The Yuletide treat I wrote
Jan. 1st, 2018 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: The Devourer
Fandom: Peter Pan
Rating: Teens
Word Count: 1358
Characters/pairings: Captain James Hook
Warnings: Madness, Darkfic, Everyone is Dead, Angst, Canon Disabled Character
Summary: I clawed my way out of the crocodile and stepped out of her writhing carcass, but I am still haunted.
AN: Written forthe_alchemist in Yuletide 2017. Ammit is an Egyptian goddess, part crocodile, part lion and part hippopotamus. I’ve taken the liberty of giving her a temporary human form, but that is all.
On AO3
These days my thoughts are fragmented; swirling around in my head with ever changing memories. Perhaps writing them down will slow them and make them clearer. But the days have no dates here, and the seasons depend on the fickleness of the cursed boy. I wished to make this a proper diary, but instead it will only be sentences as shattered as my thoughts.
I’m still alive. I clawed my way out of the crocodile and stepped out of her writhing carcass steeped in our mingled blood. I remember kneeling in the shallow water, shaking in fear and anger, throwing up bile and salt water. The crocodile is dead, and I am alive, but I still hear the ticking of the clock, and I am still haunted. What little rest I get is disturbed by the sound, and I wake up thinking the beast has somehow risen and sneaked into my cabin to finally finish me.
***
The accursed sprite left my ship and forgot it. I found her abandoned, covered in debris, but still seaworthy. I found my crew too. One by one they came back, the first my faithful Smee, and I put them to clean and polish the ship. But when I watch them, I suddenly wonder how I always have a full crew. They annoy me so easily, and I remember killing so many of them, and I can’t recall recruiting any new men. But my crew is still full; nameless faces all, except for Smee. I asked him, but he only looked at me blankly, and I abandoned my query.
***
My hand torments me. The pain grew worse and worse, and it doesn’t matter there is no hand, only a hook. The pain is there anyway, and sometimes I dig the hook into my leg, pressing until I draw blood. It looks strange; I’m always surprised it flows so thickly, only a slow trickle of near-black, and I never bleed for long, as if there isn't enough blood inside me.
***
The clock woke me up again tonight. How can it still be ticking? The crocodile is gone. The clock ought to have stopped ticking long before that. But then there is no logic here. I ought not be surprised over anything.
***
Peter Pan has forgotten me. I never thought I would miss him, but without him my days are only dreary sameness. And how can I revenge myself on him if doesn't know I exist?
***
I saw the crocodile today. I saw her slide up to the ship, its great maw opening wide. I shouted to my men, but they claim they saw nothing. Liars all. I gutted one of them and threw him overboard to appease the beast, but the crew still insists there was nothing in the water. But I saw it. I saw it; I say!
***
I couldn’t stand the sea today, so I ordered the dinghy to take me ashore. At first I enjoyed walking on ground, finding shelter from the blistering sun under the large trees. But the greenery seems sickly somehow, and the scents of flowers cloyingly sweet. I still sat down on a somewhat pleasant spot, close to the seashore. I leaned my back against a tree trunk, and there I feel asleep.
I woke up because someone called my name. It was a sweet voice, and when I looked up, I saw an extraordinary sight. There, standing up to her waist in water, was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her skin was dark, but her eyes yellow, and rimmed with kohl and gold, which made them look enormous. Her features were those of a queen’s, with a highbrided nose, and perfect cheekbones, while her mouth was full and painted in the same shade as fresh blood. Her tawny hair streamed down in wild curls around her neck and shoulders. She wore no clothes, and her breasts were small and high, the nipples hard, and I felt a stirring of lust. I knew she was no ordinary woman- I have never seen a goddess before, but I’m sure that was what she was. When she saw I was looking at her, she smiled and beckoned.
“Come. Come and let me embrace you.”
Her voice was lovely, and I stood up eagerly, my manhood growing hard, but when I came closer her smile widened, and I saw her teeth. They were white and sharp, like a crocodile's, and I recoiled. And while she was still calling with her sweet voice, she changed in front of my eyes, grew into a monster with a crocodile's head and a lion’s mane and though I never fully saw her nether half, it seemed to grow vast and greyish. I stopped, feeling she could not get to me as long as I stayed away from the water. But despite her changing form, I still longed for her, and I would have gone into the sea to meet her, if not the pain in my lost hand had awaken. The pain was so strong and sudden I fell to my knees, and when it ebbed away the strange woman was gone. The sun must have rendered me half-mad because I wanted to call out for her. It seemed to me that I ought to know her name. And though I know she would have torn me apart, the impulse to go to her is still in me.
