Capt. Jack Harkness (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chronosexual) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thoughtformed2012-07-16 10:28 pm
chronosexual) wrote in thoughtformed2012-07-16 10:28 pm
Who could house a bird in a cage made of thorns?
[ The sound of static on the television persists as the clock turns from 11:59 am to 12:00 am. And then there is a flicker of something in the interlaced lines of the screen that steadily becomes clearer as the snow fades, leaving a static image of what looks to be the shore of a beach, waves passing in front of the camera, in and out. In and out. It’s calming. Almost serene. As the camera pans outward, the whole of the beach scene is in frame, looking down the coastline and out over the sprawling sea. To the left of the frame is some sparse vegetation, spiky plants and thatches of grass that decorate the scene.
Soon, a young boy with a mat of light brown hair makes his way into frame. The loose-fitting white clothing and tan vest he wears blows in the ocean breeze, playfully whipping along behind him as he trudges through dry sand. He’s got a heavy wrap of cloth around his neck, a pair of goggles, and a smile on his face. A young smile. It takes him a little while to make it close enough, but when he does, his words ring clear as a bell, even with the wind in the microphone. ]
Hey! Hey, I found something. I wanna show you, okay? It’s really cool, I promise.
[ The boy’s hands move and block the lens as he fiddles with the camera, and before long, the sands are passing beneath the frame, moving over broken shells, rocks, and even tiny creatures that scuttle back to the waves.
He walks. And walks. And walks. And as he progresses, there is the tangle of roots that pass by, a fishing basket. He steps casually over an arm, and another. Legs, torsos, mutilated bodies, some with horrified expressions on their faces, some with no face at all. And still the boy walks. And walks.
Soon, the occasional root that passes by doesn’t look exactly right, but the boy apparently sees nothing wrong with it. It looks darker, sharper, and more sinister with the angry brown thorns that jut out from the green wood in every direction. His path continues on, into the thorny brush, undeterred by the sharp and snagging plants that twist and turn, and grow in immeasurable numbers until the beachside is nothing but a carpet of plant matter. ]
Almost there. But I’ve got to be quiet. I think he’s sleeping.
[ There is a cautious deliberateness in his footsteps now, the boy actively dodging the rising roots and their broad, spiky leaves. Now that he’s further in, the plants have begun to flower, tiny buds shooting off at strange angles and in all different colours, some half in bloom. A botanist would have identified at least fifteen species of rose, and more still.
Finally, the camera turns to face the enthusiastic boy again, his bright blue eyes glittering with the excitement of having found something strange and unique, his playful, handsome face taking up most of the frame. When he speaks, it’s soft and quiet, as though there is a dangerous animal lurking very nearby. ]
Okay. So. I was out for a walk today. I started following these roots, you know? I didn’t know what I’d find at the centre of them, but I sure wasn’t expecting this.
[ The camera pans to where the creep of vines and roots and leaves and petals and angles converged into a unholy mass of vegetation, spreading upward and outward like a cage. In fact, it was one, with the most massive red rose planted right at the top like some macabre Christmas bow. Suspended in the very centre of this massive sphere of branches is a man who has been stripped completely naked, wild branches impaled through him, running unimpeded as they criss-cross through the cage, entering and exiting his body in many different places, wrapped around arms, wrists, ankles, torso and neck, each of those tiny thorns cutting into flesh as though they had always grown that way.
The man is obviously dead. Blood drips freely down the branches and off low-hanging points. The flowers on the branches bloom right before the camera, opening wide and stretching their glorious, multi-coloured petals toward the sun above. There must be thousands of them here, each growing, and growing all in time with one another. The man’s neck and stomach are completely eviscerated, face contorted into what can only be described as unimaginable pain. ]
He’s been like this a while. Though I thought I saw him moving before I left. Look at him. [ The boy laughs a little, amused with the unusual sight. ] Hard to imagine anyone getting stuck like this. But that’s not the cool part. Watch very, very closely, and you might learn something, kiddos.
