http://noh-dancer.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
noh-dancer.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2006-10-01 02:41 pm
noh-dancer.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-10-01 02:41 pm
Log: Complete
When; No-when ( dream time)
Rating; PG-13 for violence and implied sexual situations.
Characters;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
noh_dancer Scarab, red_horror Pyramid Head
Summary; A nightmare, and a message
Log;
Running, always running.
Can't stop.
Her hand is agian a mess of torn flesh, splintered bone, and pain.
Her lungs are burning, begging for oxygen.
Can't stop. Can't stop running...if I stop, he'll catch me.
Turning a corner, she is forced to stop for a dead end.
Buildings without windows bar her way, and before her is the cathedral's wall.
The rebar is there. The wings are already painted. All that is missing...is her.
Agian her legs give out and she drops to her knees, staring up at the empty bars,
the blood that is slowly winding it's way in droplets down the wall.
Even the ground is splashed with blood, all spreading out from the bars, the wings, the wall...
It is silent except for her labored breathing...She is alone in this place...alone with her horror.
Until a sound grates the silence.
A halting, mettalic sound.
Sorrow turned to guilt, now turns to fear, and she looks behind her to see the red judge.
He is leaning down, grabbing her by the collar of her suit...raising the knife.
She closes her eyes in desperation, and with the shift of startling clarity; realizes.
This is a dream!
Yes. A dream
The second voice is not a voice, not even a sound.
It is a feeling. At once chilling and searing hot that burns through her mind.
She opens her eyes, but the monster is still frozen in place.
What do you want from me!? Leave me alone!!
She flinches when the monster moves. A small sound of terror when it drives the great knife into the concrete just inches from her head.
Then the massive hand, now freed of it's weapon, is gripping the edge of the helmet.
The edge is sharpened, because she sees the rusty blood of the thing well up and drop almost in chunks
to join the red liquid she kneels in.
She can feel a scream rising, but it is caught in her throat, as screaming often does in dreams.
The helmet drops to the ground with a hollow mettalic sound.
I want what you want. I am you.
She shakes her head in a weak denial of the evidence her eyes see.
The thing's face is hers. Or rather, a grisly parody of her own mask.
The elegant black lines are no longer curved, now they show as jagged points and angles,
the mouth is not artfully decorated in red, it is devoid of color, and there are tiny nails that hold
strips of leather over it; Sewing it shut.
There are no eyes, only dark holes that glint wetly in the wane light, blood trails down the white cheeks,
crossing the black lines.
Through all the disgust and horror a tiny piece of her mind registered the matted brown hair that fell in bloodied chunks across the mask.
Unintentionally the words of the great libraries' books returned to her, and this small proof that this monster was once human helped her retain a measure of sanity.
Now the monster is leaning foreward, and instinctivly she is leaning back, pulling at the massive fingers
that hold her collar in a steel-vice-like grip.
It comes as a surprise when her back hits the pavement, but also makes her fight all the harder.
Desperately she lashes out, kicking and using her good hand to try and dig her fingers into the radial
nerve; to try and get free.
A groaning dry rattle that could have once been laughter echoes in her mind, and the monster moves to catch her left wrist in his free hand, pinning it over her head.
Her hair is sticking to her face in wet strands, but she bares her teeth and tries to kick the thing where a human would have genetalia.
The laughter stops, and a hard knee presses between her thighs to pin her effectively.
She freezes and instantly feels sick. This...this thing now had her in a very compromising position,
and there was nothing she could do.
Come on, Keico, Wake. Up!
The rattle returns, and the monster slowly leans closer until the masks' nose is near touching hers.
Only you can cut your shackles
She turns her face away from it's, but the holes in it's head hold her eyes to them.
But I can always find you. Always...Always...Always...
Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to block out the horror.
WAKE UP!
With a shout she sits straight up, and subsequently falls off the couch she had been sleeping on.