***
I hear the ticking of the clock almost all the time now. I hardly sleep, the sound reverberating through my body, and at the time so loud I think it will render me deaf.
***
Isn’t it strange I remember so little from before Neverland? Whenever I try to think of my life before my thoughts flow as slowly as my blood.
***
The crocodile has taken to circling the ship. I see her in the corner of my eye though no one else sees her. She calls my name now, and her voice is sweet as a bell.
***
The ticking never stops now, but it's not a clock. That was only in a child's imagination; an imagination so strong I thought it real. What I hear is the beating of my heart, and I can never escape it.
***
There is an old story I have tried to remember. When you die your heart is put on a scale against a feather, and you better hope your heart will be light and pure. But I don’t remember what happens to the hearts which are not pure enough.
***
This is not a life worth living. I did my crew a service and slaughtered them all last night, relieving them on this miserable existence. But they were all back this morning. Or is that only what I think? I may be mad, but I don’t think so.
***
I go back to the place where I saw the woman, but she isn’t coming. I think she is waiting for me to call her name. I rejected a goddess, and now she will not come until I remember her name and beg for her attention.
***
I feel no pain in my missing hand anymore, and my blood has stopped flowing altogether. I have always prided myself with being a man with intelligence and logic. My logic tells me that if I am not mad, then I must be dead. But how can I be dead when my heart's still beating?
***
I remember the rest of the story now. There is a monster waiting by the scale, and she eats the heart of the unworthy. My heart was weighed, and it was heavy with my sins, but I was not ready. I have been fighting against my destiny. It feels like the struggle has lasted for hundreds of years, or perhaps it has merely been seconds, but I’m weary now. The goddess is waiting for me, and her name is ready on my lips; Ammit. Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead. I will call for her now, and I will give her my heart to eat. Then it will finally stop beating, and in her embrace I will find peace.
Fandom: Peter Pan
Rating: Teens
Word Count: 1358
Characters/pairings: Captain James Hook
Warnings: Madness, Darkfic, Everyone is Dead, Angst, Canon Disabled Character
Summary: I clawed my way out of the crocodile and stepped out of her writhing carcass, but I am still haunted.
AN: Written for
the_alchemist in Yuletide 2017. Ammit is an Egyptian goddess, part crocodile, part lion and part hippopotamus. I’ve taken the liberty of giving her a temporary human form, but that is all.On AO3
These days my thoughts are fragmented; swirling around in my head with ever changing memories. Perhaps writing them down will slow them and make them clearer. But the days have no dates here, and the seasons depend on the fickleness of the cursed boy. I wished to make this a proper diary, but instead it will only be sentences as shattered as my thoughts.
I’m still alive. I clawed my way out of the crocodile and stepped out of her writhing carcass steeped in our mingled blood. I remember kneeling in the shallow water, shaking in fear and anger, throwing up bile and salt water. The crocodile is dead, and I am alive, but I still hear the ticking of the clock, and I am still haunted. What little rest I get is disturbed by the sound, and I wake up thinking the beast has somehow risen and sneaked into my cabin to finally finish me.
***
The accursed sprite left my ship and forgot it. I found her abandoned, covered in debris, but still seaworthy. I found my crew too. One by one they came back, the first my faithful Smee, and I put them to clean and polish the ship. But when I watch them, I suddenly wonder how I always have a full crew. They annoy me so easily, and I remember killing so many of them, and I can’t recall recruiting any new men. But my crew is still full; nameless faces all, except for Smee. I asked him, but he only looked at me blankly, and I abandoned my query.
***
My hand torments me. The pain grew worse and worse, and it doesn’t matter there is no hand, only a hook. The pain is there anyway, and sometimes I dig the hook into my leg, pressing until I draw blood. It looks strange; I’m always surprised it flows so thickly, only a slow trickle of near-black, and I never bleed for long, as if there isn't enough blood inside me.
