Intertwined Singularities
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Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
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565
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Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
565
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Intertwined Singularities
Author's Note: First story from a little series of mine. The narcissistic author would appreciate any comments you might have. ^^
Intertwined Singularities
I.There was a Man who used to Die
Prologue
Jack Amsters’ POV
He felt a cold, damp cloth on his forehead. Some drips of water had gotten on his eyelids and dripped down his face. It hurt so much. When did the pain become so agonizing that it could not even numb him, anymore? If only he could catch his breath. If only it would be as easy as that. Like a child throwing away a crumpled piece of paper. It even worked in the beginning, crumpling away the pain and locking it in a deep corner of his mind. But now, he couldn't even do that. He was too stunned to even want to try to flex his fingers. And he felt really stupid too for the mess he had caused… He should have listened to what Jethro said and he usually did, he usually paid attention to the warnings. Hell, he didn’t even need someone to direct him in the good direction, he knew it, oh so well…. Yet, yesterday apparently he didn’t. Was he too out of it to acknowledge what he was doing, had he inhaled too much of that thing and overdosed? He couldn’t tell… he didn’t feel any other way after taking the dose… And his mind was still too fogged to distinguish heads from tail. But he must’ve been really disconnected to pull such a stupid thing… So rash, so childish… If he didn’t already tried it, he would kill himself…. Just for the sake of doing it right, this time.
He would die alright. He felt like he was dying yesterday as well and maybe he did, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy it. That Prerogative. Of Trial and Error how he nicknamed it. And to sweeten things, now he needed to do it four more times…. To die, that is. As if once wasn’t nearly enough but he screwed up and now, he had to pay a couple of times folded. He would scream if his larynx wasn’t so pierced. His esophagus felt like molten wax had just been poured down and he still could taste blood. God, his imagination was a bit too morbid for his taste, right now and there was still the matter of opening his eyes which felt sown closed and sealed with lead. Sleep sounded like a nice notion but for the amount of pain that kept him from one seizure racking his body to another…. Forget the convulsions, he could keep up with them, the Clonus movements though, were a totally different story.
Obviously, being on the verge of dying was far worse that being stone cold… Even if it was only going to be for five minutes. The Supervisor was going to be very upset. The Supervisor who felt responsible for the three of them. Because it was her fault. She was the one who involved them in this in the first place. Or so she led herself to believe… How long ago had it been? He lost track of the mortal years soon enough after he figured what he had become. It upset him so much when that lady - Chrysler, was it - told him. That he slashed his wrists in disbelief and when he saw what happened, after... he did again and again and again till Jethro had to dislocate his shoulder to get the goddamned blade away. Jethro’s words, not his. To say that he was shocked it was a mildly way to put it. He didn’t cry but he definitely punched the wall to the point of bleeding and afterwards had to deal for months with broken knuckles. If he’d asked her, Valentine would have obliged and fixed him. But he did not want it. The fact that she stayed with him, tied up to the bed, harmless constrains subduing him, was enough. All those day that she tenderly caressed his smashed hands, were just enough.
But now, when there was even lesser time to begin with than it was the day before yesterday, she’d have to help. If he still wanted…. Which he did, no question. He would not let the Twenty-ninth prevail. It sounded lame but it did wonders for his morale. The Structures from the Ekasia Classification were in direct connection with this particular one and truth be told, he rattled it so to speak… At this moment he could not even tell what triggered it. He would have to try and strain his memory which he was quite impaired at the moment, to do. And Jethro’s fuming was not very encouraging, either. He maybe was a tad amnesic but he could clearly hear, across the room, the sound of flipping pages from a book. He wanted him to stop, the rumor was starting to be aggravating but he could not. Even though he felt his arms, he could not even budge a finger, nor could he blink or make some pain-induced pathetic whimper.
