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tamingthemuseTitle: The Hammer
Fandom: Sandman
Prompt: #163 Solipsism
Warnings: Gore, disturbing images and it's a little surreal. If you don't know the Sandman series it might even seem extremely strange to you, but I was trying to capture the essence of the comic book and it's bizarre morals. So, this came out a little more twisted then my normal stuff.
Rating: R (For gore and Disturbing Images)
Summary: She's been waiting for him a long time.
A tiny man in Redmond Heights believed nothing else mattered but his desires. He made a lot of money bullying others and destroying everything that came in his path. He was good at getting away with it and paid no price for his insanity. Who would dare cross a man who paid no mind to law or morals? The police couldn’t touch him and men won’t face him.
This man’s name was Richard ‘The Hammer’ Keiths, and she’d had her eye on him for years.
He was seventy-one years old and couldn’t deny his departure into her arms any longer. He was sickly, his body giving up and his mind going with it. He had no more schemes or tricks to defy her. The Hammer was making his last descent into the arms of the unmerciful cold.
Death stood with her umbrella over her head, the sun beaming bright today. She was humming softly to herself as a war raged inside. The last desperate struggle for life in a body that had long since given in. The tempo of her song increased with the heat of the battle.
Finally, as the time came closer, she walked up the driveway of his oversized home and walked inside, making her way up the stairs to his bathroom. She walked in the door to find him slumped over, covered in his own excrement and bile. Not an uncommon sight, not for her.
“It’s time,” she said giving him a gentle smile and receiving only fear in return. It took a moment, it always took a moment, for him to realize the fight was long past and she had won, she always won.
“I’m dead,” he said his soul standing up past his lifeless form, his soul taking the shape of his younger, stronger self. He stood only five foot five with thin shoulders, hard features and long, oily black hair. Not the sort of man you feared, not until you looked into his dead black eyes.
“Yes,” she told him and offered her hand, “Come with me.”
“Do I have a choice?” he demanded his voice as commanding as ever even in front of her.
“No,” she said not forcing her hand on his.
He stared, defying her for minutes, maybe even an hour, but he gave in when he realized he couldn’t go anywhere else. He took her hand. She grinned again and turned, walked out the door.
In those few steps they were transported to a different home. A small place where a woman was wailing and the shadow of a hangman was seen in the light from an open bedroom door.
“Derek Kreaton,” the man formally known as The Hammer said knowing that woman and this scene.
“A suicide. I already picked him up, but I thought you’d like to see what you did. You drove him so far into despair by taking his business, raping his wife and killing his dog that he ran into my embrace,” Death explained twirling her umbrella and watching him.
“Is there where I break down? What do you think you are the ghost of Christmas past? These men did what they did because they didn’t have the balls to stand up to me. They did what they did because they don’t matter,” The Hammer explained his arms flailing in his distaste, spit flying from his open lips.
“Oh no, not at all. That’s be silly of me. Why should you bother with him? You don’t feel his pain. You don’t know his agony. Empathy was never your strong suit, and I am not here to judge you. I do not punish, or hate or challenge. I just am,” Death said eyes focusing on the man gently swinging by his neck, “But I like to play at show and tell sometimes. You’ve lived such an interesting life, affected so many. Caused my sisters, Desire and Despair, to have so much more to do with their days. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Beautiful,” The Hammer said shrugging, “I guess.”
“Your name is quiet perfect fore the hammer feels nothing for the nail. The nail doesn’t matter in the hammer’s world. It just bangs away until the job is done. It feels nothing, but it’s own needs,” Death said glancing back at him, “But Richard, you are not The Hammer anymore and now you must go with me to the valley of the dead. A man, nothing more.”
“I’m not just some guy.”
“Yes, oh yes, you are. Nothing more or less important than anyone else. The same as the man that hung himself. The same as the woman who mourns him. The same as the bug that crawls. You all die and you all mean the same to me. Richard, you are not special,” Death told him, honest and abrupt.
“That’s not true!”