The jolt of her knee hitting the floor wakes her up the rest of the way, and panting she slumps back
to lean agianst the cushions.
Just a dream.
Just a dream
Rating; PG-13 for violence and implied sexual situations.
Characters;
noh_dancer Scarab, red_horror Pyramid HeadSummary; A nightmare, and a message
Log;
Running, always running.
Can't stop.
Her hand is agian a mess of torn flesh, splintered bone, and pain.
Her lungs are burning, begging for oxygen.
Can't stop. Can't stop running...if I stop, he'll catch me.
Turning a corner, she is forced to stop for a dead end.
Buildings without windows bar her way, and before her is the cathedral's wall.
The rebar is there. The wings are already painted. All that is missing...is her.
Agian her legs give out and she drops to her knees, staring up at the empty bars,
the blood that is slowly winding it's way in droplets down the wall.
Even the ground is splashed with blood, all spreading out from the bars, the wings, the wall...
It is silent except for her labored breathing...She is alone in this place...alone with her horror.
Until a sound grates the silence.
A halting, mettalic sound.
Sorrow turned to guilt, now turns to fear, and she looks behind her to see the red judge.
He is leaning down, grabbing her by the collar of her suit...raising the knife.
She closes her eyes in desperation, and with the shift of startling clarity; realizes.
This is a dream!
Yes. A dream
The second voice is not a voice, not even a sound.
It is a feeling. At once chilling and searing hot that burns through her mind.
She opens her eyes, but the monster is still frozen in place.
What do you want from me!? Leave me alone!!
She flinches when the monster moves. A small sound of terror when it drives the great knife into the concrete just inches from her head.
Then the massive hand, now freed of it's weapon, is gripping the edge of the helmet.
The edge is sharpened, because she sees the rusty blood of the thing well up and drop almost in chunks
to join the red liquid she kneels in.
She can feel a scream rising, but it is caught in her throat, as screaming often does in dreams.
The helmet drops to the ground with a hollow mettalic sound.
I want what you want. I am you.
She shakes her head in a weak denial of the evidence her eyes see.
The thing's face is hers. Or rather, a grisly parody of her own mask.
The elegant black lines are no longer curved, now they show as jagged points and angles,
the mouth is not artfully decorated in red, it is devoid of color, and there are tiny nails that hold
strips of leather over it; Sewing it shut.
There are no eyes, only dark holes that glint wetly in the wane light, blood trails down the white cheeks,
crossing the black lines.
Through all the disgust and horror a tiny piece of her mind registered the matted brown hair that fell in bloodied chunks across the mask.
Unintentionally the words of the great libraries' books returned to her, and this small proof that this monster was once human helped her retain a measure of sanity.
Now the monster is leaning foreward, and instinctivly she is leaning back, pulling at the massive fingers
that hold her collar in a steel-vice-like grip.
It comes as a surprise when her back hits the pavement, but also makes her fight all the harder.
Desperately she lashes out, kicking and using her good hand to try and dig her fingers into the radial
nerve; to try and get free.
A groaning dry rattle that could have once been laughter echoes in her mind, and the monster moves to catch her left wrist in his free hand, pinning it over her head.
Her hair is sticking to her face in wet strands, but she bares her teeth and tries to kick the thing where a human would have genetalia.
The laughter stops, and a hard knee presses between her thighs to pin her effectively.
She freezes and instantly feels sick. This...this thing now had her in a very compromising position,
and there was nothing she could do.
Come on, Keico, Wake. Up!
The rattle returns, and the monster slowly leans closer until the masks' nose is near touching hers.
Only you can cut your shackles
She turns her face away from it's, but the holes in it's head hold her eyes to them.
But I can always find you. Always...Always...Always...
Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to block out the horror.
WAKE UP!
With a shout she sits straight up, and subsequently falls off the couch she had been sleeping on.
The jolt of her knee hitting the floor wakes her up the rest of the way, and panting she slumps back
to lean agianst the cushions.
Just a dream.
Just a dream