These keep making me want to write horror stories. I don't have tiiiiimmmmeeeee.
***
There's no other way.
The trees are blackened and embers are still sputtering out on the ground. Smoke's obscuring the air and filling Charles' lungs, but the way he came in has already disappeared behind him. The only way to go is forward, even though the ash and smoke and stench are suffocating.
"You can do this," he says to himself, as if saying the words will make them more true, as if hearing them will make him believe them.
There's something on the other side. Through the orange glow that promises more flames, through the smoke obscuring the path, Charles can sense something. It's not a mind, not like any mind he's ever felt before, at least. It's a... it's a....
Whatever it is, it makes him sick if he concentrates on it for too long, makes him shudder and shake and goddammit, he can do this. Someone needs to find the children, someone needs to find Erik and he's the only one left and he can manage. He can. He's more than just an academic, more than the rumpled professor he looks like. He's capable and he's strong and every second he can feel the echo of Erik's mind far on the other side of the smoke is a second too long.
"I can do this," Charles says out loud again. "I can--Erik, I'm coming." He can't speak to Erik in his mind and he knows that saying the words here, alone, with nothing behind him and who knows what in front of him means nothing, but he needs the words. He needs the certainty. "I promise, I'm coming," he says, "please just... hold on. Please hold on."
Three deep, measured breaths and he takes his first step into the charred husk of the woods.
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Date: 2011-11-19 02:16 am (UTC)***
There's no other way.
The trees are blackened and embers are still sputtering out on the ground. Smoke's obscuring the air and filling Charles' lungs, but the way he came in has already disappeared behind him. The only way to go is forward, even though the ash and smoke and stench are suffocating.
"You can do this," he says to himself, as if saying the words will make them more true, as if hearing them will make him believe them.
There's something on the other side. Through the orange glow that promises more flames, through the smoke obscuring the path, Charles can sense something. It's not a mind, not like any mind he's ever felt before, at least. It's a... it's a....
Whatever it is, it makes him sick if he concentrates on it for too long, makes him shudder and shake and goddammit, he can do this. Someone needs to find the children, someone needs to find Erik and he's the only one left and he can manage. He can. He's more than just an academic, more than the rumpled professor he looks like. He's capable and he's strong and every second he can feel the echo of Erik's mind far on the other side of the smoke is a second too long.
"I can do this," Charles says out loud again. "I can--Erik, I'm coming." He can't speak to Erik in his mind and he knows that saying the words here, alone, with nothing behind him and who knows what in front of him means nothing, but he needs the words. He needs the certainty. "I promise, I'm coming," he says, "please just... hold on. Please hold on."
Three deep, measured breaths and he takes his first step into the charred husk of the woods.