๐ฒ๐พ๐ป. ๐๐ฐ๐๐บ๐ธ๐ฝ๐ธ๐ด๐ฝ, ๐ฟ. (๐๐ด๐.) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
militaryson) wrote2025-09-27 01:23 pm
militaryson) wrote2025-09-27 01:23 pm
(no subject)
All he can do now is desperately fight to catch his breath, chest rising and falling fast and uneven, and moan through bared teeth every time the pain surges anew, travelling from snapped wrist to shoulderblade like an electric shock that burns out everything in its path. Nothing has ever hurt so much in Peter Sarkinien's thirty years of life. Itโs a kind of pain he hadnโt been able to truly conceptualize before now, even having heard anecdotes about the screaming agony of childbirth, and as every second passes he's sure heโs unable to bear one more without simply dying or losing consciousness, and then the next one comes anyway, and he thinks the same thing again, legs sticking out rigid and shaking, heels grinding against the hard, dusty earthen floor, fingernails of the hand he can still move digging into the arm of the chair until they bend.
His captors havenโt done anything for the wound, and only occasionally glance in his direction as they huddle off to the side of the room and discuss with folded arms. The hood only came off five minutes ago, or maybe ten. Itโs impossible to gauge the passing of time when the pain keeps him from thinking coherently at all.
I killed their friend. They're going to let me die here. I can't die here.
He opens his eyes. His resolve crumples, and the shame at his own cowardice isnโt enough to keep him from speaking the words heโs spent ten years without so much as whispering:
His captors havenโt done anything for the wound, and only occasionally glance in his direction as they huddle off to the side of the room and discuss with folded arms. The hood only came off five minutes ago, or maybe ten. Itโs impossible to gauge the passing of time when the pain keeps him from thinking coherently at all.
I killed their friend. They're going to let me die here. I can't die here.
He opens his eyes. His resolve crumples, and the shame at his own cowardice isnโt enough to keep him from speaking the words heโs spent ten years without so much as whispering:
"Please. Help me. I'm Admiral Sarkinien's son." Peter swallows dryly and attempts to meet the Twi'lek's eyes. The tears overrun their levee. "I want to live."