The Storm (fanfic)

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Sunrazor

The Fly
Joined
Aug 5, 2001
Messages
170
Location
Upper Darby, PA, USA
*Sunrazor desperately tries to wrestle the spotlight away from Mrs. Edge. She jumps up and down on stage, flailing her arms wildly*

YAHHH!!! I wrote a story toooo!!!! Look at me!!!!!! LOVE MEEEEE!!!!!!

*crickets*

Oh, feck it.
Well, I was debating whether or not to post this, but if the last Mrs. Edge story didn't excite any "Wahhhh!!! Baaadd!! Wrong!!!!!" stuff, then I see no reason why this should.
This is a little thing I started on a whim a while ago. The plot is, erm, "borrowed" heavily from Stephen King's 'Misery', but no knowledge of the book is necessary; this is NOT a crossover.
I will post this first chapter and, depending on the reaction, the rest will follow.
Six chapters are written, and I am working on a seventh. I have no idea how long it will eventually be, or what the ending will turn out as.

Warning: This story contains language and violence (although most of it's in later chapters). Bono is tortured a bit. There is much angst. If you find this idea distasteful, no one's making you read this. Whiners will be severely laughed at.

*deep breath*
Here we go:

The Storm
By Sunrazor

***************************************

First white, then

Black.

All there is, is black.

He wonders idly if he is dead.

If this is so, it's a great pity, he thinks. He'd always thought death would be more interesting.

Then thinking becomes too difficult, and the black closes over his head again.

*************************************

Every now and then, the black recedes.

He becomes dimly aware of a light somewhere beyond his vision, and a dull
throbbing somewhere below his waist.

He feels a sharp prick somewhere below his shoulder.

All he has are somewhere's.

He lets himself sink.

*************************************

The black is gone, and his eyes are open.

Something dark is moving slowly against the white haze of his vision. He squints, trying to make it out.

A long dark shape, rotating slowly above his head. He can't see it any more clearly than that.

Although he cannot explain why, he hates it. He hates the sight of it.
He moans softly and turns his head to the side.

There is the prick in his arm again, and then the black closes over him.

*************************************

He dreams.

He is standing at a window, looking out at a black car (oh god not this not now oh god) parked by the door. He knows he has to go out to it, he know he is expected to get in and go wherever it takes him, but he can't move. He can't feel. He can't breathe. Panic sets in, and he struggles for air. He feels a hand on his shoulder, breaking the spell. Gratefully, he turns-

To a crowd of sixty thousand, their faces turned towards him, screaming his
name. He feels relief flooding over him, until he sees their expressions. They are angry, furious, hateful. Some of them are laughing, scornful. He fumbles for his microphone; he has no idea what's gone so horribly wrong, but perhaps it's not too late to salvage what's left. There is no microphone. He stumbles back in confusion, whirls to look for his friends. They aren't there. He is alone on a bare stage with thousands of people baying for his blood, and he has no idea why. Desperately, he turns and runs, trips over a cord (that hadn't been there before) falls, turns to see the first of them come swarming over the security pit (where the fuck is security?) their hands twisted into claws, their eyes bulging and bloodthirsty. The ones who remain behind simply point and howl with laughter. He feels their hands close on his throat and all he can do is scream-

He is sitting alone in a room. The room is white, immeasurable. He sits in a corner and tries to make out the far wall, but he can't, there's too much white. He is enveloped by white. He stands and turns slowly around. He looks up, then back down and over his shoulder. A huge dark shape rushes at his face-

"Come on, dammit. Wake up!"

He rose out of the dream slowly, like coming out of deep water. He fought to open his eyes and won.

He saw white, and then eyes, then a face, rather like the Cheshire Cat in reverse.

A young woman, about 19, was bending over him, peering at him anxiously. He
noticed that her right eye was green, and her left was blue. Like a dog's eyes.

"Thank God. I thought you were never going to come out of that." She turned
away, fiddling with something on the nightstand.

He ran his tongue over his cracked lips and croaked "Where..."

"Safe. Hold still."

He felt the now familiar prick in his arm.

"What... what is that?"

"Painkiller," she said, smiling gently. "For your legs."

He tried to lift his head, then fell back as a wave of nausea washed over him. "What do you mean, my legs?"

She turned to him, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was no longer smiling. "You've had an accident. Your legs are broken."

She bent over him, placing a hand on his chest. "I saved you. You'd have frozen to death if it weren't for me."

He stared into her mismatched eyes. He was suddenly very afraid.

"Why aren't I in a hospital?"

She straightened up, running her hands distractedly through her shoulder-length brown hair. "Your car crashed. I found you, just as the snow started. You were already about ten feet from the car; looked like you'd tried to crawl." She chuckled ruefully. "I'm surprised you got that far. Your legs were a mess."

She turned again, and this time he could see her preparing another syringe.

"The snow had already started, and we were at least seventy miles from the
nearest hospital. It was either bring you here and try to care for you myself, or send us both out there to freeze."

She turned back to him. "You know, the weather service is saying that this'll be the worst blizzard we've had in ten years." She smiled. "Exciting, isn't it? At least-" Her eyes flicked down to the foot of the bed. "It would be, if not for this."

"Where is 'here'?"

She injected whatever it was in the syringe and put her finger to her lips.
"Later. Sleep now."

"But-"

The waters closed over his head again.

*************************************

Gimmie lovin', people. Or not, as the case may be.




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"It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything." - Fight Club

"Here's where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don't forget. Forget that there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside that's yours, that they can't touch. That's the beauty of music. They can't take that away from you." - The Shawshank Redemption

"All God wants is a willing heart and for us to call out to him." - Bono

"Ohh!!! Egyptians!" - Me, on AOL IM
 
*tumbleweed*

juuuuuuuuuuust kidding
smile.gif


so what happens next?! What's happening?! aaggg!! *confusion* *eerie*

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~*Mona*~
"What you don't have you don't need it now, What you don't know you can feel it somehow." ~U2~

"You give me something to sleep to at night" ~Michelle Branch~
 
i want the rest of the story. i want it now. then you'll get my praise!
wink.gif


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Brought to you by the OTHER "creamy coated pop icon goddess."

Love,
Emily
 
Another very well written story, Sunrazor. Can't wait to read the rest of it!
biggrin.gif


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"From an artist's point of view, failure is where you get your best material." -Bono

CHECK OUT MY WEBSITE! I FINALLY UPDATED IT AFTER A VERY LONG TIME! SLIDE SHOWS AND A TON OF PICS FEATURING U2!

http://rattleandhum.icyspicy.com
 
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