herr_bookman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
herr_bookman) wrote2013-10-28 10:44 pm
herr_bookman) wrote2013-10-28 10:44 pm
Entry tags:
OOM: Conversations with Dead People I
help us
Autor can't explain why, but at the shadow beings' plaintive whispers, his heart jerks up into his throat.
A chair with broken legs sits empty in front of him, and a lighted chessboard--his side oriented to white--hovers on air. Suffocating, the boy scoots a pawn forward with his finger.
help us
help us help us help us
While running across the room, a toddler in a posh little sailor suit giggles--until Oswin's fire poker strikes it down. Autor screams himself hoarse, despite knowing that the creature was already dead.
Black's rook castles.
help us help us
An eyeless woman clutches his arm and he shrieks, raising his book--where is his book?--until she smiles at him beatifically. She kisses the part of his wrist where she'd once taken a chunk out with her teeth.
With a shaking hand, he hides behind his knight.
help us help us
help
A man sits in the chair, and while the boy never did learn his name, he knows him well. His blood is on Autor's carpet, his blazer, his hands.
"Hello," the man says, barely scratched, and counters Autor's knight with his bishop.
help us
Autor gags on the pungent odor; he hadn't noticed it until the man sat down. "You have to leave," the boy says, moving another pawn. "You'll turn soon. Don't worry, we have hypo-"
"You were too late," he says, smiling, as his skull crunches inward of its own accord.
Stunned, Autor sits back. "I'm... sorry."
"You tried."
help us
help us
"N-No, I killed you!" the boy sobs, gasping quick and ragged. "And I didn't mean... didn't want--"
"It's okay," the man says. "I forgive you."
Checkmate, via his queen. The man's head caves in like an overripe watermelon under Autor's phantom book. Autor watches transfixed and horrified as the dead thing slumps to the side and rolls off the chair, groaning.
help us help us help us help us help
"Help us," Urquhart whispers in the boy's ear. "We're so hungry."
Autor wakes, trembling and soaked in sweat. He rolls off his bed and retches, quietly sick.
Autor can't explain why, but at the shadow beings' plaintive whispers, his heart jerks up into his throat.
A chair with broken legs sits empty in front of him, and a lighted chessboard--his side oriented to white--hovers on air. Suffocating, the boy scoots a pawn forward with his finger.
help us
help us help us help us
While running across the room, a toddler in a posh little sailor suit giggles--until Oswin's fire poker strikes it down. Autor screams himself hoarse, despite knowing that the creature was already dead.
Black's rook castles.
help us help us
An eyeless woman clutches his arm and he shrieks, raising his book--where is his book?--until she smiles at him beatifically. She kisses the part of his wrist where she'd once taken a chunk out with her teeth.
With a shaking hand, he hides behind his knight.
help us help us
help
A man sits in the chair, and while the boy never did learn his name, he knows him well. His blood is on Autor's carpet, his blazer, his hands.
"Hello," the man says, barely scratched, and counters Autor's knight with his bishop.
help us
Autor gags on the pungent odor; he hadn't noticed it until the man sat down. "You have to leave," the boy says, moving another pawn. "You'll turn soon. Don't worry, we have hypo-"
"You were too late," he says, smiling, as his skull crunches inward of its own accord.
Stunned, Autor sits back. "I'm... sorry."
"You tried."
help us
help us
"N-No, I killed you!" the boy sobs, gasping quick and ragged. "And I didn't mean... didn't want--"
"It's okay," the man says. "I forgive you."
Checkmate, via his queen. The man's head caves in like an overripe watermelon under Autor's phantom book. Autor watches transfixed and horrified as the dead thing slumps to the side and rolls off the chair, groaning.
help us help us help us help us help
"Help us," Urquhart whispers in the boy's ear. "We're so hungry."
Autor wakes, trembling and soaked in sweat. He rolls off his bed and retches, quietly sick.