“In your own world. You were all that mattered. When you were alive, you never cared for others. You could only feel what was inside of you and you wanted to feel good. Now, you are not alive, and you are not the center of my, or any other world,” she said giving him a gentle smile, “But I’d still like to thank you.”
“Thank me?” he asked with a gaping mouth.
“Yes, for making life more interesting for those who could feel it. A moment of agony is so much more beautiful then a moment of nothingness. You burst life into color for these people, black and blood red, but colors,” Death said running her hand over the cheek of the hangman before giving him a gentle, lingering kiss, “They had such stories because of you.”
“You’re sick,” Richard said backing away from her.
“I am?” she asked turning back to him, “But you did all of this. Your narcissism and greed bred demons inside of you, and you unleashed them on the world around you. I‘ve been watching Richard. All the things you‘ve done.”
Death leaned into his ear and in mere seconds whispered every horrible, despicable act he’d ever cared out in such detail that if he’d been alive he would have been sick. Never before, not even when they had been happening, did they fell so real.
“That is why someone has asked for you,” Death told him with a giggle, “You’ve been asked for by name by an Endless that is not I. You should be honored.”
“What? Who?” Richard demanded a chill going over his form, whatever that may be at the moment.
“Despair. She wishes to repay you for sending all the souls to her mirrors and giving her such entertainment,” Death said and from behind her, out of the mirror on the wall came a commanding figure.
Despair, naked, ugly, twisted and haunting walked out and smiled at him. Tears instantly ran down his cheeks.
“A reward? That must be a good thing,” Richard said clinging to the last string of hope.
“Good, bad, nice, evil. Such relative terms really. Can you define good? Can you define evil? Silly humans, making up categories for everything and placing them in on a whim. I’ve never understood your silly game,” Death said with a sigh, “But I think she thinks it’s a good reward, so from what I know of humans, you may not like it so much.”
“I’m going to make you feel so much misery,” Despair said hooking her lip on her twisted ring and pulling until it bleed.
Chains came out of the walls and stretched out towards him. He tried to run, but they came after him with such speed that he only got a few steps before being taken prisoner. He screamed as hooks pierced straight through his arms, his legs and torso. Blood poured out of wounds and now that he was dead it would keep pouring without any release. Blood was normally the call song for Death, but she’d already claimed this one and there was no reason to revisit such a case. But the pain was still there, he felt every breath burn and ache.
“Not just physical either. I’ll make you feel all that they fell too. It was so exquisite, I must share,” Despair whispered and shivered in delight.
Blackness crept up his chest and into his mouth and eyes. He took a gasping breath as he was forced into the mind of the first animal he had tortured and killed. It was the first in a long line of memories he’d be reliving and not by far the worst. Once they were done they would repeat, perhaps in a different order, but always the same theme; living out the pain he’d caused others.
“I don’t think he likes my gift,” Despair said with a sigh and a glance over at her sister.
“I think, in a way he does, but who can tell? Go on, take him home, I’ll pick him up one of these days when Destiny reminds me to,” Death said watching as the man floated away and towards the wall, the chains uncharacteristically silent.
“Won’t you come by for tea?” Despair asked and Death giggled. Despair was always one of the most welcoming of the Endless. Death had a tender spot for her younger sister. Then again, death and despair so often went hand in one.
“I’d like that,” Death said with a casual nod.
Death reached out and took Despairs hand. Together they walked towards the mirror and went inside of it fallowing the screams and howls of The Hammer. They kept walking through the dark of the room until they came to a small table set with warm tea and cups already on it. Each took their seat and Despair poured.
Around them, in the darkness of the mirror world, hung hundreds if not thousands of souls reliving their lives and the lives of their victims over and over again. Each one hung up by chains, randomly floating through the abyss all around them. Almost every mouth was held in a silent scream, eyes unfocused and bodies still bleeding.
“Sugar?” Despair asked.
“Please,” Death said with a grin.
“One lump or two?” Despair said picking up the tongs.
“Two, please,” Death said offering her cup off and receiving the requested sugar before taking a gentle sip.
