Afraid, not Scared.

Flood awoke to unfamiliar smells, the sound of the dull drone of machines, of his own pain.
He was on fire. He had to be. Everything burned. His eyes were heavy, his mouth was dry. He called out, a noise of nonsense. Louder, louder; someone? Wasn't there anyone? Ruby?!
Panic now. Ruby.
Where was she? Why wasn't she helping him?
He longed to scream her name, to beg her to put out the fire but the sound only scratched at his throat; giving out completely.
Oh god, oh god!
He screamed again, uselessly, panic now. Red panic. It clouded his vision and filled his lungs. He recognized this smell now. Clean, too clean, sterilized.
The noise of shoes on linoleum floors, the beeping of the machines; it all gave itself away. A hospital.
But why? And how? And where the fuck was Ruby?
He still felt as though he was on fire; but somehow, it felt nothing to him anymore; where was Ruby? Not knowing tore at him, pulling at him.
The car, breaks the sudden and frightening darkness and then?
Nothing.
New pain now. And oh, how much more painful was it, when Flood knew.

(~)

She was his femme fatale.
His Venus, Minerva, and Juno; a small, fragile, doll, with a red mop of hair and a pair of glassy green eyes.
An uncut Ruby, but priceless never less.

She smiled, laughed, danced in the rain, while he watched on.
His lungs were filled with the pretty cherry smell of her perfume, and the humid smell of rain.
She laughed; her breath hot; he felt it on his neck as she leaned in, a hand behind his neck, kissing him.
It burned. Hurt even?why was it hurting so much?

(~)

Flood couldn't see her face, only her limp fingers, and he knew she was dead.
It was only his painfully fragile breath that could be heard. He licked his lips and tasted blood, and the roughness of broken, loose teeth.
And for the first time since he could remember, he closed his eyes and he prayed. It was like an ode to no one, and that was so distressing.
Do I even believe in a god? Don't think about it..!
He forced the words slowly out of his bruised mouth, and pushed them out the shattered windscreen.
It was then he realized that he couldn't feel anything.
Like someone detached his mind from his body and all he could think about is what if?
Why didn't he see the car sooner?
Would she still be alive?
Why the hell didn't he...?

It was a loss; he knew; it was a loss even before the word was formed in his mouth.
He was a bastard son of a bastard son; how could he expect anything else?
He was an overworked song bird, he was understanding in a car crash, he was lovers debt, he was writers block, he was misused and misplaced and a complete and utter black out.

Sah