Sam also dreamed of hands, touching, him, running along his skin. A single pair of ice cold hands, touching him - not sexually, just stroking down his arms, rubbing circles into his back. It was the contact he yearned, yet couldn't have.
He dreamed that these hands were connected to a body, a body with no face, and that at first upset him, and then reassured him, because had that face been somebody he knew, somebody that was dead - because those were the only people he knew - he didn't know how he would have felt if he ever escaped, how he would have coped with the realisation that he would never see them again.
The body itself was pale, built lean, with just the slightest roundness to its stomach. It was male, shorter than Sam - which he was used to. It's hair appeared burned, he couldn't decide it's original colour, but he imagined it was light brown, possibly dark blonde. It's clothes were singed, dark holes in grey fabric revealing reddened and burned flesh, a reminder of the fire, and of Michael's touch.
Sam yearned to speak, but when he tried his words were smoke, and his lungs were the fire.
He soon gave up on even the idea.
YOU ARE READING
The King of Diamonds (Samifer)
FanfictionImagine every day, every single waking second, being consumed by fire. Burning so harsh that you can never block it out, never stop crying. And when you are allowed rest from the heat, all you can do is sleep. But imagine finding cold in that place...