Yet Salvation proves to be his Tinker Bell because he hears a soft knock and the door opening. Valentine has come and she will kiss the pain away. At least for now. She used to be the girl next door, with grey eyes that would resonate with her surroundings, catching in the iris, glimpses of the different nuances. Or so he thought. She wasn’t like them. She had that quality of hers from before getting involved in this mess - when left was still left and one could walk across an intersection without having to fear that you will fall in an abyss of sorts. Back then, there still was a sun and its rays would poke him in the eyes each morning… Back, when he was normal and dreamed every night of dying. …. But Valentine had a different feeling to her and she always watched him with sorrowful eyes camouflaged by a veil of kindness as if she empathized with what was to come… Who knows how she got to live “next door” and what’s the thing that mingles with her blood and bleeds from her fingernails when she does what she does….
It’s easy to get fooled by the appearance. At first one would think that she’s a healer but at a closer look he’d notice something else. He would notice that instead of taking it away, Valentine uses the pain to its entire potential…. Like pulling a tooth out without anesthesia where there’s a peak of pain and then it’s all blank. And for a while, all seems to be alright though in realty it’s far from over. In a way, one could say that she postpones the suffering as far as mortals or at least what used to be considered mortal, goes. Which is a short amount, of course. What she does with the other ones when she’s wandering wherever she’s wondering, remains far beyond his comprehension skills.
“It’s bothering him.”
“…”
“Don’t be like this.”
She’s scowling him while taking a sit at the table where upon it are laying piles of books, an untouched plate of food and shards from a broken glass. The wary man is sulking, his fist is covered in a blood stained cloth, the unbuttoned shirt is also stained. He’d stopped rummaging though the books and now he frowns. They weren’t kids when this started, they weren’t kids now yet neither of them could stop himself from acting irrationally from time to time.
“Don’t defend him.” The whisper’s harsh and cold and he really doesn’t feel up to listen to a lecture. “He’s a drug addict went on a rampage.” That’s not the truth and they both know it. The stuff the Supervisor gave, helps with the pain and yes, he knows that’s what all the addicts say but does Jethro need to rub it in? Acting all warmed up like that? Wasn’t he the one with the “No strings attached” policy? Oh right, moments of faltering are not for the ones like him. He doesn’t have that in his DNA sequel. When he was conceived, the nucleotide with “Feelings” was partially skipped. In both of them, might he add. He was no better either. They never seemed to intersect with the cliché, right moment.
“And how are you helping by acting like this?”
“I brought him back, didn’t I?”Indeed, what more could he ask from him. He was already overly demanding as he was now. Better cut the misfortune by its roots, isn’t that how the saying goes? “Fix him. The idiot fractured his spine.” He figured that much, when he hit the ground he felt searing pain in his left ankle that now was conveniently missing.
“Pardon me? Jethro snap out of it.” Why is it that he knows her eyes are watering but she refrains herself so well that if he could he’d tell Jethro something that will try not to border on the lines of queasiness. Yet he can’t spur more on this idea because he feels her touching his chest, his shoulder, and at the same time feels him pressing a hand down, lightly. Her hands staggers as if undecided and stops at the base of his neck, grasping it with the tips of her fingers…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’s groggy – a combination of different aftereffects, he figures. And he can finally open his eyes. He’s thirsty and he feels a certain face resting on his palm. The face’s unshaved but otherwise nice to feel. It’s warm and that’s something he hasn’t felt in a while. He clears his throat and feels that face begins to stir.
“She left, already?” He asks and is surprised to hear his voice. So authentic, he’d imagine it hoarse, after the ordeal his throat has been through.
“Already was two and a half days ago, Amsters.” That much had passed already? And there were left how many hours? Around thirty or so? He raised his head and now he’s facing him. He notices the eyes dulled and fogged with the remains of the night. “Lucens said that if you’re able, she’d like to see you. See us. I think you gave her an ulcer. Shhh, not a word from you. Lets leave it like this.” Not much to add there and whatever he’d try to say, would come out wrong and silly and totally unlike him. So he rises from the bed, certifies one more his bearings and looks for something to wear.
