[ the feeling of peacefully floating in water is a foreign one, as is the slow waves trickling over his body, urging him to rest, to sleep, to dream.
so dream he does. they're memories, sonic reasons, somehow caught between consciousness and the blackness that still shields him from the pain he'd suffered through. it's a slideshow of his life before he'd become a full-fledged killer, back when he was more innocent and ignorant of the world. there's his family, his friends, and other friendly, familiar faces, painting a comfort he hasn't known for years. nothing special is happening in these vision, just normal everyday things; a walk through the mountain's many forests that he grew up in, his mothers gentle hands, some figures that are too blurry for him to make out.
why now? sonic's consciousness muses, biting back some bitterness that breaks through the calm he's feeling.
oh. is he dying?
well this is a crappy way to go, he thinks, bored at the prospect of nothing of note happening. what, is he's supposed to be baited into watching all the good things come crashing down before he kicks the bucket? how cliche.
besides, he can't pass right now. sonic has so many other things he has to do, like scrub the blood off of every surface he's touched, feed his stray of a cat, defeat saitama once and for all, and also—
ugh. even without a face, the ninja is cringing, that embarrassment rising from the grave to haunt him again. he shouldn't be thinking about that stupid toaster, the one who he's been on better terms with for quite some time now. first of all, he was just his rival's guard dog, nothing more than a kid whose body was crafted into something bionic, much stronger than a normal human's body. secondly, he was a hero of justice, as he so liked to point out, a deadpan look on his synthetically created face whenever he declared his status. thirdly, there was no way he was going to be on a brink of death and thinking about how he hadn't seen him for some time, how he wants to see him, wants to laze about and boss him around and have him comply without trying to blast a hole through his head.
he's so fucked. or he would have been, had he not wound up getting killed. who the hell had the nerve to even try, anyway?
ah, well. he won't be finding out anytime soon. or at all, really, if the drifting didn't cease and carry him away to the afterlife (that's what happens when you die, right?).
just when he's about to end it at that, a shot of pain seizes through his body. what the—? no, there's no time to finish that thought, not when he's starting to sweat profusely, pushing down the bile that's rising up his throat. and then there's something cool on him, a sort of familiar sensation. what is it? he wracks his brain for answers, coming up short. it's interrupted by his lungs constricting, his breathing heavy and so, so hot, too hot for him to digest and stomach.
he's only half-awake now, panting through a fever that has no sign of going away anytime soon. were he aware of being quite alive and not dead yet, he'd be complaining up a storm, bitch out his body for betraying him like this at such a critical time. as it stands, he's in no state to do anything, let alone speak his mind. maybe some other time. ]
no subject
so dream he does. they're memories, sonic reasons, somehow caught between consciousness and the blackness that still shields him from the pain he'd suffered through. it's a slideshow of his life before he'd become a full-fledged killer, back when he was more innocent and ignorant of the world. there's his family, his friends, and other friendly, familiar faces, painting a comfort he hasn't known for years. nothing special is happening in these vision, just normal everyday things; a walk through the mountain's many forests that he grew up in, his mothers gentle hands, some figures that are too blurry for him to make out.
why now? sonic's consciousness muses, biting back some bitterness that breaks through the calm he's feeling.
oh. is he dying?
well this is a crappy way to go, he thinks, bored at the prospect of nothing of note happening. what, is he's supposed to be baited into watching all the good things come crashing down before he kicks the bucket? how cliche.
besides, he can't pass right now. sonic has so many other things he has to do, like scrub the blood off of every surface he's touched, feed his stray of a cat, defeat saitama once and for all, and also—
ugh. even without a face, the ninja is cringing, that embarrassment rising from the grave to haunt him again. he shouldn't be thinking about that stupid toaster, the one who he's been on better terms with for quite some time now. first of all, he was just his rival's guard dog, nothing more than a kid whose body was crafted into something bionic, much stronger than a normal human's body. secondly, he was a hero of justice, as he so liked to point out, a deadpan look on his synthetically created face whenever he declared his status. thirdly, there was no way he was going to be on a brink of death and thinking about how he hadn't seen him for some time, how he wants to see him, wants to laze about and boss him around and have him comply without trying to blast a hole through his head.
he's so fucked. or he would have been, had he not wound up getting killed. who the hell had the nerve to even try, anyway?
ah, well. he won't be finding out anytime soon. or at all, really, if the drifting didn't cease and carry him away to the afterlife (that's what happens when you die, right?).
just when he's about to end it at that, a shot of pain seizes through his body. what the—? no, there's no time to finish that thought, not when he's starting to sweat profusely, pushing down the bile that's rising up his throat. and then there's something cool on him, a sort of familiar sensation. what is it? he wracks his brain for answers, coming up short. it's interrupted by his lungs constricting, his breathing heavy and so, so hot, too hot for him to digest and stomach.
he's only half-awake now, panting through a fever that has no sign of going away anytime soon. were he aware of being quite alive and not dead yet, he'd be complaining up a storm, bitch out his body for betraying him like this at such a critical time. as it stands, he's in no state to do anything, let alone speak his mind. maybe some other time. ]