved,
Am I too lost?
Bitter Sweet Silence
The true sound of terror is silence.
Every nerve is taught and waiting and the whole world is frozen in the icy moment when every sound has departed and even the sound of your beating heart is lost to you. That split second pause for the intake of breath, before the scream like a knife on raw nerve is wrenched from a tortured throat. This is the moment when your hair stands on end and skin, cold and clammy, crawls. A sick feeling twists your gut and you find that you too are holding your breath, waiting, waiting in that one moment that seems to stretch on and on into the ever waiting void of silence.
And in the darkness you sit and wait hands over your ears trying to block out the hellish sound, fingers pressed so hard against your skull you are sure you are bruising you own skin but you do not care. It doesn't matter all that matters is making the noise stop. But then it does, and the absence of the sound drives fear like a nail through your very soul. The cold, damp stone presses hard against you back and you hands have dropped from your and now scrabble against the floor. Niles torn and ragged scrape in the dirt as you frantically try and push yourself closer to the illusion of protection that the wall offers.
Like a shattered mirror, splintered by a cobweb of fractures your grip on sanity cracks and crumbles. Into the empty void that is left in the shrikes aftermath questions pour; why has the screaming stopped? What has happened to the person on the other side of the wall? And will it be for you they come next? Into the corner you cower, pulling in on yourself as the weight of silence crashes down upon you. And there is nothing except the slow march of time as you sit and await your fate. Your ears play tricks on you and you imagine the sounds that are just beyond the edge of hearing; the yell of command, the whimper of pain, the foot fall out side your door.
But in reality there is nothing, only the deathly hush that swallows even the sound of your own shallow rasping breaths. And you stare into the abyss of despair as if it were down the barrel of a gun that you looked and the defining silence reaches out to claim you.
The true sound of terror is silence.
I was thinking of a young Tala (only about seven) when I wrote this. I could see him siting in a cell in the bowels of the Abby, all-wide eyes and hair falling across his face. Well please let me know what ya thought.
Please R and R I'd love to know what you thought.
Big luv see ya
Lamanth