“I’ll go take a shower and then we can leave.”
TBC
Intertwined Singularities
I.There was a Man who used to Die
Prologue
Jack Amsters’ POV
He felt a cold, damp cloth on his forehead. Some drips of water had gotten on his eyelids and dripped down his face. It hurt so much. When did the pain become so agonizing that it could not even numb him, anymore? If only he could catch his breath. If only it would be as easy as that. Like a child throwing away a crumpled piece of paper. It even worked in the beginning, crumpling away the pain and locking it in a deep corner of his mind. But now, he couldn't even do that. He was too stunned to even want to try to flex his fingers. And he felt really stupid too for the mess he had caused… He should have listened to what Jethro said and he usually did, he usually paid attention to the warnings. Hell, he didn’t even need someone to direct him in the good direction, he knew it, oh so well…. Yet, yesterday apparently he didn’t. Was he too out of it to acknowledge what he was doing, had he inhaled too much of that thing and overdosed? He couldn’t tell… he didn’t feel any other way after taking the dose… And his mind was still too fogged to distinguish heads from tail. But he must’ve been really disconnected to pull such a stupid thing… So rash, so childish… If he didn’t already tried it, he would kill himself…. Just for the sake of doing it right, this time.
He would die alright. He felt like he was dying yesterday as well and maybe he did, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy it. That Prerogative. Of Trial and Error how he nicknamed it. And to sweeten things, now he needed to do it four more times…. To die, that is. As if once wasn’t nearly enough but he screwed up and now, he had to pay a couple of times folded. He would scream if his larynx wasn’t so pierced. His esophagus felt like molten wax had just been poured down and he still could taste blood. God, his imagination was a bit too morbid for his taste, right now and there was still the matter of opening his eyes which felt sown closed and sealed with lead. Sleep sounded like a nice notion but for the amount of pain that kept him from one seizure racking his body to another…. Forget the convulsions, he could keep up with them, the Clonus movements though, were a totally different story.
Obviously, being on the verge of dying was far worse that being stone cold… Even if it was only going to be for five minutes. The Supervisor was going to be very upset. The Supervisor who felt responsible for the three of them. Because it was her fault. She was the one who involved them in this in the first place. Or so she led herself to believe… How long ago had it been? He lost track of the mortal years soon enough after he figured what he had become. It upset him so much when that lady - Chrysler, was it - told him. That he slashed his wrists in disbelief and when he saw what happened, after... he did again and again and again till Jethro had to dislocate his shoulder to get the goddamned blade away. Jethro’s words, not his. To say that he was shocked it was a mildly way to put it. He didn’t cry but he definitely punched the wall to the point of bleeding and afterwards had to deal for months with broken knuckles. If he’d asked her, Valentine would have obliged and fixed him. But he did not want it. The fact that she stayed with him, tied up to the bed, harmless constrains subduing him, was enough. All those day that she tenderly caressed his smashed hands, were just enough.
But now, when there was even lesser time to begin with than it was the day before yesterday, she’d have to help. If he still wanted…. Which he did, no question. He would not let the Twenty-ninth prevail. It sounded lame but it did wonders for his morale. The Structures from the Ekasia Classification were in direct connection with this particular one and truth be told, he rattled it so to speak… At this moment he could not even tell what triggered it. He would have to try and strain his memory which he was quite impaired at the moment, to do. And Jethro’s fuming was not very encouraging, either. He maybe was a tad amnesic but he could clearly hear, across the room, the sound of flipping pages from a book. He wanted him to stop, the rumor was starting to be aggravating but he could not. Even though he felt his arms, he could not even budge a finger, nor could he blink or make some pain-induced pathetic whimper.
