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jace_barret: Theme, "Monotonous Life"
Might need to read http://ghostpunque.wordpress.com to geddit though. =\
Morning
Finnegan's alarm rings, and his hand sweeps over the button before the buzzing wakes up Master. Master gets grumpy when he doesn't get his eight hours' sleep, and a grumpy Master means Finnegan's right eye will be bashed in with the Master's coffee cup. It won't do to lose another eye so soon; sight is important for chores. He touches his left eyelid carefully to see if yesterday's swelling has subsided. A sharp pain; his hand jerks back. Perhaps putting away the ice pack to refreeze wasn't the best idea. He makes a note to make a second ice pack.
He grabs his toothbrush, and bares his teeth to his reflection. The gap between his incisor and canine doesn’t look so bad as long as his mouth isn't open too wide. He squints for a better look with his good eye – is a stub of a new tooth? Master will be pleased to know he regenerates fast; that should put him in a bit of a good mood today.
Finnegan sets the eggs onto a plate when Master shuffles in. He wishes him good morning while he pours a cup of coffee. Master asks, "How's your eye?" Finnegan nods and says that it's getting better, although he needs to get the icepack soon. His Master glances at the steaming cup while Finnegan rushes to fetch the newspaper. When he returns, Master mentions that the coffee has grown cold – he never tolerates slothfulness. Finnegan insists that the coffee is just right; Master thinks they should test his claim and throws the coffee into Finnegan's face. Neither of them are right as Finnegan screams from the hot beverage scalding his bruised, swollen eye. He runs to the sink; the rustling of Master's newspaper is drowned out by the running water.
Afternoon
The afternoon sun makes everything too bright, so Finnegan closes all but an inch of the window. That way his swollen, scalded eyes can open a little wider but the room's bright enough to make sure he's bandaging his toes properly. He knows he should go to a doctor and have it looked over, but it's hard to walk out of the house when one foot is broken and the other has its toenails pulled out.
He leans closer to get a better view of the courtyard below: several figures in black uniforms walk briskly to Parliament, the clock tower standing tall behind a large clump of trees. With Master out of the house, at least his toes can heal. Master shouldn't mind if he uses the coat hangers lying around as a splint for the other foot – it's not like Master hangs his clothes anyway. The toes will grow back by dinner, provided Master doesn't step on them.
Finnegan looks back on his days in the military academy, and remembers how often he was told that Master created him and Master is God, therefore God's orders are absolute. He swore to use his skills to protect God as long as He lives, but it's hard when God slams your fingers into a door and you can't grip bandages well enough to wrap a toe, let alone fire a gun.
Sometimes Finnegan reminisces, but his broken, twisted fingers gets entangled in his toes and the pain jolts him back to attention with a yelp and a quick check to make sure nothing's fallen off.
It's never any less painful.
Evening
Finnegan listens to Master pore over his notes while dabbing the ice pack over and around his eyes. The cold sensation soothes him, and the pain in his stomach will subside provided he keeps breathing. It would be easier if he could curl on his side, but Master says you should lie flat on your back when you have broken ribs – the bones won't stab into your flesh, and you can be up and about by tomorrow.
Tonight is different – Master is preparing for a presentation, so He doesn't have time to kick Finnegan in the head. Finnegan doesn't mind, since the blades of the ceiling fan no longer have double outlines. He indulges his optimism – he should be able to wear glasses again soon. He wriggles his toes and the bandages loosen. He sees a pink sheen – a hint of a toenail? – but he's not sure.
Master's smooth, gentle reassurance pierces Finnegan's haze of pain: I saved only you when your world burned, and thus you must serve Me to repay My grace. I am your God, and I cause grievous bodily harm because you are My creation, and I have given you the power of regeneration that nobody has. Only through injury can you fully appreciate God's gift and My divinity, and you should be thankful a thousand times over that you experience My blessing. Finnegan, the day you cease to feel pain is the day I forsake you.
Finnegan knows he should be happy Master breaks and punches and kicks and scalds him every day, but a swollen face and indescribably awful sensations coursing down one's spine really makes it hard to smile and be thankful.
Master pinches the bridge of his nose, then retires to his bedroom. On the way, he grabs Finnegan's bony wrist and yanks him up. The ice pack falls to the ground with a squelch and the makeshift splints scrape against the wooden floorboards as Master drags Finnegan, and tosses him into the bed. Master doesn't do anything else; He mumbles, "Tomorrow's another day," and turns off the lights, leaving Finnegan alone for the night.
And so it goes on.
jace_barret: Theme, "Monotonous Life"Might need to read http://ghostpunque.wordpress.com to geddit though. =\
Morning
Finnegan's alarm rings, and his hand sweeps over the button before the buzzing wakes up Master. Master gets grumpy when he doesn't get his eight hours' sleep, and a grumpy Master means Finnegan's right eye will be bashed in with the Master's coffee cup. It won't do to lose another eye so soon; sight is important for chores. He touches his left eyelid carefully to see if yesterday's swelling has subsided. A sharp pain; his hand jerks back. Perhaps putting away the ice pack to refreeze wasn't the best idea. He makes a note to make a second ice pack.