Fandom: Sandman
Prompt: #163 Solipsism
Warnings: Gore, disturbing images and it's a little surreal. If you don't know the Sandman series it might even seem extremely strange to you, but I was trying to capture the essence of the comic book and it's bizarre morals. So, this came out a little more twisted then my normal stuff.
Rating: R (For gore and Disturbing Images)
Summary: She's been waiting for him a long time.
A tiny man in Redmond Heights believed nothing else mattered but his desires. He made a lot of money bullying others and destroying everything that came in his path. He was good at getting away with it and paid no price for his insanity. Who would dare cross a man who paid no mind to law or morals? The police couldn’t touch him and men won’t face him.
This man’s name was Richard ‘The Hammer’ Keiths, and she’d had her eye on him for years.
He was seventy-one years old and couldn’t deny his departure into her arms any longer. He was sickly, his body giving up and his mind going with it. He had no more schemes or tricks to defy her. The Hammer was making his last descent into the arms of the unmerciful cold.
Death stood with her umbrella over her head, the sun beaming bright today. She was humming softly to herself as a war raged inside. The last desperate struggle for life in a body that had long since given in. The tempo of her song increased with the heat of the battle.
Finally, as the time came closer, she walked up the driveway of his oversized home and walked inside, making her way up the stairs to his bathroom. She walked in the door to find him slumped over, covered in his own excrement and bile. Not an uncommon sight, not for her.
“It’s time,” she said giving him a gentle smile and receiving only fear in return. It took a moment, it always took a moment, for him to realize the fight was long past and she had won, she always won.
“I’m dead,” he said his soul standing up past his lifeless form, his soul taking the shape of his younger, stronger self. He stood only five foot five with thin shoulders, hard features and long, oily black hair. Not the sort of man you feared, not until you looked into his dead black eyes.
“Yes,” she told him and offered her hand, “Come with me.”
“Do I have a choice?” he demanded his voice as commanding as ever even in front of her.
“No,” she said not forcing her hand on his.
He stared, defying her for minutes, maybe even an hour, but he gave in when he realized he couldn’t go anywhere else. He took her hand. She grinned again and turned, walked out the door.
In those few steps they were transported to a different home. A small place where a woman was wailing and the shadow of a hangman was seen in the light from an open bedroom door.
“Derek Kreaton,” the man formally known as The Hammer said knowing that woman and this scene.
“A suicide. I already picked him up, but I thought you’d like to see what you did. You drove him so far into despair by taking his business, raping his wife and killing his dog that he ran into my embrace,” Death explained twirling her umbrella and watching him.
“Is there where I break down? What do you think you are the ghost of Christmas past? These men did what they did because they didn’t have the balls to stand up to me. They did what they did because they don’t matter,” The Hammer explained his arms flailing in his distaste, spit flying from his open lips.
“Oh no, not at all. That’s be silly of me. Why should you bother with him? You don’t feel his pain. You don’t know his agony. Empathy was never your strong suit, and I am not here to judge you. I do not punish, or hate or challenge. I just am,” Death said eyes focusing on the man gently swinging by his neck, “But I like to play at show and tell sometimes. You’ve lived such an interesting life, affected so many. Caused my sisters, Desire and Despair, to have so much more to do with their days. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Beautiful,” The Hammer said shrugging, “I guess.”
“Your name is quiet perfect fore the hammer feels nothing for the nail. The nail doesn’t matter in the hammer’s world. It just bangs away until the job is done. It feels nothing, but it’s own needs,” Death said glancing back at him, “But Richard, you are not The Hammer anymore and now you must go with me to the valley of the dead. A man, nothing more.”
“I’m not just some guy.”
“Yes, oh yes, you are. Nothing more or less important than anyone else. The same as the man that hung himself. The same as the woman who mourns him. The same as the bug that crawls. You all die and you all mean the same to me. Richard, you are not special,” Death told him, honest and abrupt.
“That’s not true!”