[ The flowers grow and grow, spreading wider and wider until all of the flowers and leaves at once begin to all turn the same shade of sickly brown, drying and crumbling as one by one, petals begin to rain from the flowers, turning into dust before they even hit the ground. Suddenly, it’s easier to see the horror of what’s happened at the centre of the cage. But something is changing, and changing quickly. The man's open wounds begin to mend, though the drying rivers of blood that vein down his arms, legs, and torso remain, and suddenly, the man begins to stir.
In one violent jerk that sends his cage creaking and groaning, the man springs to life with a deep gasp, and eyes shot wide as he revives, breathing in the sweet air of life, only to immediately begin to scream with an almighty terror, the agony he finds himself in blatantly obvious in his expression as he tries to analyse the massive branch sticking out of his chest and the vines wrapped around his wrists. He panics, thrashing and pulling and kicking and wailing, twisting this way and that to try and find a point of give in his prison, only to find that the arches and knots keeping him in place are tightening around him, choking him, slicing into his skin and drenching him quickly in his own blood once again. He coughs the stuff, sputtering it out as his throat is torn open by the talon-like appendages of the plant. The vermillion liquid races down his body, running off of him in drops at first, but then in full-blown streams. The more that the man struggles, the worse his wounds. His twisting torso causes himself to be torn open once again like a boar in a slaughterhouse. He tries to scream, tries to call for help, but the most that he can manage is sick gurgling and choking as he froths and asphyxiates on his own blood. Soon enough, the man’s eyes roll into his head and he once more falls limp and pale, coming to what for anyone else would be a messy and permanent stop, leaving himself bouncing only slightly and the branches holding him in place creaking. The moment that his movement ceases, something almost miraculous happens.
The flowers begin to come back to life, brilliant colours speckled everywhere as they grow and grow and grow until finally the man inside gasps back to life once more, screaming and causing the flowers to wither and dry until he comes to an eerie still. The camera pans once again to the young boy, who has a rather excited look on his face. He’s clearly just discovered something incredible. ]
Did you see? He’s been doing this for ages. Living, and dying. But while he’s alive, you see, the beautiful things around him die. It all turns to shit. [ He laughs a little, maliciously. ] Don’t you see? He’s ruining it. He’s ruining everything around him. Everything just withers away over and over, never changing. And why should it change? I mean, look at him. [ The frame focuses in on the prisoner again. ] He’s stuck. Imprisoned there. Deserves it though. He’s not a good guy. Only someone really terrible must’ve done something really wrong to deserve this kind of treatment. [ The camera turns away again, just as the lifeless body jerks into consciousness. The boy begins to walk again, looking right into the lens as the sounds of the man and his punishment slowly begin to fade in the distance. ] I hope he’s suffering for his crimes. The people he’s ruined, the hearts he’s broken, lives he’s taken and destroyed.
No one needs someone like him, you know That’s why he’s alone. He’ll always be alone no matter what. No one needs to be subjected to what he’s capable of, so don’t pity him. This... This is perfect justice. No one feels sorry for the criminal. He deserves everything... every second of his agony, every little bit of the punishment he’s getting. You’ve seen him. He can’t die. Not really, anyway, so this is the only way he can pay for what he’s done. This is his penance. Eternally suffering by himself. Look.
[ The camera blurs a moment, showing a strange white structure in the distance both tall and sprawling all at once, looking like some sort of cactus that just keeps growing and growing. Tiny windows can be seen on the building, catching the sun’s rays. The building grows and stretches outward and upward, new smaller structures begin building at rapid speed, though the only people that can be seen adorn the beachhead, each one of them dead. Soon, the buildings reach a magnificent height, only to crumble instantly, turning to blowing sand before the chunks of concrete hit the ground and blow away until the only thing left is a lonesome hill. And then construction begins again. ]
Entire civilisations will rise and fall before he’s paid his dues. Galaxies will be born and burn out before he's even come close to atoning for the things he's done. [ The camera drops, lens half-buried in the sand. The boy bends down and smiles a mischievous smile. ] So come on. Come and see the castle he’s built and destroyed. I promise it’ll be really cool.