Yet Salvation proves to be his Tinker Bell because he hears a soft knock and the door opening. Valentine has come and she will kiss the pain away. At least for now. She used to be the girl next door, with grey eyes that would resonate with her surroundings, catching in the iris, glimpses of the different nuances. Or so he thought. She wasn’t like them. She had that quality of hers from before getting involved in this mess - when left was still left and one could walk across an intersection without having to fear that you will fall in an abyss of sorts. Back then, there still was a sun and its rays would poke him in the eyes each morning… Back, when he was normal and dreamed every night of dying. …. But Valentine had a different feeling to her and she always watched him with sorrowful eyes camouflaged by a veil of kindness as if she empathized with what was to come… Who knows how she got to live “next door” and what’s the thing that mingles with her blood and bleeds from her fingernails when she does what she does….
It’s easy to get fooled by the appearance. At first one would think that she’s a healer but at a closer look he’d notice something else. He would notice that instead of taking it away, Valentine uses the pain to its entire potential…. Like pulling a tooth out without anesthesia where there’s a peak of pain and then it’s all blank. And for a while, all seems to be alright though in realty it’s far from over. In a way, one could say that she postpones the suffering as far as mortals or at least what used to be considered mortal, goes. Which is a short amount, of course. What she does with the other ones when she’s wandering wherever she’s wondering, remains far beyond his comprehension skills.
“It’s bothering him.”
“…”
“Don’t be like this.”
She’s scowling him while taking a sit at the table where upon it are laying piles of books, an untouched plate of food and shards from a broken glass. The wary man is sulking, his fist is covered in a blood stained cloth, the unbuttoned shirt is also stained. He’d stopped rummaging though the books and now he frowns. They weren’t kids when this started, they weren’t kids now yet neither of them could stop himself from acting irrationally from time to time.
“Don’t defend him.” The whisper’s harsh and cold and he really doesn’t feel up to listen to a lecture. “He’s a drug addict went on a rampage.” That’s not the truth and they both know it. The stuff the Supervisor gave, helps with the pain and yes, he knows that’s what all the addicts say but does Jethro need to rub it in? Acting all warmed up like that? Wasn’t he the one with the “No strings attached” policy? Oh right, moments of faltering are not for the ones like him. He doesn’t have that in his DNA sequel. When he was conceived, the nucleotide with “Feelings” was partially skipped. In both of them, might he add. He was no better either. They never seemed to intersect with the cliché, right moment.
“And how are you helping by acting like this?”
“I brought him back, didn’t I?”Indeed, what more could he ask from him. He was already overly demanding as he was now. Better cut the misfortune by its roots, isn’t that how the saying goes? “Fix him. The idiot fractured his spine.” He figured that much, when he hit the ground he felt searing pain in his left ankle that now was conveniently missing.
“Pardon me? Jethro snap out of it.” Why is it that he knows her eyes are watering but she refrains herself so well that if he could he’d tell Jethro something that will try not to border on the lines of queasiness. Yet he can’t spur more on this idea because he feels her touching his chest, his shoulder, and at the same time feels him pressing a hand down, lightly. Her hands staggers as if undecided and stops at the base of his neck, grasping it with the tips of her fingers…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’s groggy – a combination of different aftereffects, he figures. And he can finally open his eyes. He’s thirsty and he feels a certain face resting on his palm. The face’s unshaved but otherwise nice to feel. It’s warm and that’s something he hasn’t felt in a while. He clears his throat and feels that face begins to stir.
“She left, already?” He asks and is surprised to hear his voice. So authentic, he’d imagine it hoarse, after the ordeal his throat has been through.
“Already was two and a half days ago, Amsters.” That much had passed already? And there were left how many hours? Around thirty or so? He raised his head and now he’s facing him. He notices the eyes dulled and fogged with the remains of the night. “Lucens said that if you’re able, she’d like to see you. See us. I think you gave her an ulcer. Shhh, not a word from you. Lets leave it like this.” Not much to add there and whatever he’d try to say, would come out wrong and silly and totally unlike him. So he rises from the bed, certifies one more his bearings and looks for something to wear.
“I’ll go take a shower and then we can leave.”
TBC