“In your own world. You were all that mattered. When you were alive, you never cared for others. You could only feel what was inside of you and you wanted to feel good. Now, you are not alive, and you are not the center of my, or any other world,” she said giving him a gentle smile, “But I’d still like to thank you.”
“Thank me?” he asked with a gaping mouth.
“Yes, for making life more interesting for those who could feel it. A moment of agony is so much more beautiful then a moment of nothingness. You burst life into color for these people, black and blood red, but colors,” Death said running her hand over the cheek of the hangman before giving him a gentle, lingering kiss, “They had such stories because of you.”
“You’re sick,” Richard said backing away from her.
“I am?” she asked turning back to him, “But you did all of this. Your narcissism and greed bred demons inside of you, and you unleashed them on the world around you. I‘ve been watching Richard. All the things you‘ve done.”
Death leaned into his ear and in mere seconds whispered every horrible, despicable act he’d ever cared out in such detail that if he’d been alive he would have been sick. Never before, not even when they had been happening, did they fell so real.
“That is why someone has asked for you,” Death told him with a giggle, “You’ve been asked for by name by an Endless that is not I. You should be honored.”
“What? Who?” Richard demanded a chill going over his form, whatever that may be at the moment.
“Despair. She wishes to repay you for sending all the souls to her mirrors and giving her such entertainment,” Death said and from behind her, out of the mirror on the wall came a commanding figure.
Despair, naked, ugly, twisted and haunting walked out and smiled at him. Tears instantly ran down his cheeks.
“A reward? That must be a good thing,” Richard said clinging to the last string of hope.
“Good, bad, nice, evil. Such relative terms really. Can you define good? Can you define evil? Silly humans, making up categories for everything and placing them in on a whim. I’ve never understood your silly game,” Death said with a sigh, “But I think she thinks it’s a good reward, so from what I know of humans, you may not like it so much.”
“I’m going to make you feel so much misery,” Despair said hooking her lip on her twisted ring and pulling until it bleed.
Chains came out of the walls and stretched out towards him. He tried to run, but they came after him with such speed that he only got a few steps before being taken prisoner. He screamed as hooks pierced straight through his arms, his legs and torso. Blood poured out of wounds and now that he was dead it would keep pouring without any release. Blood was normally the call song for Death, but she’d already claimed this one and there was no reason to revisit such a case. But the pain was still there, he felt every breath burn and ache.
“Not just physical either. I’ll make you feel all that they fell too. It was so exquisite, I must share,” Despair whispered and shivered in delight.
Blackness crept up his chest and into his mouth and eyes. He took a gasping breath as he was forced into the mind of the first animal he had tortured and killed. It was the first in a long line of memories he’d be reliving and not by far the worst. Once they were done they would repeat, perhaps in a different order, but always the same theme; living out the pain he’d caused others.
“I don’t think he likes my gift,” Despair said with a sigh and a glance over at her sister.
“I think, in a way he does, but who can tell? Go on, take him home, I’ll pick him up one of these days when Destiny reminds me to,” Death said watching as the man floated away and towards the wall, the chains uncharacteristically silent.
“Won’t you come by for tea?” Despair asked and Death giggled. Despair was always one of the most welcoming of the Endless. Death had a tender spot for her younger sister. Then again, death and despair so often went hand in one.
“I’d like that,” Death said with a casual nod.
Death reached out and took Despairs hand. Together they walked towards the mirror and went inside of it fallowing the screams and howls of The Hammer. They kept walking through the dark of the room until they came to a small table set with warm tea and cups already on it. Each took their seat and Despair poured.
Around them, in the darkness of the mirror world, hung hundreds if not thousands of souls reliving their lives and the lives of their victims over and over again. Each one hung up by chains, randomly floating through the abyss all around them. Almost every mouth was held in a silent scream, eyes unfocused and bodies still bleeding.
“Sugar?” Despair asked.
“Please,” Death said with a grin.
“One lump or two?” Despair said picking up the tongs.
“Two, please,” Death said offering her cup off and receiving the requested sugar before taking a gentle sip.
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Date: 2009-08-30 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-31 01:00 am (UTC)