STATIC
It is static in his ears, grasping onto the corners and pouring into his head. It crackles and slithers and groans, it smothers the thrum of his heartbeat, the wild rush of his blood, rips the thin wiry thread of screaming in his head that goes on and on and on. It overwhelms his senses, the sharp pinpricks of static snarling in the corners of his eyes as her vision tunnels, plummets. It circles around Sanam's hand clamping on his shoulder and tugging him back, pushing him away. It shatters his vocal cords, thrumming with sound, and he realizes that noise is not just in his head.
Aahil is screaming.
The static keeps him safe. The static makes the blood fuzzy, makes it soft like the touch of a feather. It makes the ragged gashes look like papier-mch. It makes the sick scent turn into a rusty tang in his mouth, against his nose, dripping over his lips. It makes things look imaginative.
Imagination is more important than knowledge.
He imagines, then, that his Ammi sits up. Imagines that she turns to Aahil, smiling that sweet, curved grin of hers, the one that doesn't hide the shadows and skeletons in her soul, and reaches out. He imagines tucking into his Ammi's embrace, imagines inhaling the earthly scent of her hair, imagines the kiss on his forehead, imagines, imagines, imagines, don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop, don't let it stop. He imagines and knowledge slaps him with reality.
Thin nails dig into his skin and it's a warning. He doesn't care, fights against Sanam's hold, the static sneering up around his lips in a cry of fury. He pushes into Sanam's shoulders, weak with fear and death and nothing-nothing is left of him- daring her, calling her bluff. Sanam makes a noise against the nape of his neck, lips brushing the stubble of his jaw. "Be calm."
Be calm. He can't be calm. He wants to sink his teeth into someone's bones, wants to spill kerosene over the world and light the match; he wants to tear the ground apart, fill his fingers with blood and fire and fury. He screams and its static.
There are people now, people moving over him and through him. He's static, catching in the air, spilling out into the white spaces and filling them with agony. He's static, clawing at Sanam's hand on him- she wont let go- drawing blood, biting down hard on the rust in his mouth. He's static fighting forwards, sobs pulsing from his throat in the aftermath of his howl.
There's a gasp of air and its echoed throughout the washed wall, cutting through the pervading noise. Aahil screams, and the sound pushes back the static. People talking, machines beeping, the silence so missing that it feels like its own haunting presence. Aahil screams and his name answers him, breathed out on a soft, musical note. Sanam doesn't let him go. People crowd; press forward, their clothing like ghosts. The reapers have come and Aahil can only scream.
They part, momentarily, allowing him a glimpse of hope. A mask. An oxygen mask over his Ammi's mouth. He chest. He chest is moving. Aahil screams for her and his Ammi's eyes open. The static bites into the soft underbelly of his thoughts as he drops, his legs winding up with white noise. Sanam catches him, drags him close enough that Aahil can feel the answering static in Sanam's heartbeat.
The people return, blocking his view, and he reaches. Imagines that they all part for him, imagines they allow him a steady glimpse of his Ammi. Imagines that the man tearing into his Ammi was a hallucination, imagines the coldness and anger in her eyes the moment Aahil held up an innocuous piece of paper was just a nightmare, imagines the last word(s) his Ammi spoke to him so long ago were I love you, and not, this is a game, nothings real. You aren't my son. You will never be. He imagines and wills and fights and its static.
Sanam slowly pulls him away and he doesn't have the strength to fight her. They end up in a corner, tucked up against a sharp bend. He keeps his hands out, watching them reach. Imagines them all the while.
Imagination is more important than knowledge.
He banishes the static. He needs to be dynamic.
Aahil screams.
Okely dokely.
734 words. I initially wrote this for a paring on LJ (literally years ago. My account has then since been deleted and purged).
And then I refixed it and slapped Rudra and Paro's names on there.
And now I'm using SaHil.
Recycling, people. Its amazing.
Btw, I didn't just copy past it. I wrote it down again to make sure I had the feel of the characters and the hims and the hers 🤣
If you didn't understand, this is what happens:
Tannu gets gravelly injured.
Aahil is there when it happens.
Sanam is the moral support dude.
They're not in love yet, just a lot of unresolved sexual tension going on.
Aahil sorta kinda finds out about Tannu and the sort of Stokholm syndrome thing and guilt trip stuff she's been feeding him, but doesn't want to believe its true. (duh. Sort of Stokholm syndrome.)
And the reaper line?
And clothing like ghosts?
Doctors and shit.
You know, they are the ones that tell you about people dying. They are sort of like reapers in a way? Arent they?
And doctors and nursed wear white- ghosts=white shit.
TADA.
Love you all.
I'm just helping the raTINGS GET UP GEEZ I DIDN'T WRITE FOR A WEEK AND THE FORUM DIES?!!!
DO RANDOM POSTS PEOPLE, PLEASE.
THIS FORUM WAS ONCE UPON A TIME THE BIGGEST ONE ON I-F.
Pms laterrr.
sorry for any grammatical errors in the note and in the story :)
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