***
The clock woke me up again tonight. How can it still be ticking? The crocodile is gone. The clock ought to have stopped ticking long before that. But then there is no logic here. I ought not be surprised over anything.
***
Peter Pan has forgotten me. I never thought I would miss him, but without him my days are only dreary sameness. And how can I revenge myself on him if doesn't know I exist?
***
I saw the crocodile today. I saw her slide up to the ship, its great maw opening wide. I shouted to my men, but they claim they saw nothing. Liars all. I gutted one of them and threw him overboard to appease the beast, but the crew still insists there was nothing in the water. But I saw it. I saw it; I say!
***
I couldn’t stand the sea today, so I ordered the dinghy to take me ashore. At first I enjoyed walking on ground, finding shelter from the blistering sun under the large trees. But the greenery seems sickly somehow, and the scents of flowers cloyingly sweet. I still sat down on a somewhat pleasant spot, close to the seashore. I leaned my back against a tree trunk, and there I feel asleep.
I woke up because someone called my name. It was a sweet voice, and when I looked up, I saw an extraordinary sight. There, standing up to her waist in water, was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her skin was dark, but her eyes yellow, and rimmed with kohl and gold, which made them look enormous. Her features were those of a queen’s, with a highbrided nose, and perfect cheekbones, while her mouth was full and painted in the same shade as fresh blood. Her tawny hair streamed down in wild curls around her neck and shoulders. She wore no clothes, and her breasts were small and high, the nipples hard, and I felt a stirring of lust. I knew she was no ordinary woman- I have never seen a goddess before, but I’m sure that was what she was. When she saw I was looking at her, she smiled and beckoned.
“Come. Come and let me embrace you.”
Her voice was lovely, and I stood up eagerly, my manhood growing hard, but when I came closer her smile widened, and I saw her teeth. They were white and sharp, like a crocodile's, and I recoiled. And while she was still calling with her sweet voice, she changed in front of my eyes, grew into a monster with a crocodile's head and a lion’s mane and though I never fully saw her nether half, it seemed to grow vast and greyish. I stopped, feeling she could not get to me as long as I stayed away from the water. But despite her changing form, I still longed for her, and I would have gone into the sea to meet her, if not the pain in my lost hand had awaken. The pain was so strong and sudden I fell to my knees, and when it ebbed away the strange woman was gone. The sun must have rendered me half-mad because I wanted to call out for her. It seemed to me that I ought to know her name. And though I know she would have torn me apart, the impulse to go to her is still in me.
***
I hear the ticking of the clock almost all the time now. I hardly sleep, the sound reverberating through my body, and at the time so loud I think it will render me deaf.
***
Isn’t it strange I remember so little from before Neverland? Whenever I try to think of my life before my thoughts flow as slowly as my blood.
***
The crocodile has taken to circling the ship. I see her in the corner of my eye though no one else sees her. She calls my name now, and her voice is sweet as a bell.
***
The ticking never stops now, but it's not a clock. That was only in a child's imagination; an imagination so strong I thought it real. What I hear is the beating of my heart, and I can never escape it.
***
There is an old story I have tried to remember. When you die your heart is put on a scale against a feather, and you better hope your heart will be light and pure. But I don’t remember what happens to the hearts which are not pure enough.
***
This is not a life worth living. I did my crew a service and slaughtered them all last night, relieving them on this miserable existence. But they were all back this morning. Or is that only what I think? I may be mad, but I don’t think so.
***
I go back to the place where I saw the woman, but she isn’t coming. I think she is waiting for me to call her name. I rejected a goddess, and now she will not come until I remember her name and beg for her attention.
***
I feel no pain in my missing hand anymore, and my blood has stopped flowing altogether. I have always prided myself with being a man with intelligence and logic. My logic tells me that if I am not mad, then I must be dead. But how can I be dead when my heart's still beating?
***
I remember the rest of the story now. There is a monster waiting by the scale, and she eats the heart of the unworthy. My heart was weighed, and it was heavy with my sins, but I was not ready. I have been fighting against my destiny. It feels like the struggle has lasted for hundreds of years, or perhaps it has merely been seconds, but I’m weary now. The goddess is waiting for me, and her name is ready on my lips; Ammit. Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead. I will call for her now, and I will give her my heart to eat. Then it will finally stop beating, and in her embrace I will find peace.
