Philip (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
radiopalkiller) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2014-11-20 05:17 pm
radiopalkiller) wrote in entrancelogs2014-11-20 05:17 pm
[closed] What will you gain, making your life a little longer?
Who: Philip [radiopalkiller] and audience (read: Evelyn O'Connell [nascensibility], Will Graham [notyourteacup], Ned (The Pie Maker) [wordvomit], The Once-ler [thneedifestdestiny] & Peter Rumancek [gadjos])
Where: Philip's room (5/499) & assorted Wonderland hallways
When: 11/19 - 11/23
Rating: R for graphic violence, animal death, people death & naked werewolves
Summary: If one death opens a door for darkness, then seven deaths rent a wrecking ball and tear down the walls. Two gunshots, two zombies, one stab, one fall, and one sip of poison later, and Philip is once again caught vividly reliving things he would much rather leave behind for good.
The Story:
His head jerks up, not for the first time in the last hour. Shadows stare back at him passively, from all the corners the lamplight doesn't reach. Three in the morning. Four, at most. Philip doesn't bother to check his watch for confirmation. Another sound in the distance. Wonderland never lies silent, but tonight it whispers ominously, tonight he swears he can hear it groan with the voices of ice and stone.
Tonight is colder and darker, and blaming it on the oncoming winter does nothing to reassure him.
'It definitely has lost weight. This one is so special, so central to what he is doing, he can't stand to wait long, and he doesn't have to. Tomorrow afternoon, he can do it, or tomorrow night. The next day at the latest. Soon.'
Philip turns the page, and watches the book slip through his hands, along with the last of his desire to keep reading. From its permanent paper prison the large moth looks at him accusingly. It's enough to drive him from the sofa, but sitting up feels heavier than it should. Philip exhales, and his breath fogs the air. Darkness swallows his frown as the light goes out.
radiopalkiller] and audience (read: Evelyn O'Connell [nascensibility], Will Graham [notyourteacup], Ned (The Pie Maker) [wordvomit], The Once-ler [thneedifestdestiny] & Peter Rumancek [gadjos])Where: Philip's room (5/499) & assorted Wonderland hallways
When: 11/19 - 11/23
Rating: R for graphic violence, animal death, people death & naked werewolves
Summary: If one death opens a door for darkness, then seven deaths rent a wrecking ball and tear down the walls. Two gunshots, two zombies, one stab, one fall, and one sip of poison later, and Philip is once again caught vividly reliving things he would much rather leave behind for good.
The Story:
His head jerks up, not for the first time in the last hour. Shadows stare back at him passively, from all the corners the lamplight doesn't reach. Three in the morning. Four, at most. Philip doesn't bother to check his watch for confirmation. Another sound in the distance. Wonderland never lies silent, but tonight it whispers ominously, tonight he swears he can hear it groan with the voices of ice and stone.
Tonight is colder and darker, and blaming it on the oncoming winter does nothing to reassure him.
'It definitely has lost weight. This one is so special, so central to what he is doing, he can't stand to wait long, and he doesn't have to. Tomorrow afternoon, he can do it, or tomorrow night. The next day at the latest. Soon.'
Philip turns the page, and watches the book slip through his hands, along with the last of his desire to keep reading. From its permanent paper prison the large moth looks at him accusingly. It's enough to drive him from the sofa, but sitting up feels heavier than it should. Philip exhales, and his breath fogs the air. Darkness swallows his frown as the light goes out.
no subject
The Once-ler's mouth is open wide but he can't breath in no matter how he tries. For a moment the struggle intensifies in a final bit of desperation, but...it can't last.
He lets go of Phil's hands. All of the fight in the Once-ler vanishes, and his entire body goes limp and heavy in Phil's grip.
The light fades from his eyes and he is gone.
no subject
The body turns to ashes in front of his eyes. His hands burn painfully, and their grip slackens. It won't be enough.
The walls are metal, thick and hot. Dead and cold and icy blue they were once, but now the warmth creeps in, along with the sickening colour of rust. Red veins of lava snake in through the cracks. The room smells like smoke. Only Philip's sight is clear.
It's too late. They're coming again. He can't stay here anymore.
Philip stands, and his feet catch on something invisible. He only stumbles; there's no time to fall. Gasping through the smoke he runs out through the door.