quacker-the-idiot

[quacker-the-idiot]

Start

[First chapter of my AU, also found on a03 which is linked at the end]

CW// Paranoia, bugs under skin

Tord’s P.O.V

_______________________

I reach my hand out to the ceiling. I don’t want to open my eyes yet. Right now I’m still at the house. It’s there, I’m there.

I can hear the tv clear as day, and I can smell the stench of alcohol coming from Tom. Foul, too strong. Usually I would scrunch up my nose, make a snarky comment, but I basked in the smell now while I could.

Edd is right beside me. I can hear him sipping on his coke. Ringo is purring on his lap. I can almost feel the rumbling in my chest. All fuzzy and safe.

Matt is on the floor, his back is leaning against my leg. I can hear him chewing on popcorn. And he keeps setting the container by my foot.

I know I’ll knock it over later.

Sinking further into the ragged couch. I know it’s red. I don’t see it, but I know it. Like how I know how to breath. Like how I know everything.

I sat there for what felt like hours, but I never got bored. If I could, I would do this for the rest of my existence.

The only thing to interrupt me is my bladder. Damn my human need to piss.

I groan, prying my eyes open. My arm is still left high in the air. Palm stretching out. I want to lay here long enough to go back. The bed isn’t comfortable, but it’s familiar.

Eventually I can’t push back the feeling any longer. Standing up I step into the bathroom. Flicking on the dim yellow florescent.

It makes my skin look green, or maybe I really am as sick as I thought. Leaning over the sink, I suck in before spitting into it. It’s tinged red. That makes my gut twist.

My left arm now reaching to wipe the drool from my face, I feel the nerves in my arm as I bend it. But nothing ever meets my face.

I suppose I’ll never really get used to the feeling.

Quickly wiping away the spit with the one arm I had. After a few moments, I go piss like I’ve been meaning too.

Afterwards I take a step back and sit onto the edge of the tub. Its porcelain is yellow and sickly.. the edges grossly stained from the years of water.

I grimace at the realization of what a shithole I had gotten into.

The only life this place has, is some lone bug skittering across the tile. A bug… I feel my stomach flip as I stand up. Quickly hopping over it, I silently tread back into the bedroom.

I could feel it now crawling under my skin. Millions of them skittering across my flesh, and burrowing through my muscle. My hand reaches up and desperately scratches at the stump of my left arm. The scratching ringing in what remain of my other ear. This place was hell. I worried they would soon reach my brain, and sever what left I had there. Maybe snap off the connection of my other eye. Or writhe through my nostrils.

I realize I’ve been staring down at the ragged carpet for far too long. My breath catches in my throat, my chest aches. Tightening around my lungs as I gasp out. My head feels like a swarm of locust.

Even when I do breath in ,I can’t tell if I really am breathing or not. No feeling of the air rushing through my wind pipe, nothing filling my lungs. This place is too dirty. Too dirty to breath. Or live.

I had to go, I want to live.

Pulling over some tattered old white t-shirt, and then my old black jacket over it. It’s beaten and has some rips and such, but I’ll take it over the hoodie. I don’t bother to tie the laces of my boots, one handed takes too long.

All I do is check that I have some cigarettes and a lighter in my pocket, before disappearing out the door.

The crawling wouldn’t stop until I lit up a cigarette ,and took a nice long drag. It’s misty out as I quietly head down the creaky stairs of the apartment.

The only noise is the wind blowing, carrying the fog.

(Link if you’d rather read on a03)