Burned
Posted: Tue Sep 13, 2005 5:11 pm
A/N: Hey guys. I was in the computer lab tonight and had imspiration for this short story. I know it is disjointed, and may not make any sense, but I thought it was worth sharing. I know some of you like to read my work, no matter what I come up with. Please excuse mistakes. I haven't read this over AT ALL.
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Hot.
Molten breath wisped over her skin, leaving a trail of quivering muscles and condensing flesh. It felt too hot to breathe, and her throat closed in response, as if it were trying to keep her lungs from burning. And yet, she was smouldering from the inside out. Her eyes watered, and throat quenched with thirst, a beautiful irony to die by.
Fire licked over the edge of the metal hazard tub, burning her eyes as well as the contents. Heat radiated like a pulse of a quickened heart. Her eyes burned from the fumes and the sharp edge of light in the small closet.
It was a hands-off form of torture.
Relena knew she had to be worried about the huge toxic sign caressing the curves of the metal drum, but as the smoke blanketed the room in an opaque fog, she was more apprehensive of carbon monoxide poisoning. In this day and age, everything was fireproof and not many people were aware of, let alone died of, fire-related tragedies since the war. She had practically no worries of burning to death, but she knew she?d die anyway.
Her wrists were slick from sweat and the blood oozing from her raw skin. Still, she shifted her hands together with the hope of loosening the ropes which bound her. Coughing, she burrowed her face into the damp cotton of her shirt, trying to remain alive as long as possible. Her head beat in tempo with the flames and the pounding of her own heart.
She pressed her body against the cooler cement floor of the chamber.
Ice.
Her slick body grated coarsely over the floor. She whimpered under the scream of the raging fire and she didn?t know if it was out of pain or gratitude. Her skin was scraped raw from pressing against the cement, and the salt of her sweat and tears burned more painful than the fire.
This was a very twentieth century way to die.
Jagged fingers gripped her lungs, and she struggled to breathe. The room spun, reminding her of the time her tea was poisoned.
She was going to pass out soon.
The heat oozed over her flesh, rolling and compressing until she welcomed the touch of sleep. She felt as if her life-energy was being burned as well as the fire. She was so weary of fighting sleep. She couldn?t see, she couldn?t breathe, she couldn?t think, she could not hope for rescue.
Why would anyone want to kill her like this?
Relena took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from sobbing. The foul air entered her lungs, making her head feel disembodied and her stomach violently clench. She jerked to her side, dirt from the floor clinging to her skin, and viciously threw up. Everything went black for a moment. She curled into a ball, somehow avoiding her own bodily fluids, and tried to cradle herself into oblivion.
She just had to hold on for a little while longer. Heero would come.
He always saved her in the end.
The air in the enclosed chamber was saturated with smoke. Every gulp of air she managed to inhale into her lungs was slowly killing her. She could no longer see the fire. She could barely see her own hand in the new darkness enveloping the closet.
Relena didn?t notice when the door was opened and the fire flared back to life because of the fresh air. She couldn?t feel the coolness freeze her fevered body. It was a complete shock to her when strong arms lifted her from the floor, and quickly carried her out of the torture chamber she had been locked in.
?Heero.? She murmured, coughing and gagging now that she could breathe. A paramedic put an oxygen mask on her lower face and checked her vital signs. He looked towards the man who had rescued the Foreign Minister.
Duo shook his head, reaching down to hold Relena?s hand and let her have her fantasies for a little while longer.
It would become realistically, and painfully obvious when she woke up tomorrow that her ideal hero had failed her.
________________________________________________________
Hot.
Molten breath wisped over her skin, leaving a trail of quivering muscles and condensing flesh. It felt too hot to breathe, and her throat closed in response, as if it were trying to keep her lungs from burning. And yet, she was smouldering from the inside out. Her eyes watered, and throat quenched with thirst, a beautiful irony to die by.
Fire licked over the edge of the metal hazard tub, burning her eyes as well as the contents. Heat radiated like a pulse of a quickened heart. Her eyes burned from the fumes and the sharp edge of light in the small closet.
It was a hands-off form of torture.
Relena knew she had to be worried about the huge toxic sign caressing the curves of the metal drum, but as the smoke blanketed the room in an opaque fog, she was more apprehensive of carbon monoxide poisoning. In this day and age, everything was fireproof and not many people were aware of, let alone died of, fire-related tragedies since the war. She had practically no worries of burning to death, but she knew she?d die anyway.
Her wrists were slick from sweat and the blood oozing from her raw skin. Still, she shifted her hands together with the hope of loosening the ropes which bound her. Coughing, she burrowed her face into the damp cotton of her shirt, trying to remain alive as long as possible. Her head beat in tempo with the flames and the pounding of her own heart.
She pressed her body against the cooler cement floor of the chamber.
Ice.
Her slick body grated coarsely over the floor. She whimpered under the scream of the raging fire and she didn?t know if it was out of pain or gratitude. Her skin was scraped raw from pressing against the cement, and the salt of her sweat and tears burned more painful than the fire.
This was a very twentieth century way to die.
Jagged fingers gripped her lungs, and she struggled to breathe. The room spun, reminding her of the time her tea was poisoned.
She was going to pass out soon.
The heat oozed over her flesh, rolling and compressing until she welcomed the touch of sleep. She felt as if her life-energy was being burned as well as the fire. She was so weary of fighting sleep. She couldn?t see, she couldn?t breathe, she couldn?t think, she could not hope for rescue.
Why would anyone want to kill her like this?
Relena took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from sobbing. The foul air entered her lungs, making her head feel disembodied and her stomach violently clench. She jerked to her side, dirt from the floor clinging to her skin, and viciously threw up. Everything went black for a moment. She curled into a ball, somehow avoiding her own bodily fluids, and tried to cradle herself into oblivion.
She just had to hold on for a little while longer. Heero would come.
He always saved her in the end.
The air in the enclosed chamber was saturated with smoke. Every gulp of air she managed to inhale into her lungs was slowly killing her. She could no longer see the fire. She could barely see her own hand in the new darkness enveloping the closet.
Relena didn?t notice when the door was opened and the fire flared back to life because of the fresh air. She couldn?t feel the coolness freeze her fevered body. It was a complete shock to her when strong arms lifted her from the floor, and quickly carried her out of the torture chamber she had been locked in.
?Heero.? She murmured, coughing and gagging now that she could breathe. A paramedic put an oxygen mask on her lower face and checked her vital signs. He looked towards the man who had rescued the Foreign Minister.
Duo shook his head, reaching down to hold Relena?s hand and let her have her fantasies for a little while longer.
It would become realistically, and painfully obvious when she woke up tomorrow that her ideal hero had failed her.