[ The boy laughs a little and turns away from the camera, stepping over something and jogging playfully toward the constantly building and un-building structure in the distance, continuing on until static snow once again fills the screen. ]
Soon, a young boy with a mat of light brown hair makes his way into frame. The loose-fitting white clothing and tan vest he wears blows in the ocean breeze, playfully whipping along behind him as he trudges through dry sand. He’s got a heavy wrap of cloth around his neck, a pair of goggles, and a smile on his face. A young smile. It takes him a little while to make it close enough, but when he does, his words ring clear as a bell, even with the wind in the microphone. ]
Hey! Hey, I found something. I wanna show you, okay? It’s really cool, I promise.
[ The boy’s hands move and block the lens as he fiddles with the camera, and before long, the sands are passing beneath the frame, moving over broken shells, rocks, and even tiny creatures that scuttle back to the waves.
He walks. And walks. And walks. And as he progresses, there is the tangle of roots that pass by, a fishing basket. He steps casually over an arm, and another. Legs, torsos, mutilated bodies, some with horrified expressions on their faces, some with no face at all. And still the boy walks. And walks.
Soon, the occasional root that passes by doesn’t look exactly right, but the boy apparently sees nothing wrong with it. It looks darker, sharper, and more sinister with the angry brown thorns that jut out from the green wood in every direction. His path continues on, into the thorny brush, undeterred by the sharp and snagging plants that twist and turn, and grow in immeasurable numbers until the beachside is nothing but a carpet of plant matter. ]
Almost there. But I’ve got to be quiet. I think he’s sleeping.
[ There is a cautious deliberateness in his footsteps now, the boy actively dodging the rising roots and their broad, spiky leaves. Now that he’s further in, the plants have begun to flower, tiny buds shooting off at strange angles and in all different colours, some half in bloom. A botanist would have identified at least fifteen species of rose, and more still.
Finally, the camera turns to face the enthusiastic boy again, his bright blue eyes glittering with the excitement of having found something strange and unique, his playful, handsome face taking up most of the frame. When he speaks, it’s soft and quiet, as though there is a dangerous animal lurking very nearby. ]
Okay. So. I was out for a walk today. I started following these roots, you know? I didn’t know what I’d find at the centre of them, but I sure wasn’t expecting this.
[ The camera pans to where the creep of vines and roots and leaves and petals and angles converged into a unholy mass of vegetation, spreading upward and outward like a cage. In fact, it was one, with the most massive red rose planted right at the top like some macabre Christmas bow. Suspended in the very centre of this massive sphere of branches is a man who has been stripped completely naked, wild branches impaled through him, running unimpeded as they criss-cross through the cage, entering and exiting his body in many different places, wrapped around arms, wrists, ankles, torso and neck, each of those tiny thorns cutting into flesh as though they had always grown that way.
The man is obviously dead. Blood drips freely down the branches and off low-hanging points. The flowers on the branches bloom right before the camera, opening wide and stretching their glorious, multi-coloured petals toward the sun above. There must be thousands of them here, each growing, and growing all in time with one another. The man’s neck and stomach are completely eviscerated, face contorted into what can only be described as unimaginable pain. ]
He’s been like this a while. Though I thought I saw him moving before I left. Look at him. [ The boy laughs a little, amused with the unusual sight. ] Hard to imagine anyone getting stuck like this. But that’s not the cool part. Watch very, very closely, and you might learn something, kiddos.
[ The flowers grow and grow, spreading wider and wider until all of the flowers and leaves at once begin to all turn the same shade of sickly brown, drying and crumbling as one by one, petals begin to rain from the flowers, turning into dust before they even hit the ground. Suddenly, it’s easier to see the horror of what’s happened at the centre of the cage. But something is changing, and changing quickly. The man's open wounds begin to mend, though the drying rivers of blood that vein down his arms, legs, and torso remain, and suddenly, the man begins to stir.
