Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Aliveisn't

And so, nothing, he became.

Surrounded in a murky, black void, the absence of light left him weightless, suspended and neglected to drift endlessly. Body lax and mind whisper quiet, he stared blindly into the hollow nothingness, eyelids fluttering weakly as his mouth pinched into a twisted frown. Silence enveloped him, straining and shrill- and yet, oddly peaceful, the lack of noise emphasising the erratic throbbing of his heart.

Can your pulse spike if you don't have a heart?

Swallowing roughly, something hard and intrusive lodged deep within his throat, rasping dryly against the strain. Heavy, and blossoming dully with an odd, faraway pain, it radiated- throbbing throughout his core in an aching rush. Spreading through his body, the pain remained distant, a cooling numbness clawing deep within his muscles. Fingers curled stiffly, bones protesting against the experimental movement; as though it was not fully committed to his whimsical demands; as though it wasn't fully contained by the impulse of his control.

Has a puppet ever known control?

Thrashing uselessly, limbs flailed, feeling detached from his body as he struggled and rolled. Gasping dryly, more of the sludge filled his mouth, choking him as it slid down his throat in long thick trails of slime. Burning the back of his eyelids, a scorching heat spread across his chest, breath rasping in a chaotic mixture of desperation and goo. Trickling into his nostrils, a fuzzy tingling sensation buzzed at the back of his mind, tendrils wrapping grotesquely around his lungs- weighing them down in a dead man's grip.

Can you drown if you don't have lungs?

Screaming soundlessly, he surged up, little pockets of bright white erupting from his mouth. Gaze blurry, he watched as they wobbled, unstable in structure as they floated upwards- popping and bursting out of existence in a flash of faded light. Squinting, he nodded to himself, jaw set tight as he punched towards the supposed end. With a loud, ragged breath-a harsh cough racked his body, shoulders shuddering as everything started to burn from exhaustion.

Breaking through up to the surface, Tom flopped down onto the hard floor, curling up into a protective fetal position as he tried to suck in air. Mouth gaped open, a long series of ragged pants convulsed from his core, everything feeling distinctly wet and dry at the same time- hot and cold, empty and whole.

"Holy pogo stick at a tennis court," Tom whispered, absorbing the still very black expense, an overwhelming sense of loss reverberating through him.

A wide open space greeted him- dark, murky and whisper quiet. No hint of a structure revealed itself to him, the area far too large and far too dim to make out the outlines of any walls that may be present. There didn't seem to be any distinction between the pool and the solid ground he was currently resting on- which, in all fairness, seemed to sort of a dick move, the oozing water-like substance not dipping beneath his fingertips, no matter how hard he prodded.

With no sounds to speak of, Tom found himself unable to hear his own uneven breathing- the usual panicked rush of blood absent behind his ears. It left him feeling disjointed and wrong; unbalanced and-

And naked.

Very, very naked.

Why was he naked?

Symbolism, he guessed.

Cradling his ribs out of self-comfort, Tom slowly moved up to his knees, taking a few minutes of his time to scan his surroundings, no matter how useless the act itself was. Surroundings bringing no sense of purpose or nor a hint of possible direction, he sighed- the movement surprisingly empty without the noise of irritation that usually accompanied it.