He grabs his toothbrush, and bares his teeth to his reflection. The gap between his incisor and canine doesn’t look so bad as long as his mouth isn't open too wide. He squints for a better look with his good eye – is a stub of a new tooth? Master will be pleased to know he regenerates fast; that should put him in a bit of a good mood today.
Finnegan sets the eggs onto a plate when Master shuffles in. He wishes him good morning while he pours a cup of coffee. Master asks, "How's your eye?" Finnegan nods and says that it's getting better, although he needs to get the icepack soon. His Master glances at the steaming cup while Finnegan rushes to fetch the newspaper. When he returns, Master mentions that the coffee has grown cold – he never tolerates slothfulness. Finnegan insists that the coffee is just right; Master thinks they should test his claim and throws the coffee into Finnegan's face. Neither of them are right as Finnegan screams from the hot beverage scalding his bruised, swollen eye. He runs to the sink; the rustling of Master's newspaper is drowned out by the running water.
Afternoon
The afternoon sun makes everything too bright, so Finnegan closes all but an inch of the window. That way his swollen, scalded eyes can open a little wider but the room's bright enough to make sure he's bandaging his toes properly. He knows he should go to a doctor and have it looked over, but it's hard to walk out of the house when one foot is broken and the other has its toenails pulled out.
He leans closer to get a better view of the courtyard below: several figures in black uniforms walk briskly to Parliament, the clock tower standing tall behind a large clump of trees. With Master out of the house, at least his toes can heal. Master shouldn't mind if he uses the coat hangers lying around as a splint for the other foot – it's not like Master hangs his clothes anyway. The toes will grow back by dinner, provided Master doesn't step on them.
Finnegan looks back on his days in the military academy, and remembers how often he was told that Master created him and Master is God, therefore God's orders are absolute. He swore to use his skills to protect God as long as He lives, but it's hard when God slams your fingers into a door and you can't grip bandages well enough to wrap a toe, let alone fire a gun.
Sometimes Finnegan reminisces, but his broken, twisted fingers gets entangled in his toes and the pain jolts him back to attention with a yelp and a quick check to make sure nothing's fallen off.
It's never any less painful.
Evening
Finnegan listens to Master pore over his notes while dabbing the ice pack over and around his eyes. The cold sensation soothes him, and the pain in his stomach will subside provided he keeps breathing. It would be easier if he could curl on his side, but Master says you should lie flat on your back when you have broken ribs – the bones won't stab into your flesh, and you can be up and about by tomorrow.
Tonight is different – Master is preparing for a presentation, so He doesn't have time to kick Finnegan in the head. Finnegan doesn't mind, since the blades of the ceiling fan no longer have double outlines. He indulges his optimism – he should be able to wear glasses again soon. He wriggles his toes and the bandages loosen. He sees a pink sheen – a hint of a toenail? – but he's not sure.
Master's smooth, gentle reassurance pierces Finnegan's haze of pain: I saved only you when your world burned, and thus you must serve Me to repay My grace. I am your God, and I cause grievous bodily harm because you are My creation, and I have given you the power of regeneration that nobody has. Only through injury can you fully appreciate God's gift and My divinity, and you should be thankful a thousand times over that you experience My blessing. Finnegan, the day you cease to feel pain is the day I forsake you.
Finnegan knows he should be happy Master breaks and punches and kicks and scalds him every day, but a swollen face and indescribably awful sensations coursing down one's spine really makes it hard to smile and be thankful.
Master pinches the bridge of his nose, then retires to his bedroom. On the way, he grabs Finnegan's bony wrist and yanks him up. The ice pack falls to the ground with a squelch and the makeshift splints scrape against the wooden floorboards as Master drags Finnegan, and tosses him into the bed. Master doesn't do anything else; He mumbles, "Tomorrow's another day," and turns off the lights, leaving Finnegan alone for the night.
And so it goes on.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 03:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-05 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-06 02:47 am (UTC)indeed scary ....
no subject
Date: 2007-03-06 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-07 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-13 10:59 am (UTC)"is a stub of a new tooth?" - shouldn't it be "is *that* a stub of a new tooth?
"the other has its toenails pulled out" - the other has *had* (or just had) its toenails...
"Sometimes Finnegan reminisces, but his broken, twisted fingers gets entangled..." - Just not sure about this sentence. You say that sometimes he reminisces but then move on to the current situation. Maybe you could change it to something like "but *then* his broken..." ? Just a thought.
I can't say I love the feel of the story, but that is purely due to its macabre content. The fact that you've convey it means you did a great job =)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-13 04:10 pm (UTC)"Sometimes Finnegan reminisces, but his broken, twisted fingers gets entangled..." - Just not sure about this sentence. You say that sometimes he reminisces but then move on to the current situation. Maybe you could change it to something like "but *then* his broken..." ? Just a thought.
It's more like the pain distracts him, so I'll need to find a way to express it better.
Sorry it's not quite up your alley, but I suppose it reflects my mood these days. ^^