In one violent jerk that sends his cage creaking and groaning, the man springs to life with a deep gasp, and eyes shot wide as he revives, breathing in the sweet air of life, only to immediately begin to scream with an almighty terror, the agony he finds himself in blatantly obvious in his expression as he tries to analyse the massive branch sticking out of his chest and the vines wrapped around his wrists. He panics, thrashing and pulling and kicking and wailing, twisting this way and that to try and find a point of give in his prison, only to find that the arches and knots keeping him in place are tightening around him, choking him, slicing into his skin and drenching him quickly in his own blood once again. He coughs the stuff, sputtering it out as his throat is torn open by the talon-like appendages of the plant. The vermillion liquid races down his body, running off of him in drops at first, but then in full-blown streams. The more that the man struggles, the worse his wounds. His twisting torso causes himself to be torn open once again like a boar in a slaughterhouse. He tries to scream, tries to call for help, but the most that he can manage is sick gurgling and choking as he froths and asphyxiates on his own blood. Soon enough, the man’s eyes roll into his head and he once more falls limp and pale, coming to what for anyone else would be a messy and permanent stop, leaving himself bouncing only slightly and the branches holding him in place creaking. The moment that his movement ceases, something almost miraculous happens.
The flowers begin to come back to life, brilliant colours speckled everywhere as they grow and grow and grow until finally the man inside gasps back to life once more, screaming and causing the flowers to wither and dry until he comes to an eerie still. The camera pans once again to the young boy, who has a rather excited look on his face. He’s clearly just discovered something incredible. ]
Did you see? He’s been doing this for ages. Living, and dying. But while he’s alive, you see, the beautiful things around him die. It all turns to shit. [ He laughs a little, maliciously. ] Don’t you see? He’s ruining it. He’s ruining everything around him. Everything just withers away over and over, never changing. And why should it change? I mean, look at him. [ The frame focuses in on the prisoner again. ] He’s stuck. Imprisoned there. Deserves it though. He’s not a good guy. Only someone really terrible must’ve done something really wrong to deserve this kind of treatment. [ The camera turns away again, just as the lifeless body jerks into consciousness. The boy begins to walk again, looking right into the lens as the sounds of the man and his punishment slowly begin to fade in the distance. ] I hope he’s suffering for his crimes. The people he’s ruined, the hearts he’s broken, lives he’s taken and destroyed.
No one needs someone like him, you know That’s why he’s alone. He’ll always be alone no matter what. No one needs to be subjected to what he’s capable of, so don’t pity him. This... This is perfect justice. No one feels sorry for the criminal. He deserves everything... every second of his agony, every little bit of the punishment he’s getting. You’ve seen him. He can’t die. Not really, anyway, so this is the only way he can pay for what he’s done. This is his penance. Eternally suffering by himself. Look.
[ The camera blurs a moment, showing a strange white structure in the distance both tall and sprawling all at once, looking like some sort of cactus that just keeps growing and growing. Tiny windows can be seen on the building, catching the sun’s rays. The building grows and stretches outward and upward, new smaller structures begin building at rapid speed, though the only people that can be seen adorn the beachhead, each one of them dead. Soon, the buildings reach a magnificent height, only to crumble instantly, turning to blowing sand before the chunks of concrete hit the ground and blow away until the only thing left is a lonesome hill. And then construction begins again. ]
Entire civilisations will rise and fall before he’s paid his dues. Galaxies will be born and burn out before he's even come close to atoning for the things he's done. [ The camera drops, lens half-buried in the sand. The boy bends down and smiles a mischievous smile. ] So come on. Come and see the castle he’s built and destroyed. I promise it’ll be really cool.
[ The boy laughs a little and turns away from the camera, stepping over something and jogging playfully toward the constantly building and un-building structure in the distance, continuing on until static snow once again fills the screen. ]